07/03/2025
“Oh Canada, you truly are a blessing.” Amen, Ian. Hope to see you down the road.
As I write this, it is Canada Day and I’m feeling pretty grateful for my 75 years coming up this month. For some reason I woke up today thinking about a magical experience that happened to me nearly 40 years ago. IN 1988 the sales of my Levity album were kind of a let-down to me and Warners Canada. I was depressed, and thinking my career as a singer songwriter was pretty much over. I figured I needed to do something else to feed the family, I quit writing songs and began to assemble a demo reel of film cues. I had already done a couple of films and found writing to picture both creatively satisfying and a challenge. In fact, I would go on to do twenty something movies as a film composer over the next 15 years or so.
In the middle of changing my focus, something kind of spooky happened. One afternoon I drove to Toronto to pick up a piece of gear for my studio from a somewhat eclectic collector and seller of recording gear. His name was David Moyles. He had once been a member of the band, Liverpool. I had produced a single for them in the seventies called “Dolly” that had some success on radio. David did some wonderful lead guitar work on those recordings. By 1988 David was making a living by finding and selling used or vintage recording gear that filled his garage/store.
That particular day, my eyes caught sight of a vintage early 60’s faded red Gretsch Tennessean sitting on a stand next to used recording console. He said the guitar wasn’t for sale, but I asked him if I could pick it up and try it anyway. He said OK, and somehow it sat perfectly in my hands, whammy bar and all. Even though Dave said it wasn’t for sale, I knew him well enough to know that if I was willing to pay a high enough price, I could buy it or anything in that garage/store for that matter. Even unplugged, I heard a sound in this semi-hollow bodied instrument that intrigued me. I briefly plugged it into an amp and noodled on it for a few minutes then ponied up more money than that guitar was worth. I simply had to have it and I didn’t know why. David put it in its old case that smelled like it had resided in someone’s basement for years. This entire transaction felt like a Twilight Zone episode. I had just bought an old guitar that had sat gathering dust for years, waiting to be picked up.
When I got home, I plugged it into my console and some other processing gear and damned if songs start to appear. What would eventually become One Little Word arose in the sound of the chorus chords of that guitar, hanging in the air with a very light application of the whammy bar to elongate a haunting sustain. I kept my head down and didn’t look up until that song was finished and demoed. And then another little piece began to emerge from the warmth of a cheeky little guitar phrase that appeared on the bottom three strings when I was mindlessly noodling. This would be the song I’m Alright. The lyric matched that cheeky guitar part. The gist of it was, that no matter what losses or blows the narrator had experienced in his life, he survived and was just “alright”, thank you very much. There was an eerie and sympathetic vibe going on, rescuing my love of songwriting from the ashes of defeat. Then came Wishes, The Matter With Me, Love Ya Too Much, Dirty Love and When You’re in Love. The songs kept coming and all possessed something of a healing sound to them. That old Gretsch Tennessean had been lost for a time, only to get dusted off, to once again emit its soulful and haunting voice that entered my reluctant ears.
Enough songs for an album had now appeared, so I made some calls to players I had always wanted to work with. I had a four-album deal with Warners Canada and thankfully, despite the poor sales of the Levity Album, they weren’t ready to dump me yet. I had recorded some pretty definitive demos, and the A&R man seemed to like what he was hearing. My thoughts went right to “What would great players bring to the party?” I called Peter Cardinali a mother (you know what), of a bass player. Then I called a drummer I had heard on a live Marc Jordan recording by the name of Rick Gratton. It was his steadiness and deep sense of groove coupled with a unique feel for rhythm that caught my ear. Then there was the magic of the great Bill Dylan’s compositional style of playing that I knew would harmonically help these songs bloom like no one else could do. He had done some great work for me on Levity and I knew he would totally understand where these new songs were coming from.
The technical icing on the cake was an engineer by the name of Paul Devilliers. I had met Paul at his studio in LA while I was down there for one thing or another. Paul is a world-class, master recordist. His skills transcended engineering. I had loved the sound of his work on the big Mister Mister recordings of Broken Wings and Kyrie. As I was going to be on the other side of the control room glass playing guitar, I asked my good friend Tim Tickner to co- produce. Tim, a brilliant non-conformist kind of musician/writer, would ride our asses if we didn’t do our best to avoid anything resembling the familiar or cliche. Everyone seemed to joyfully sign onto the project and convened in my barn studio in Winona for what was supposed to be a new Ian Thomas Album.
It soon became obvious to all of us that this collection of players had a unique sound. We had all “been there and done that”, but this collective had a sound. The first song out of the gates was “Love You Too Much”. It was so unique and Rick’s drumming was so free of any drum machine like tethers, that the song ended up miles away from the slick demo I had recorded. I called a recess as I was not sure of what I was hearing. I needed to reset myself to see beyond my demo and let this band’s personality live. The demo was a tightly produced sound, while this first band-track was free and played with such joyous abandon. That weekend, I listened over and over until … I got it. I heard what everyone else in the room had recognized immediately. The demo had taken me a few days to record and I needed to untether myself from it. The sound of this band’s version was fresh, unique and magnified both the lyric and the root guitar part from my Tennessean like a sonic lens. Peter’s bass was sparse and had an octave divider that gave it a unique tone and depth, Bill’s solo was live off the floor like my own guitar part.
Tim had encouraged Rick to let go of the neural paths carved from years of session work, where most producers basically wanted a drummer to sound like a machine. Rick’s tracks were full of a technical yet natural finesse he possessed, like a handful of exceptional drummers in world. And so, after a weekend of educating my ears and pulling away from the sterility of the demos - The Boomers were born. The demoes and my Tennessean set the mood and the game became – Beat the Demo.
Why The Boomers? Well, we were all baby boomers, not trying to look younger, or appeal to any particular demographic. And … this is why we called the album What We Do. The album truly was - what we do when- assembled. The first Canadian review read, “The Boomers are nothing but Ian Thomas with a bunch of sidemen.” The first German review however read. “What an unusual marriage of players from so many different walks who together form this amazing band whose sum exceeds the individual players.” The latter was how it honestly felt to all of us. Maybe Germany’s take on the album was because they hadn’t been so exposed to me over nearly a couple of decades as the Ghost of Can Con. Who knows? The Boomers felt and sounded simply wonderful to our ears.
How the album came to be picked up by Warner’s Germany was also unabashed. The manager of the WOM (World of Music) record store in Munich imported a few copies and through in store play, they flew out the door on day one. By continuing to import larger and larger orders from Warners Canada, he had sold around 5 or 6 thousand records in three or four weeks. Warners Germany released the album after a review suggested the president of Warners Germany should be “selling socks” if he didn’t see fit to put it out. Love Ya Too Much got play all over Europe as did, it seemed, most of the entire album. The concerts, live TV and radio concerts we played in Germany were remarkable, with audiences who knew every word of every song and didn’t think these old dudes were too passe.
Yet another magical little wrinkle happened. One Little Word, the first song to fall out of that old Tennessean, was never released as a single, but for some reason it was played night and day to saturation status in Estonia. Wow, this little song from my Tennessean, recorded and mixed in my barn in Winona resonated with people half-way around the world. I was more than moved when my Ann, my neighbour in Winona, asked me if she could bring her visiting relative from Estonia over to meet me, as she was quite beside herself to actually meet the person who wrote and sang the song that meant so much to her. When they arrived, I soon found myself hugging a trembling stranger whose soul had been touched by that little song.
I remember thinking initially that I had paid too much money for that Tennessean. But really, “How does one put a price on one’s own resurrection and redemption?” Those words are dramatic for sure, but the metaphor works. Funny, but I believe David Moyles knew there was something about that old guitar too. He tried unsuccessfully to buy it back from me a few times in later years. I pulled the guitar down from the wall just before I went to British Columbia on tour with Lunch At Allen's in June 2025. I tuned it up and … I’ll be damned if there isn’t something in there wanting to come out.
The joy of writing for me remains in the discovery of words and music. I am now confident I will write until I die. My songs have always felt like the result of my subconscious processing life. Over a period of time, a pressure builds that that seeks release. I guess that is why many of my songs mean so much to me and remain a creative joy to this day. And yup, some people might like ‘em, some might hate them and most folks could care less one way or the other. Of course, nature has made a diverse lot with this species. I sure do love finding them and releasing them into the air.
So … here I am coming up on 75, a husband, father and grandfather … amazed at these people who fill my chest with so much love beyond their ken. I am a lucky bu**er to have a further layer of some pretty dear friends who enrich my life with their presence. Then there are these people around the globe for whom my songs have some worth and resonance. These are all such unbelievable and joyous circumstances. As my father said to me on many occasions, in his lovely Welsh accent,” Ian me boy, you were born under a lucky star you were!”
From all of this love and well-being, my soul is stimulated and bubbling with new life in the form ideas, a couple of new novels, an autobiography in the works and of course … my passion will find some songs that are starting to float around. The world owes me nothing. Mine has been a blessed life. I live in a state of such profound gratitude. My parents started the ball rolling by emigrating Great Britain to this wonderful country called Canada, a land of such promise, beauty and moderation. Catherine and I chose to raise our family in this place that has been as good to us, as it was to our parents.
Oh Canada, indeed or should I say, Oh my … Canada, let’s pause for a moment of everyday and thank you for what you represent. A magical cultural mosaic. Oh my … Canada, we must, all of us never take you for granted and must consciously continue to “stand on guard for thee”. Oh my Canada, look at your inclusive moderation and the wonderful life you represent and provide us with. Oh Canada, you truly are a blessing and a big part of the well-being that stimulates me to write and sing songs. As I write this little missive, the wind is blowing across a northern lake through the fir trees at our cottage.
Oh Canada, we are so grateful to be here. I am one lucky bu**er.
