BK’s Hootenanny: A Thirteen Year Circus of Bandits
August 29, 2018:
From above a laundromat in East York, to the beautiful Longboat Hall.


We started in a tiny bar above a laundromat in East York called, “Busker Dan’s” with 10 people playing for 25. Thirteen years later, we’re playing in the beautiful “Longboat Hall” with 30 people playing in front of 250.

What a ride it’s been. A beautifully chaotic circus of sorts.
I took some time today, to reflect on all the years putting this little circus together. If you’ve never been to a Hootenanny before, performed, or in the audience. You will most certainly not understand, and that’s ok.
I was searching out an old file in my email, when I came across a lovely note sent to me from a dear person in my life. It was sent to me four years ago today, and I think it really gave me pause over many things, but especially the Hootenanny.
“I hope you take time to look back over your 29th year of life, and think about all that’s happened, all that’s changed, all that’s grown, all that’s been lost, all that’s been found; all that’s been given and taken; all the joy, all the sorrow; all the fear, all the courage; and those small pockets of peace and contentment. They’re there . Years are always full of those things, I’m pretty sure — not that I really know anything.” — August 29th, 2014
That stuck with me. It was true about that year, and very true about the last few. It’s also something I thought about the last 13 Hootenannies.
When it started, I just wanted to do something other than get drunk at a bar. I wanted to work towards something, and to do it with friends. I never really was good at individual sports or individual motivation; it’s always been easier in a collective, on a team.
I never wanted it to be exclusive, or have distance between the performers and audience members. I wanted everyone to feel a part of it. That was the only way to elevate our own amateur abilities.
If the audience was full of performers, they would be less inclined to criticize… because they’d be up next!
And I knew we weren’t going to be great, so I figured if we raised a little money for a good cause, it would give us a lot more sympathy from “the crowd”, and a lot less guilt for the performers.
Every year it grew. A new singer, a new guitar player, a new trumpeter, a new xylophonist. And we lost some people along the way, some to distance, some didn’t fit into the ethos of the Hoot, and sometimes you just lose people.
Each year a little different, each year a little harder to keep the Hooteneers somehow tied together, with all of our lives being pulled further and further apart. It’s been a battle at times, but the thread’s still there.
You rumble on. And we did that for over a decade. And now it’s time to take a break.
To most of you who have just come to the show, this may seem unnecessarily dramatic. I get it, but for some, they can appreciate the work that goes into it.
The Hootenanny show really only spans roughly two hours of time. You begin, and in a moment, it’s done. Then you’re dancing, sweaty, trying to hold onto the memories that happened only moments before.
It’s almost the saddest thing, if it wasn’t also the best thing.
It’s two hours of time that takes months of preparation.
It takes just about all I have to give to do it the way I think it deserves to be done.
It permeates my mind, sets up shop in my brain and stays there till the last refrain of “We’ve Got A Lot to be Glad For!”
Then I’m emptied, relieved, and finally relaxed. I dance better than any other time of the year. Even if the day, week, month was exhausting, I still stay up till sunrise after every Hootenanny. I want to hold onto the night as long as possible, because I’ll never feel as relaxed, and full of peace and contentment then I do then. Then the sun comes up.
The hangover comes. Physically and emotionally. It comes on hard.
And you fully take stock of how much time and energy required those two hours of time.
I’m reminded of a line from a Gord Downie Poem, “Sailboat.”
“…Where the most you can do is
spend all of your time
giving some of your time
meaning.”
I’m really proud of the memories we made over the years.
The group of wild bandits bound together by a love of music.

“When my friends get together, we sing in harmony,
We share a drink and further sink into those melodies
I won’t be coming home sir, cause home is where I am,
Sing all night, feel alright, singing while we can.”
- Jon Rae and River, “Song of Harmony” sung at the beginning of each Hootenanny since Hoot III.
To me, it’s always been about reaching for the best we got, whatever that best is. If you’re an amateur, singing once a year, sing to the back of the room, sing to make your mom proud, she may be in the crowd. If you’ve spent years practicing guitar, and you know that solo like the back of your hand, grip and rip it, close your eyes, go to that place where goose bumps are created.
If all you got is an arm to shake, hands to clap, then bring that, strap in, shake that egg like the greatness of a song depends on it, because it does.
It’s always been about everyone doing their part, big or small. Everyone is important. And if you couldn’t make it that year, fuck it, we’ll see ya next year.
Whoever was in the crowd, on the stage, behind the soundboard, behind the bar, for that night, that was the Hootenanny.
Everyone a singer, everyone a musician, everyone an audience member.
Everyone a Hooteneer.
For everyone who was ever there, I am forever grateful.
For everyone who played an instrument, sang a song, shook an egg, banged a tambourine, designed a banner, listened to me rant and rave: thank you so very very very very much. There is no Hoot without you.
Maybe it won’t be next year, but I’m sure there’ll be a next time.
And until then,
“We’ve got a lot to be glad for.”
- Rock Plaza Central… the last line of all the Hoots since Hoot III
All my love and thanks,
Your Hooteneer,
Brian

Some of my favourite pics from BK’s Hootenanny XIII




















