I was born in St. Catharines, Ontario in 1953 and christened Julia Kathleen Fear a few months later. There were already two boys at home when I arrived, and another boy followed me six years later. The first photo below is me with my brother Sandy, circa 1959. Sandy's been gone since 1991 so I have outlived him by 23 years now. Note the hole in my right sock. I was not then, and am not now, a person who is overly concerned with my appearance. I'm more of a WYSIWYG gal. I did love fishing though. It was so exciting to hook one of those lively little creatures. It always made my heart race.
My first "boyfriend" came into my life when I was 7-ish. We were both students at Norman Ingram Memorial School in Don Mills. Though we went our separate ways after elementary school, it turns out he also had a life-long love affair with writing, music and fishing. His name was Paul Quarrington and before he died a few years ago he won a little thing called the Stephen Leacock award, among others.
Six years after this photo was taken I begged for, and got, my first guitar -- a pretty little Harmony folk model. I used to sit on my bed and smell it before I started playing. It had such a beautiful, sweet, exotic woodsy smell. After taking classical music lessons for a year, I quit, telling my parents I just wanted to play songs like Peter, Paul and Mary. I took the chords I'd learned at lessons and began applying them, by ear, to the songs I loved. Within a year I was inviting girls home to my place after school, not so we could play with dolls, but so I could teach them to sing harmony with me.
I made my first recording at the CBC studios when I was 12. The father of one of my harmony singers was a guy who knew a producer there. I remember sitting in the studio with a gigantic microphone in front of me. I sang the two songs I had written and my friend sang the harmonies I had taught her. I remember thinking that this was possibly the most exciting moment of my life. My parents, however, were less than enthusiastic. When the man brought a big tape deck to our house and played the tapes for them, they thanked him for his trouble but let him know they didn't think he should be getting my hopes up. So that was that.
My first attempts at performing songs in front of other people happened at Don Mills Collegiate in Toronto. As I recall it went okay, though I was so scared my memory of the event may be foggy. I think I sang a Beatles song. Also in the lineup was a guy named Ken Whiteley. I remember thinking he and the friend who sang with him were sort of oddballs because they played very old-fashioned songs from an era that pre-dated my parents. Ken is still singing those songs today, of course, and has made a wonderful career of it.
At 17, I decided I needed to improve on my basic guitar-playing skills so I enrolled in lessons at the Toronto Folklore Centre on Avenue Road. David Wilcox of the Teddy Bears worked there at the time. That summer the Mariposa Folk Festival was on Toronto Island. The talent there that year was Neil Young, Joan Baez, Bruce Cockburn and Joni Mitchell, just for starters. I went with a homesick young banjo player named Paul Hornbeck from the Folklore Centre. (I recently re-connected with Paul on Facebook. He's alive and well and teaches banjo at the Ottawa Folklore Centre). He was probably 19 then. I understood he was a draft-dodger who had come to Toronto to avoid fighting in the Vietnam war. I didn't blame him. While we sat at the foot of a tree on the island getting to know each other better, a woman walked up to us carrying a guitar. We looked up and it was Joni Mitchell. She asked us if we would watch her guitar for her while she got something to eat, which we gladly did. I felt again as though I had been touched by the hand of God, or at least one of his angels.
My teacher at the Folklore Centre was a guy named Bernie Jaffe, a gentle soul with an intimidating black beard. He taught me how to Travis pick and how to play, in particular, two songs: "Freight Train" and "Don't Think Twice, It's Allright". I practiced like mad, and even though I was playing a twelve-string at the time, I managed to master it pretty quickly. Just like me to do things bass-ackwards. One day he said to me, "There's not really anything else I can teach you." So we parted ways.
A few months later I heard a radio advertisement for something called Summersounds. It was a government-sponsored initiative that invited kids from across Ontario to audition. The goal was to assemble a cast of talented young people to travel around the province for the summer entertaining in small communities. My father drove me to the try-outs and I sang one of my own songs for the director, David Walden. (I am forced now to mention that the funny, gentle David was one of the most beautiful human beings I have ever been blessed to know. He passed away suddenly in Duncan, B.C. in 2009 and is much missed by the music community there and elsewhere.)
When I got the call a week or so later it was another of those "touched by an angel" moments. I spent all that summer doing nothing but playing, singing, partying, writing, and working with an amazing bunch of kids. One of them was Douglas John Cameron, who is now a brilliant all-round musician in Toronto. He had a hit song in the 70s called "Mona with the Children". The youngest member was Lisa Dalbello, who was 12 at the time and had the most incredible low alto voice packed into a waif-like body. She has since made a successful career as a solo singer who does lots of commercial work. Another member was Johanna Vanderkley. With her beautiful husky voice she has continued to work in the business in Toronto.
At the end of that summer I traded my twelve-string for Douglas's Goya classical. Then, instead of following up on the momentum of Summersounds, I did the opposite. I got out of town. I packed a knapsack and my guitar and went to Europe. After travelling around a while I ended up living with a French family in Paris. I was there 6 months and by the time I left I was completely bilingual. My adventure ended in Ibiza when I ran out of money and was eating so poorly I started having fainting spells. It was time to go home. (Here's another one of those crazy coincidences: When I was riding the overnight ferry from Barcelona to Ibiza someone seated behind me tapped me on the shoulder. "Were you in a travelling group that performed in Thunder Bay this summer?" They had seen me in Summersounds!)
I was back living with my parents in Toronto again and feeling restless. When I told my dad I needed a better guitar if I wanted to pursue my music career, he went with me to Long & McQuade. We traded in the Goya and I walked out with a gorgeous Martin D35 with an unique satin finish. I also got my first car and started working as an air terminal hostess at Toronto Airport where again, through a crazy bunch of serendipitous events, I ended up meeting a slew of celebrities.
One of them was an A&R guy from Warner Brothers named Bob Kroll. He was at the airport to pick up George Carlin and was the first man I knew who regularly wore patchouli oil. He was shooting the breeze with me while he waited, and then brought George over to meet me after the plane arrived. He asked if I'd like to go to the show that night at the O'Keefe Centre (now the Hummingbird Centre). My A&R guy took me behind stage where I met the opening act: David Blue and Kenny Rankin.
After Carlin's show we went on to the Riverboat in "The Village", where John Prine was performing. After that we went back to Bernie Fiedler's apartment where I was introduced to John and to Murray McLaughlan. At one point I timidly asked the shy Prine if I could play his guitar and when I picked it up and started playing, he declared, "You play that thang better'n ah do". Bernie Finkelstein, hearing me sing, asked me to make him a demo. I was 18 and living at home, working at the airport full-time. I barely knew what a demo was so that never happened.
I did meet a few more interesting people that year, though. I was invited back to the Riverboat when Jackson Browne was playing and then saw him at the airport with his entourage. His sideman David Lindley and his road manager took me out for coffee and a muffin while they waited for their flight. Of course I would much rather have been making music with them than kibitzing, but you have to take what you can get sometimes. And lacking any sense of the true import of these contacts, I allowed them to slip away.
In 1972 I met a very funny guy from California named Andrew Meyer who worked for A&M Records and had just authored a book about concert promotion called "Dancing on the Seats". He asked me for a date and requested I take him somewhere "cultural" that was typically Canadian. He picked me up at my parent's house and we drove to the McMichael Gallery north of the city to look at Group of Seven paintings. I told him about my wish to become a singer-songwriter and he responded by inviting me to come back to L.A. with him. He would pay my airfare and give me a place to stay. All I had to do was pack my bag and my guitar and say goodbye to my family and friends. That was probably the watershed moment in my life. I just couldn't do it. I thanked him and let him go. Later he sent me a card in which he had written: "Dreams only become reality through will and a concerted effort to do so." He was right, of course. (Interestingly, this is the basic premise of my Weaverworld children's fantasy book series.)
One of the friends I couldn't leave behind was a young tradesman with blue eyes, high cheekbones and long blond hair. His name was Alan Kovacsik. His mother was Russian and his dad was a Canadian with Hungarian-Czechoslovakian lineage. I moved in with him a month later. We married when I was 20 and our baby boy, Ryan, was born 10 months later. The marriage broke up less than a year after that and then I was a single mom raising my son while trying to get my degree part-time at the University of Guelph. When the financial pressures got too great I was forced to drop out, three credits short of my B.A.
Despite the chaos, I was still performing my original songs on a regular basis, mainly at the university. One day after a noon-hour gig I was approached by a girl who complimented me on my singing and the fact that I wrote my own songs and dressed in such a "natural" manner, ie. jeans and flannel shirt. While I branched out and briefly became the lead singer for a blues band called "Lucky Dog", this girl started performing in a duo called "Java Jive", Turned out her name was Jane Stewart, later to become famous as Jane Siberry.
One of my good friends in those days was Doug Feaver, who initially drew my attention on campus because of his uncanny resemblance to Neil Young. He was also a singing guitar player, so it wasn't long before we started performing as a duo. "Feaver & Fear" did several gigs, including one as the opening act for fiddling maestro Vassar Clements and guitar legend Tony Rice. We eventually joined up with some other musicians and formed a country-rock band called "Studebaker Hawk and the Big Orange". We had a great time in that band, but like most things in those days, it didn't last. Doug now lives in Hamilton, Ontario and with his multi-instrumentalist approach performs just about every week there. He also produced a CD for his band, "Scantily Plaid".
 |
| "Feaver & Fear" circa 1975 (with Doug Feaver) |
 |
| Studebaker Hawk & The Big Orange (yours truly untangling the cord up front) |
After the country-rock band, I started playing with a group of rabid bluegrass enthusiasts. Another of my friends at the time, Dave Hadler, was notable among them because of his proficiency on guitar and mandolin. While I wandered back to my folk roots, Dave went on to form a bluegrass band that won first prize in the "new band" category at the Carlisle Bluegrass Festival circa 1978.
The roller coaster continued and I married again in 1979. He was a poet from Toronto. Despite the fact that our marriage was over before the ink dried on the certificate, he was the one who encouraged me to move back to the city where he introduced me to Fat Albert's, the famous coffee house where so many great songwriters got their start. We broke up shortly after and that's when I really started writing songs again. There was certainly no shortage of material.
The next photo is a promo shot taken in the mid 80s by Laurance Acland, a photographer who was a regular contributor at NOW Magazine. I was doing occasional gigs around the city by then, while working at NOW selling ads. Hawking ad space was not my forté, as they say. After considerable reflection, I quit and went to work at the Toronto Humane Society. The goal was to get in touch with my animal self, ie. gut feelings, as my intellectual self was making some less-than-stellar decisions in those days.
Discouraged by my inability to draw an audience as a solo performer, I decided to form a band. I found a bass player, a drummer and a lead guitar player willing to work with me, and we got gigs at places like the Silver Dollar. My heart wasn't in it though. I felt like I was trying to be someone I'm not -- as though I had strayed too far from my roots. I went back to solo work, but after an appearance on Global TV's "News at Noon" show, accompanied by my drummer friend Kid Carson, I played at the Groaning Board and hardly anybody showed up. Eventually I packed it all in and moved to Montreal. It was time to plow new fields.
It was the early 1990s, and I was working full-time as an investment sales rep at a bank, playing the Yellow Door Coffee House when I could and keeping up with writing. When my company merged with another bank, I volunteered to be laid off and went to China for six weeks. When I came back I enrolled in a graphic arts program and eventually met the man who became my third husband. Settled into a calmer routine, I went to work full-time as a graphic designer. At night I went to school to get my English Literature degree, graduating with Honours in 1998. By then Ryan was 20 years old.
By early 2000 I was starting to connect with other songwriters again. I met Rob Lutes and we had some good conversations about writing. With renewed vigor, I started to put together a group of songs with a view to making a CD. Through a fortuitous turn of events, I met a guy from Boston named Steven Barry who had recently married a Montrealer. Before moving to the city he had worked as the touring soundman for Martin Sexton. In 2003 he brought his portastudio to our chalet in the woods in the Eastern Townships and recorded my CD "Love & Fear".
Life has been very good for many years now. So much so that I have been able to write two books and, in 2012, recorded a second set of original songs called "Life Stories". My old friend Douglas John Cameron gave the project his love and support and together we put out a record of which I continue to be extremely proud. I told myself when it was done that if it was my last, I would have no regrets.
I turn 61 in a few days. Cowabunga. Never imagined I would make it this far. With all the scrapes I've been through I consider it a miracle. The truth is, the angels have been with me the whole time. Those are the ones I'm singing about in the song "Angels in Her Pockets".
In the final photo below, you'll see me as I look today. I was singing on Dec. 9, 2013 at Hugh's Room in Toronto with friends Meg Tennant (right) and Laura Robinson (left). We were part of a lineup of singers, songwriters and poets paying tribute to Sam Larkin, one of those amazing songwriters I befriended during my Fat Albert's days. Meg and Laura were part of that same group, so it was a joy to be able to perform with them again.
It has been (dare I say it) 50 years since my parents caved in and bought me that Harmony. Such a wondrous thing to think that a love affair with a little guitar could take me so far. I have a couple of guitars now: a Taylor 312-CE that sounds beautiful and also smells divine, and for kicking around and travelling, a Martin LX "Little Martin" that doesn't smell of anything at all but is very nice to hold.
This is my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Love, Julia
P.S. For those who may be wondering how my last name became "Rohan", I will explain. Though the name "Fear" is unique, it has definite negative connotations. In 1988, I was thinking about changing it and happened to be reading the Doris Lessing novel "Shikasta". If you ever read the book, you will find the word "Rohanda" there. I took that name, along with its meaning, and shortened it slightly. I have never regretted that decision, as it has made for some very interesting conversations. JR
