Sam Larkin was a songwriter who passed away on October 28, 2013. That wasn't his real name, though. His real name was Dennis Brennan, and he was born in Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario.
We met in the early 80s when we were both regulars at Fat Albert's Coffee House. A gang of us used to drag our guitars there every Wednesday night to put our names on the sign-up sheet for the open mic. Either Ed or Ray, the two devoted volunteers who ran the place, would come around with numbers in a hat and we'd pick to see what order we'd go in. There was coffee, tea and cookies for a nominal fee.
An amazing number of excellent original songs were showcased there over the years. Those of us who considered ourselves writers used our appearances as an opportunity to hone our material. Others used it as an opportunity to overcome stage fright, or just to prove they could do it. Some showed up once and did their thing never to be seen again. Others came week after week, month after month, year after year. Sam Larkin was one of those.
Sam was the most profilic songwriter I've ever known. His songs (which you can hear on SoundCloud) have an amazing consistency of feel. Whether he's singing a simple love song, or a complicated crime story, or a rollicking romp through his imagination, each one has the "Sam" stamp on it. He plays guitar with a rolling rhythm, plays harmonica like he's singing through it, and sings with a looseness that is deceptive because in fact he has amazing range and the ability to sing trills and nuances that are stunning in their beauty. There is syncopation aplenty, and dramatic dynamics. And when you hear his live radio recordings, there is an endless stream of goofy commentary, like he's constantly trying to downplay his own brilliance and just be one of the folks. He was careful what he said most of the time, though, and tried not to cut those who couldn't take it. Like all good artists he hated ignorance and injustice.
On December 9, 2013 there was a Tribute Concert to Sam at Hugh's Room that included a whole host of Toronto-based singers, musicians and poets. Though I no longer live in Toronto, I was honoured to be invited to be part of the program and to pay my respects by singing a few of his songs.
It hurts me to admit that we had fallen out of contact in the last year or so before he died. Apparently he was very sick and didn't really tell too many people, so only the closest to him knew. While I went about my life blithely thinking that he was hale and hearty and writing songs by the fistful, he was actually wasting away from liver disease and related ailments. When I found out, I was sad but also angry that he didn't let me know something serious was up. I would have gone to see him, held his hand, let him know how much I cared. I take comfort in the knowledge that up until he could no longer communicate with me, we had a series of very silly chats on Facebook that made me laugh out loud, usually to do with rogue raccoons. I also sent him my 2012 CD, though I understand he had become profoundly deaf by then and was having difficulty coping with hearing aids. I hope he liked the cover picture at least.
It's been two months now since he passed away, and though he's gone I feel Sam's presence in the friendships I either made or renewed at the tribute concert. I guess everyone there felt the same way. "Any friend of Sam's is a friend of mine." And in some strange way, I feel his energy moving around me, goading me to write songs, pushing me toward my creative self, encouraging me to engage with the muse. He was 69 when he died, but he was still a young man. I attribute this to the fact that he never lost touch with the essential. Everything he wrote and everything he sang was about love -- about how it hurts us, or lifts us, or confuses us, or traps us in untenable situations, or creates us anew. There is nothing better one can do with one's life.
Watch Sam playing his best-known song, "Mirabeau Bridge" by clicking on the link below.
http://youtu.be/QwYFrxm0esY
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