 "Ron Dann Told Me So"
by Wray Ellis
"I have a plan. I want you to play your bass and I will give you money." There was no trace of a smile on his face, until I tried to answer. "Of course!", I stammered - realizing that I had passed the audition. After exchanging phone numbers, he began a non-stop barrage of the funniest stories I'd ever heard. Tears were streaming down my face and I was helpless with laughter when without warning, he turned and left. That was my first contact with Ron Dann.
From that point on, I regularly got called to be in shows that Ron was putting together. It was not uncommon to hear this message on my answering machine: "I have a plan...Play your bass and I will give you money." That was always good enough for me. Just to be on the same stage with the players he chose was a thrill. His music charts and arrangements were flawless. When we would go on tour, his relentless sense of humour kept tensions down. And having dinner with Ron was an adventure. You could expect to have an extremely expensive dinner and wine - dry, red and plentiful.
The last thing I recall clearly about one particular night began with his trademark "I have a plan", he said pointing to the evening sky. From that moment on, we were on a crazy roller coaster ride from one of the finest restaurants in Toronto onto a succession of nightclubs, each welcoming us like celebrities. The wine flowed. The beer spilled. After a few hours of this, I had surpassed my limit. Bidding goodnight and stumbling toward the subway, I looked back and saw Ron sitting near the stage happily holding court over the eager musicians who had called intermission on our arrival.
We spoke frequently over the ensuing years as I struggled with a fledgling recording career, failed romance woes and the decision to go back to college and become a writer. He was the soul of wisdom and objectivity. Never judgmental. Ron had a way of restating problems in such a way that the solution became clear. These sessions, although intense learning experiences, would be laced with the driest wit and funniest lines. I couldn't wait to call him after hearing a story or joke that I knew he would appreciate.
I was flattered when Ron asked me to house-sit while he and Linda vacationed on the east coast. For two weeks, I had use of the house, the car, his home studio. His record collection kept me busy for hours at a time. I played his British comedy videos until late in the night. I fought it as long as I could but I had to see who was in Ron's Rolodex. All the big names were sure to be there since he'd worked with them all. Carefully, I started flipping through the cards. It was a who's who of the music industry. Addresses and home numbers of the stars. There, with Tyson, Lightfoot and Murray...was me! I was in the same file as Canada's biggest stars. When I read the note penciled on my card "Bassist / Singer"... Good God, I thought. Could he possibly know how much that means to me?
Here's a man never at a loss for a joke or a sympathetic ear. Here's a man who could take the most chaotic jazz lines, or life's biggest hurdles, and simplify them down to their most basic form.
My first attempts at writing were feeble but whatever I wrote, he read - always encouraging me. But, the most important lesson he taught me was how to deal with the ups and downs that go with living. Don't take things too seriously. Enjoy life while you can because it's short. Too short. And no matter what gets in your way, don't worry. You never know what opportunity is just around the next corner. I know it's true because Ron Dann told me so...every time he said, "I have a plan".
-30-
(Originally published in Steel Guitar Magazine)
I'm pleased to add the following from another friend of Ron's...
"I Was Ron Dann For A Day!"
By Chuck Micallef
The other morning I found a newspaper article on the floor dating way back to my college days. It was a write up about a Concert that I performed in the concourse of the college. How did that get there I wondered? Then I read the line-up of the band members and sat down to write.
In the late part of 1979 I was embarking on a path of Musical Education. Up to that point I had only busked music, learning everything by ear with no concept of how music took its form and how to break it down.
I had wandered from job to job always wanting to take on a music career but never getting to first base. So I decided that it was time to take a disciplined path and got accepted onto the Humber College Music Programme. Being a music course that revolved around Jazz, it certainly seemed like an unusual environment for a Country Folk Singer/Songwriter such as myself. But after a while I found that I wasn’t the only one there into Country Music.
As I walked through the halls one day, I happened to see this fellow dismantling an instrument and putting it into its case before stowing it away in his locker. Frankly I was a little stunned. I couldn’t help myself; I casually walked up to him and asked, “Is that a pedal steel?” He looked at me with a grin that once seen is always remembered, and he simply said, “Yes.” At that point, as I was putting together a band for my Student Concert, I asked if he would be interested in playing and so it was agreed that he would.
A chance meeting developed into a great Friendship over the years but I still remember that first five-minute conversation when I met Ron Dann.
The day of the performance arrived and as everyone had rehearsed a number of times over the weeks, we had a pretty good time playing for the student body. At the end of it all, the bass player David Antonacci invited me outside to partake in the favourite pastime of most college students as a celebration. On my return, a lone figure was sitting stage side. That’s when Ron taught me my first lesson of being a bandleader: You must always take care of business. The music department had lent us a keyboard but when the keyboard player had sat down before the concert, she found that she did not have the correct patch cable for that particular model. Enter keyboard number two. So here after all the crowd had disappeared along with all the sidemen, bar one, I am faced with a responsibility that I was not even aware of. Both keyboards had to be transported up two long flights of stairs back to the Music Department. Ron gave me a hand and I was very grateful.
I decided to put together a demo tape and asked Ron for his help and expertise. He gathered together a bass player and drummer, my choice for guitar was Anthony Vanderburgh and off we went to Wellesley Street Studios with music charts in hand. That was the first of many sessions that I shared with Ron. At the start of the session Ron pulled out a small reel of tape, “Don’t let me forget to dub this onto cassette.”
Our three-hour session went by all too quickly. Everyone happy with the tracks, packed up and left. Ron being the last to go I suddenly remembered the tape. “Did you get the dub done?” I asked. He looked at me with an expression that said a thousand thank yous, asked the taxi driver to wait, then got the job done. Although Ron is known for his wit and charm, sometimes he was a fellow of very few words when he wanted to make a poignant point. I enjoy the memory of that moment because for once I felt like I was given something back.
I was 23 years old then, but looking back on those days I realise how backward I was maturity wise and how patient and understanding Ron was. He never missed an opportunity to build up my low self-esteem and always found ways to help me develop musically and personally. Never condescending, always quick with a joke when the situation got too heavy or embarrassing. And in those days I was always Mr Sensitive with a capital “S”. If I felt an atmosphere within a group of people I always thought it was my fault. Ron told me that people were caught up in their own lives and the dark cloud was most often something that they were going through and had nothing to do with me. He said “Chuck, don’t sweat the small stuff.” And when I was deep in thought over that little pearl of wisdom he said with his indelible grin “Chuck, its all small stuff.” Then we laughed.
We had numerous occasions of sharing Grand Marnier together. (That’s a bottle not a glass) And then there were the Round Sound Studio Recording Sessions, with some of the top session players in Toronto.
“You pay scale, you can be sitting along side Red Shea!” Ron had told me once. It was during those sessions that I met Bob Federer, another master musician. The three of us had some incredible times in the studio together listening to music and Ron bouncing a number of one-liners of the walls.
There was this time that I dropped off some music charts and Ron introduced me to John Allan Cameron. That memory sticks out in my mind because the following Sunday I received a phone call.
“Charles? Ron Dann. I’ve got a pass to Mariposa are you free today?” Yes I was. So down to Ron’s I go to pick up the pass…it was his. Getting to the Festival gate I flash the pass and the security guard politely asked me to pull over. Coming to the car window he asked, “Are you Ron Dann?” I answered, “yes” with the best smile I could muster. He left me sitting there for five minutes, which seemed like an hour, then to my surprise he returned to my car and I was waved on.
This was an All Access Pass with Ron Dann’s name on it.
It was 1988 and Mariposa Folk Festival was in full swing. John Prine was performing that night. I had been a devout fan of John Prine for 16 years at that point in time. I nervously but with resolve made my way to the backstage gate. When I got back stage I mulled around a bit, then low and behold, I bumped into John Allan Cameron.
While we were chatting I mentioned to him that John Prine had been a hero of mine since I first heard his debut album and asked John Allan if he would do me the honour of introducing us. As luck would have it, Mr. Prine was walking close by. John Allan asked me to stand were I was and he approached him with my request. My eyes were fixed on Mr. Prine as he was looking at the ground listening to John Allan. Lifting his head he looked over at me, then with his characteristic smile, John Prine came walking over to shake my hand. It was a short conversation but one that I'll remember for along time. It was a really great moment meeting the guy who had inspired me for so many years. Thinking back, I can now see that Ron Dann had a quiet hand in all of this.
On the phone the next day I excitedly related everything that had happened. I told Ron about the security guard asking me if I was Ron Dann. Ron asked, “What did you say?” “I simply said yes,” says I.
Ron laughed and said “Good for you!”
-30-
If you have a story about Ron Dann that you would like to share, e-mail it to me and I'll add it here. Help us celebrate the memory of this talented, generous and funny man - who left us much too soon.
Wray Ellis
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