review

(Review by Patrick Gaul, November 15, 2005)

In the late Summer of 2005, Del Phillips is kind enough to drag my sorry backside along to one of THE RANDY DUNCAN BAND’s (in)famous Monday Night sessions at the Jam Shack. It’s just like Randy describes on the insert to his CD: a short drive along Lambert Channel (and yes, sometimes you can hear the sea lions barking or cows lowing in the field), a slight detour off of East Road, and nestled in the woods is a little angular cabin of unassuming stature. Its understatement conceals an amazing process that unfolds itself here on these Nights.

Inside there are a few chairs, a great little wood stove, a few amps and speakers, and a well-used red rug lying in the centre. The band is there, taking five between sets. I’m introduced to the guys, find a chair, and Del melts away into the band.

And then it starts.

Randy begins with one of his ethereal, flowing guitar solos, leading the way in to one of the brilliant musical excursions of this Night.

And then a funny thing happens to me.

I’m a very visual person. And when I listen to music I like to close my eyes and visualize the sound.

So this is what I do, and Randy’s playing eases me in to a world of colours and patterns like nothing I’ve ever seen. I just go with it. Soon, Tom’s underpinning rhythm takes hold, laying down the foundation. The percussion appears to me as waves, sometimes of clouds, other times sea swell that carries me willingly into the flow. It has a very real texture. Ray’s bass makes the flow meander here and there, and I begin to see faint colours – mostly muted, smoky hues; rust and indigo, deep blues and ochre. It provides a tactile feel. Randy comes forth again with one of his earthy vocals, and I see his countenance floating before this swirling deep-coloured liquid realm. Then Scotty’s guitar begins to speak; a bit halting at first, but then a transition to singing. Bright swirls of vivid, rich colours emerge, ranging across the entire spectrum, that ebb and flow with the new voice. And it becomes clear that something more is being channelled here. Whether from deep sub-consciousness or some metaphysical stratum, voices and images pour into the immediate.

And then it really gets cool.

In my mind’s eye all of these visions touch each other, mingling in a symbiosis that is far from accidental. The unity of the voices and sounds results in a finely-balanced synergy. The music speaks its own vivid language, and I can’t even begin a translation. It speaks to me at once on an auditory level – in a dialect with its own subtle lexicon – and a visceral level, driving my body to move with it.

And I simply get lost in the music.

When the tune ends and I open my eyes, it’s disorienting. It’s like being suddenly yanked from 100,000 feet and finding one’s self standing on the ground again.

That’s when I grab a beer.

Del and I have been speaking recently about a phenomenon of convergence that we’ve been caught within. This is a case in point. Sitting in a warm cabin in a beautiful temperate rain forest on an enchanted coastal island, bearing private witness to a magical concentration of many different forces and ideas, I can’t stop the awareness that I’m one lucky bastard. I have a ringside seat at a transcendent event.

It’s too bad there isn’t room for more seats.

But that’s what A MONDAY NIGHT is about.

Lose yourself within these tracks. And while you’re there – at least once – picture this dark, quiet, serene setting beneath the evergreen trees, a stone’s throw away from the Channel, where magic lives and breathes.

Thanks guys, for letting me in.

- Patrick Gaul, November 2005