The anticipation grew as you exited the Osgood subway station and climbed the well-worn steps to Queen Street West. The excitement of a Friday night full of fun and adventure was tangible. The first blast of high-energy occurred a hundred yards west of the subway, outside the television station CityTV/MuchMusic; young people gathered around its big store-front windows like believers at a weekend sermon to witness the dance show Electric Circus. They hoped to catch a glimpse of the attractive host Monika Deol, or the regular dancers, who were almost as famous as the DJs and performers who appeared on the show. There would be screams of excitement once someone partially famous was apparently spied. Once the show started the over-sized windows would be opened like a garage door and the Electric Circus deliberately spilled over to the sidewalk. For the casual observer, and those in the know, it was best to cross to the other side of Queen rather than be caught up in teenage exuberance.

     For those that regularly visited Queen Street West for the night life there was a routine of places to visit before you made your way to your final destination: one of the live venues on the strip, or the dance clubs just a couple of blocks south. Black Market second-hand clothes, Kops Records, HMV music, Silver Snail Comics, plus head shops, crystal boutiques, and numerous eateries kept the crowds busy before they made their way to one of the many venues in what had now officially been named Toronto’s Entertainment District. The clubs included the Bamboo, the Rivoli, Chicago’s, and the Legendary Horseshoe at the corner of Queen and Spadina. That was where Chris Baker was headed. Tiny, the muscular bouncer at the entrance to the bar, nodded acknowledgement to the young band manager as he strode confidently into the long smoky interior. Various regulars nodded to him as he made his way to the back of the Horseshoe and the compact stage area. He made his way down to the basement and the band’s dressing room – a tiny, space that had seen everyone from Hank Williams to Stompin’ Tom Connors.

     “Hold your receptacles high. Here comes the good stuff!”

     Shane Wood’s band mates responded loudly with an enthusiastic “yea”, and a generous amount of Rocket 88 amber whisky poured into their plastic cups. The booze was the number one item on their backstage rider. Usually they waited till after a gig to open the bottle, but not tonight.

     “Don’t drink it yet, guys. We have to have our trusty manager in on this.”  Shane, with a flick of his head, beckoned Chris Baker, who was lingering in half-light at the back of the cramped dressing room, to join the ecstatic group. As Chris entered the circle someone thrust a cup into his hands and Shane sloppily poured whisky into it. 

     “To our band, Point of Honour, to Mr. Baker who is just about to cook us up a deal, and to rock’n’roll. Cheers!”

      They downed the booze in a single shot, except Chris who hesitated.

     “The deal’s not done yet, guys. But we are close,” advised their manager.

     “You’ll close the deal, Chris. We know you will…pre-paid flight to New York…what does that tell you?” responded Shane with a hint of bravado in his husky voice. The other four band members nodded in agreement like bobble heads. Chris, still reticent, had to agree, and downed his whiskey quickly in celebration of the impending recording contract.

      A knock at the dressing room door; their roadie leaned in and stated “Five minutes guys”. The group’s attention then switched to the moment at hand. Guitars were pulled from their open black cases, drum sticks were nervously rat-tat-tatted on the brick wall, the rustle of last minute clothes adjustments were heard, the fizz of hairspray, and then each musician, especially Shane, checked their visual in the smoky, veined mirror as thousands of musicians had done previously.

     “Break a leg,” said Chris as he trailed them out of the door and followed them through the half-darkness to the side of the stage, their path painted by their roadie’s flashlight beam.

    Chris introduced them: “Ladies and Gentleman. Show some love for Toronto’s hometown heroes – Point of Honour!” The crowd of three hundred fans inside the night club cheered loudly.  To the instrumental theme of “Ghost Riders in the Sky” the band members, all except Shane, who remained side stage, walked slowly on to the performance area. With a nod from the band leader, bass player Jimmy Leeds, signifying that all members were ready to go, Shane strode to center stage, his long black civil war styled coat trailing like a set of wings. He manhandled the microphone, screamed like a rebel before battle, and the musicians slammed into their hit song “Machine Gun Love”. The crowd made their way to the front of the stage and the manic Point of Honour live show was off and running.

     “Machine Gun Love” was one of the biggest indie hits of that past year. The video, made with a $10,000 music grant, had, against all expectations, gained heavy rotation on MuchMusic, Canada’s music video channel. That catapulted the band from $200 gigs at Toronto’s Big Bop, to headliners at mid-size clubs such as this one. The song had even been included on the Big Hits of ’98 compilation. Over a million copies of the compact disc had sold in Canada alone earning the band an unbelievable amount of money: $100,000 – more cash than any of them had ever seen. After Chris’s 15% slice, there was enough to help the band pay rent, buy new gear, and start recording new demos at the legendary Metalworks studio in the city’s suburbs. It was those demos that, six months later, had garnered the attention of an A& R executive at Sony Music in New York. That was the next stop on this exciting ride.                   

New York

There was a man holding aloft a small white sign with “Point of Honour” written on it in black marker when Chris emerged from the baggage area at La Guardia.

      “That’s me,” he said to the stranger, smiling not just at the idea of a chauffeur meeting him, but that the record company had not missed this chance to publicize the band name, even though it was only at the airport arrival concourse.  The driver informed Chris that he was to take the manager to the Parker-Meridian Hotel where the label had arranged a room. The two men walked in silence as they made their way to a black limousine, the first time Chris had ever ridden in such an impressive vehicle. He felt slightly uncomfortable, not from the soft leather seats, but the extravagance of the arrangement. This most probably cost the equivalent of his weekly food bill, if not more, he thought to himself as they drove away. Chris continually looked out of the window during the Parkway drive into the city on this early sunny June day. Even the toll booth was interesting in its own way, for this was the first time he had ever been in New York. With the car continually stopping, starting, and honking its way through the busy Manhattan streets Chris had a chance to gaze up at the tall buildings that stretched up to the sky, watch the pedestrians, and absorb the traffic chaos in the heart of Manhattan. When they arrived at the posh hotel the young manager thanked the driver and made his way to reception. No, he didn’t need to have the bell-hop carry his overnight bag, he told the passively assertive individual. (Chris knew he needed to save that extra couple of bucks.) The hotel was beautiful and expensive, but luckily the label had pre-paid for the room, and the clerk just asked for a credit card imprint to cover incidentals. Chris had a sense of relief when his almost maxed-out VISA cleared with no problem. The hotel elevator delivered him to the quiet corridor of the eighth floor and Chris found his room. Once inside he did a back flip on to the soft and comfy bed, untied and kicked off his Doc Martin boots, placed his hands behind his head, and with a smile on his face, enjoyed the moment of pure luxury. If only the band could see him now – or maybe not, he thought slyly. This was a whole lot better than his basement apartment in the Toronto Annex that also doubled as his music management office.                                                             

     His appointment with Jody Snapes, vice president for Allied Record, a Sony Music imprint that specialized in hard rock, was due in about one hour. After brushing his teeth, Chris made sure he had the entire necessary bumph in his leather satchel about Point of Honour (updated bio, press clippings, photos, etc.), plus another CD copy of the freshly minted three song demo. He checked the handy laminated Manhattan pocket map and plotted his walking route to the Sony building. The hotel lobby had a back entrance that emerged close to the famous Russian Tea Room and Chris promised himself to visit it, but meanwhile he had music on his mind not high-priced coffee. Cars honked, street peddlers hustled, lights flashed, shouts were heard, sunlight played peek-a-boo behind the skyscrapers, and the buzz of energy filled the Manhattan air as he strode to 550 Madison.        

     The bright lobby area of the Sony building doubled as a tourist spot, many of the people there were tourists with cameras constantly clicking as they posed for pictures in front of the big SONY logo. It was a place that you could sit, watch, or shop at the Sony store. Chris checked in at the security desk, giving all the details of his meeting. Yes, his name was on the list, and the guard telephoned Jody Snapes’s office. He was then asked to sign in, given a “GUEST” sticker, which he had to adhere to his clothing, and told  to wait in the busy lobby till someone came to meet him. After five minutes a hip young woman, who would not look out of place behind a record store counter, arrived and escorted him to the elevators, and then on to the Allied offices on the upper floors. The young woman made small talk as they walked through the busy open concept space to reach the A&R area, then pointed to an open office door, and told him to go on in.

     “Great to meet you, Chris,” said Jody Snapes as he rose up from behind his busy desk to shake hands. The office was cluttered with all kinds of paraphernalia marked with numerous musical artists’ names: CDs, posters, promotional items such as T-shirts, beer mugs, badges, and kid’s toys.

     “Good to meet you, too.” Chris then sat down on a brown leather couch by the window in one corner room of the room, after placing cardboard boxes of new CDs on the floor that had taken up residency at one end.

     “Sorry about the mess,” said Jody. That comment put Chris at ease, realizing that he was in a music lover’s work space, rather than an executive’s business office.  

     After small talk the A&R man placed the Point of Honour demo on the CD player, pressed play, turned up the volume, walked over to the office door, closed it, and then returned to his chair behind the desk as the first guitar chords were heard. As the two listened Jody occasionally shouted out comments: “love that vocal line…maybe more drums here…chorus could be stronger.” Chris responded with various shouted answers – hardly audible above the hard rock volume. The desk phone kept ringing, but Jody ignored it, giving his full attention to the music which Chris appreciated. However, Jody continued to look at his computer screen as there appeared to be a flurry of emails in-coming. The executive responded to a couple of messages, smiling as he did so. After the three songs were finished silence returned to the office and the two men lowered their voices to converse. Just as they were about to get into a serious conversation about possibly signing the band Jody’s phone rang once again.

     “Sorry, Chris, I gotta take this; seems someone is dying to get a hold of me.” And with that apology Jody picked up the phone. “Jody speaking…what?…no way…you’re kidding me…fuck…that’s amazing…thanks for letting me know.”

     He hung up. Jody’s face had a smile of charming disbelief. He turned to Chris and said: “The fucking Backstreet Boys just sold one million copies of Millennium in their first week of release. Unbelievable. The crew at BMG must be heading over to the bar for a lunch time celebratory drink”

     “Bloody boy bands,” replied Chris shaking his head.

     “The Titanic soundtrack just about bank rolled this whole company last year. Imagine what the Backstreet Boys are going to do for Zomba Records!”

     “Is that what all that email activity was about?”

     “No, that what something different, but just as exciting. There’s a bunch of us in the building who have bought into tech stocks and they are going boom. We’ve got a bet on to all become millionaires by the new millennium.” Jody chuckled.  He looked at Chris and realized the young manager didn’t register stock market references.  “Ok this is what I want to do,” Jody said bringing the subject back on musical track. “I’m going to take the demo into my weekly A&R meeting. I’m going to recommend that we sign you. But what I do know is that the president of the label will want to come and check you out himself. You cool with that?”

     “Of course,” Chris said enthusiastically.

     “You’ll need a special gig; something that reflects well on the band. Think of a good showcase event. I’ll think of one too. Go back to Toronto. Tell the guys we are interested. And please don’t approach any other label…at least not for two weeks. Give me that – and I’ll give you an answer. That cool?”

    “You bet.”

     “Ok. Now that’s over, what you doing tonight your first night in New York? Nothing planned? OK, I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven. We are going to have dinner at Nocturne in the village and then after there’s a show at one of the nearby venues by an English group we’ve signed. None of us have ever seen them, so we’ll make up mind about another Brit invader. Apparently they sound like Oasis.”

     Just what we need another fucking Brit band, but Chris kept that thought to himself. The two men shook hands and the young manager made his way back through the office labyrinth. In the elevator down to the Sony lobby he could not help but feel excited by the potential for what may be. As he walked along Madison Avenue he called Shane on his new mobile phone and told the lead singer the potential good news. Things were going to change from here on in they both agreed.

(to be continued)