Randy Bachman

by Randy Bachman's Vinyl Tap Stories

So I read through the script and it was absolutely incredible. I called the producers to say I was in and they arranged to fly me down to tape my part. They treated me like I was Tom Cruise or something—a limo at the airport, a suite at the finest hotel. A very classy organization. They treated Fred Turner the same.

  The director worked with me on how to deliver my lines. They record your vocal first, and as you do so they videotape you so that the animators can pick up on your body movements. You don’t record your part with the cast because it’s too distracting. I would have been totally gaga if the person standing beside me started talking in the voice of Homer Simpson. I later attended a table read with the entire cast and was dumbstruck. I couldn’t have done it with them present.

  The script required me to say “Hello, Springfield!” as if I was walking out onstage. So I said, “Hello, Springfield.” The director came over to me and said, “Are you playing for an audience of one person? You’re on stage, it’s a concert.”

  I tried adding a bit more force. “Hello, Springfield!”

  “Randy, there’s twenty thousand people in the audience.”

  “HELLO, SPRINGFIELD!!”

  “Perfect. Give me three more like that.”

  As the story line went, I come out and say “Hello, Springfield,” and Homer says to Bart, “Watch these guys, they’re BTO!” and Bart says, “BTO?” So Homer tells him, “Yeah, they’re Canada’s answer to ELP. We didn’t have a lot of time in the 70s so we only used initials.”

  I did all my lines alone, and when I was done they gave me a big box of Simpsons merchandise for myself and my kids and sent me on my way.

  The episode was titled Saddle Sore Galactica and aired February 6, 2000. In it, Homer Simpson’s favourite band, BTO, are performing at the Springfield bandshell and Fred and I speak to Homer.

  Just before Christmas that year I received a package by courier. It was a Christmas present from Homer Simpson with a card and a little shiny black shopping bag with a dog tag on the handle that read: “Merry Christmas, Randy Bachman, The Simpsons 1999.” Inside was a Swiss Army stopwatch with The Simpsons on the face in a beautiful leather case with the words “Merry Christmas from the Simpsons.”

  SMASHY AND NICEY

  In the early 1990s the weekly British comedy show Harry Enfield’s Television Programme featured a regular skit in which two over-the-hill deejays, Smashy and Nicey, play a newer record and then smash it, ending the skit by playing their favourite song, BTO’s “You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet.” The skit was extremely popular and Smashy and Nicey became a phenomenon. All this was unknown to me.

  I hadn’t realized how much of an icon that song had become in the U.K. until I was flying from Germany to England in the mid 90s. The British flight attendant knew I was in a band but had no idea who I was or what band I was from. So she asked who I was.

  When I said Randy Bachman, it didn’t register with her.

  “Bachman-Turner Overdrive?”

  Nothing.

  “What other bands have you been in?” she inquired.

  “The Guess Who?”

  A blank stare. “Any songs I might know?” she continued, still baffled.

  “How about ‘American Woman’?”

  “Sorry,” she smiled.

  “‘Undun’? ‘These Eyes’? ‘Laughing’?”

  “Unh, unh.”

  “‘Takin’ Care of Business’? ‘Let It Ride’? ‘You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet’?”

  “‘You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet’?!” she exclaimed.

  And with that she ran up to the pilot to tell him. He then proceeded to announce it to the entire plane and everyone fell over laughing because of the Smashy and Nicey skit. It’s like Monty Python’s “nudge nudge, wink wink” skit. Everybody knows it and loves it.

  LENNY KRAVITZ

  When I first heard that retro-rocker Lenny Kravitz was covering “American Woman” for the movie soundtrack to Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me, I thought “Great!” I hadn’t heard his version yet but I was excited because I like Lenny Kravitz. When he rocks, he has this incredible classic-rock sound, very Hendrix and Zeppelin. He’s really into the old equipment and getting the authentic sound, as I am, using tube amps and an old board. He’s become a diverse artist and in a Neil Young kind of way has charted his own course without trying to win favour with the latest pop trends. He has integrity.

  When I received a copy of Lenny’s version, though, I listened and kept waiting to hear my guitar riff, but it didn’t come. “Did someone forget to mix it in? Was an amp turned off and no one noticed?” Then in came a lead guitar track playing a solo, a different kind of solo, so I knew they hadn’t mixed the guitar out. I must admit that the first time I listened to it, I didn’t like it. But after a few more listenings it started to grow on me and I realized the brilliance of Lenny’s version. Other renditions of “American Woman,” and covers of some of my other songs by artists, have always been identical clones of the original. As a writer you’re flattered, yet there isn’t another personality in it, so you don’t really need to listen to it more than once. But here was Lenny Kravitz leaving out my guitar line, adding a key change, and putting his own stamp on the song. It’s his interpretation of “American Woman,” not simply a cover of it, and I appreciate that.

  Lenny made “American Woman” contemporary. I’m continu-ally amazed that my songs have longevity to them and keep reappearing. It proves that the music has transcended the genera-tions and decades. For a songwriter it’s terrific, an ongoing tribute to what you created.

  The re-formed Guess Who played the MuchMusic Awards show in Toronto with Lenny and his band. They were these black New York dudes who dug hard rock. Lenny was extremely gracious to us all and very cool. He wanted the Guess Who to begin the song and he would join in.

  “You’re the guys who created it and did it first, and we’re copying you, so you should start it.”

  “No,” we told him. “What you did with the song was incredible. You should start it, and in the middle solo we’ll just ease in and take it over. Then we can jam at the end and you and Burton can trade lines back and forth.”

  When we did it live it had so much energy, and the vibe between Lenny and us was incredible. He and Burton exchanged the vocal parts at the end back and forth, with Lenny mimicking Burton. That was definitely a highlight moment for us. What Lenny Kravitz did for our own status with contemporary rockers was extraordinary.

  Afterwards, Lenny asked me for a Herzog to get that authentic “American Woman” guitar sound, so I asked Gar Gillies to make him one.

  A while later I was getting a tour of the Rock ’n’ Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland and actor Denzel Washington was also there checking it out. When we were introduced, he was so excited to meet me that he picked up his cell phone and made a call. “Hey Lenny, you’ll never ‘Guess Who’ I’m standing with at the Rock ’n’ Roll Hall of Fame!”

  BARENAKED LADIES

  I remember in the 50s as a little kid watching this TV show called The Millionaire. This rich, eccentric guy named John Beresford Tipton—what a regal-sounding name that is—would send his manservant or employee, whose name was Michael Anthony, to give some unsuspecting person a cheque for $1 million. Then it would show what they would do with the money. It was great to dream about that back then. We all used to play that game as kids: What would you do with a million dollars? Of course, for us back then $5 was a lot of money. You have to remember that in those days most parents were earning maybe $50 to $70 a week. As a teenager I could make $50 playing two nights. But my dad’s generation believed that you had to work a legit-imate job. Being a musician wasn’t a real job to him. Only jazz musicians did that, and as far as he was concerned they were all drug addicts.

  I was backstage with the Barenaked Ladies for a Canada Day show in 2008. I’d known them for several years and had played on other shows with them. So as we’re hanging out backstage I asked Ed Robertson where he got the idea for the song “If I Had a Mill
ion Dollars.” He told me that one summer he had a job as a camp counsellor and he had to keep the kids entertained and busy. One day he and the kids at this camp were sitting around and Ed told them he was a songwriter and asked if they wanted to help him write a song. “What should I write about?” he asked the kids. “Give me a song title and I’ll see if I can write a song.”

  One kid says, “Why don’t you write about what you’d do if you had a million dollars?” So all these kids start saying what they’d do with a million dollars, but because they’re kids they say things like “I’d buy some new socks and shoes” or “I’d eat only Kraft Dinner” or “I’d buy a monkey.” Ed took a lot of those ideas from the kids and with Steven Page wrote that song, which became a staple in their shows. It’s a great song, a lot of fun.

  The Barenaked Ladies and I are great friends and they’ve supported many of the same environmental causes that I have. We both played the Save the Stein Valley Festival when they were first getting started, and about ten years later they played at the Duncan, B.C., hockey arena with myself, my son Tal Bachman, and Neil Young for the Clean Air Concert. They put on a terrific show, as always.

  JANN ARDEN

  I first met singer/songwriter Jann Arden in Calgary. I was at this classic rock radio station that’s high up on a hill. I had a guitar with me and I’m playing songs and talking with the deejay. Other people are phoning in and talking with me on the air. Suddenly this girl calls in and says, “Stay there! Stay at the station. I’m coming down to see you.” So as I’m coming out the front door after the radio show, this girl is driving up.

  She jumps out of her car and says, “Here’s a copy of my CD. I just think you’re great, and I’m going to be great someday. I’m going to be big. I sent in my demo to A&M Records and have signed with them. I want you to have one of the first copies of my CD.”

  And I said, “Wow. What’s your name, and I’ll look for you.”

  “Jann Arden.”

  Well, soon afterwards she achieved what she had predicted.

  She’s a great singer/songwriter, with nineteen Juno nominations and eight awards, including Songwriter of the Year, which even I couldn’t do. Jann Arden wasn’t kidding when she said she was going to be big. She’s won multiple awards and accolades for songs such as “Insensitive,” “Good Mother,” and “Could I Be Your Girl.” Yet she possesses a quick wit and a self-deprecating humour that has endeared her to fans and earned her a number of radio and television hosting roles. I’ve seen her live, and her shows are always wonderful and hilarious. She’s so funny and entertaining.

  9/11 AND CARNIE WILSON

  The reunited Guess Who found ourselves in New York when the twin towers of the World Trade Center were hit. Touring plans had to be changed as travel was restricted. It would prove to be a life-altering event for me.

  I was staying on the thirty-second floor of the Marriott Hotel overlooking Times Square in Manhattan the morning the World Trade Center was hit by those planes. The hotel looked right down the street to the World Trade Center. We were supposed to play New York, New Jersey, and Boston and then go home for a few days because we’d been together out on the road all summer. Our road manager, Marty Kramer, called me in my room early that morning and told me to turn on my television and look out my window. I could see the towers smoking and of course the story was all over the TV. It felt like the end of the world. I remember feeling numb and then terrified. My first thought was for my family and to phone home, but I couldn’t get through to them because all the lines were either jammed or down. One of my kids got through on my cell phone and asked if I was okay. Finally my wife, Denise, got hold of me on the phone.

  There were rumours flying around about bombs and other plots. It felt like a war zone.

  Our manager, Lorne Saifer, called a contact in L.A. who had a brother in New Jersey who ran the shuttle service for Hertz Rent-a-Car. Arrangements were made for him to pick us up at the hotel the next day and take us to New Jersey where our driver, Rick Neufeld, was waiting with our tour bus.

  There was no food and no service at the hotel. No trucks were getting in and the staff had either gone home or couldn’t get in. So we had to hike through Times Square to find an open restaurant. Security was tight at the hotel, and I even had trouble getting back in again.

  It was weird because we were walking along in the evening looking for an open restaurant and there was nothing on the street, not a car or a person. Broadway was empty; New York seemed deserted. Every restaurant said “Closed,” so we just kept walking until we found an open deli with a big lineup out front full of celebrities who lived in downtown Manhattan. We had a three-hour wait in line, but we stayed and finally ate.

  The next day the Hertz shuttle bus showed up to take us to New Jersey. We came down to the front doors of the Marriott with our guitars and suitcases. There were dozens of people standing there with their luggage. They had arrived but the hotel had closed and no one was able to get out to the airport, so these people were stranded there outside. Businessmen were desperate to get out. They’re peeling off hundred-dollar bills asking, “Can you take me?” It was like a weird movie scene leaving New York. All these old trucks coming in to remove the debris from Ground Zero.

  We just wanted to get back home to Canada, but couldn’t. We couldn’t get out of the U.S. We were stuck there on tour with Joe Cocker, so we just figured if the world’s ending then let’s just go out rocking. There was nothing else to do but embrace the music and each other and be glad we’re alive and carry on. That was our attitude. Everyone thought in those early days after 9/11 that the attacks were going to continue and that America was going to go to war. It was like that movie Independence Day. It was a very surreal experience.

  The New Jersey show was cancelled, so we headed up to Boston where we were scheduled to play a sold-out concert at the Tweeter Center. But only half the people showed up because they felt uneasy gathering in a large public place. People were still worried about more terrorist attacks. Security had to check everyone and every car before the show could start, which meant a two-hour delay. As a result, Joe Cocker did a half-hour and we did about forty minutes.

  We weren’t sure about playing “American Woman” that night because it has anti-American sentiments in it and we thought it might be inappropriate. We considered changing the lyrics. Some fans had emailed us telling us to change the lyrics to “Arab woman, stay away from me,” but in the end we did it as is. As we played it I looked out over the audience and saw people standing on their seats, tears streaming down their faces. It was unbelievable.

  When the tour resumed, I with my obsessive nature convinced myself that if this was going to be the end of the world, I was going to eat myself into oblivion. We were travelling long stretches on the tour bus and I’d be fuelling up at every truck stop, $20 or $30 worth of junk food. But with the angst going through my mind at the time, that food would be gone in twenty minutes. I was getting heavier and heavier, pushing 350, 360, 370 pounds. I was getting huge and I didn’t care. Who knew if the world was going to end, so I’d have my last bucket of KFC, my last Wendy’s burger, my last Long John Silver’s …

  I desperately needed to lose weight. Once I hit 390 pounds I was like a refrigerator with a head, so I decided I had to do something. It was getting embarrassing going onstage being a huge guy in a rock ’n’ roll band. It was a strange feeling trying to spread joy and rock the world when you’re crying inside and you don’t feel good about yourself. My weight was life-threatening.

  I saw Carnie Wilson on shows like Larry King Live and Oprah talking about her gastric bypass surgery and how it had changed her life. Carnie is the eldest daughter of Beach Boys genius Brian Wilson, and with her sister Wendy and friend Chynna Phillips (daughter of the Mamas and Papas’ John and Michelle Phillips) had scored a string of soft pop hits. Since then she’d become a spokesperson for weight loss, in particular gastric bypass surgery. Like me, Carnie had battled weight gain all her life and tried
every diet on the market. None worked until she had the operation.

  Like Carnie, I had a library full of every diet book there was, all of them working for about a month, after which I’d gain the weight back and more. It was that lifelong, up-and-down yo-yo weight syndrome and I suffered from it. I’d follow any new diet fad, and would call home saying things like, “Throw out all the food, I’m only going to eat pea pods and honey!” I once went for several months eating nothing but fruit. So I thought this operation might be the thing for me, too. I emailed Carnie Wilson and I got an answer back. To this day I’ve still never met her in person. She knew who I was because I’d toured with her dad and uncles. She sent me her doctor’s name in San Diego and the name of the clinic where she had her bypass.

  I researched the whole procedure and the history of it. It’s done laparoscopically with a couple of small holes instead of a two-foot opening in your chest. I decided that this was the answer for me. So I booked into the clinic. There’s an interview before they’ll agree to do the surgery. You also have to meet with a psychiatrist. They don’t want to do the procedure if all you’re looking to do is go out and pick up twenty-year-old chicks. I wanted to live a long, productive life, active and rocking, because that’s who I am and this is what I do.

  I wanted the operation but I was scared, so I kept changing my mind. Then the clinic emailed me to say they had an opening on the U.S. Thanksgiving weekend, which is in late November. So I had to decide right then and there. A lot of people chicken out at the last minute because food has become their best friend. The guy who cancelled wanted to gorge himself over Thanksgiving and Christmas and then have the operation in the New Year. I had a day to make my decision.

  I hadn’t told Denise about any of this. Now I had to, and she was incredibly supportive. “I’ll be there with you and help you through it.” It’s a major operation, and there’s a recovery period of several weeks. So I went down to San Diego and had the operation.

  The operation bypasses your stomach and creates a new little stomach the size of a golf ball that will expand as years go on. It’s not really a stomach; it’s part of your intestine they’ve pulled up. There’s no digestion there. You have to do that with your mouth. I’d be full after just a little bit of food. I remember swallowing a vitamin pill early on and it felt like a brick. Your new stomach is very sensitive.