Catching up with two-time Juno Award-nominee Jeremy Fisher
The last time we touched base with the handsome Canadian and two-time Juno Award nominee Jeremy Fisher, his folkie music, specifically a song called Scar That Never Heals from his then new CD Goodbye Blue Monday, was playing behind our Festival Cinemas ad.
We caught up with the Ottawa-based musician, four hours before his show at Electric Owl in Vancouver this past Saturday.
The 36-year-old drove in from Penticton, British Columbia, where he performed his latest album Mint Juleps the night before, part of his 2013 solo tour, gigging across the country.
Photo of Jeremy Fisher poster by Anja Konjicanin
Fisher sat down with the Vancouver Observer by the brick walls of the sunlit corner at the venue by the entrance. Sound checks and deep, manly voices rose up in the background while bar staff busily prepared for the night.
I was expecting a Canadian folkie with wild, shiny curls, cradling a guitar.
I imagined him warming up his voice chords, bathed in stage lights that accentuated his best features, creating a God-like image of a man blessed with a voice that had the power to make knees twitch. He flicked the mic and walked off the stage to greet me. He smelt of peppermint and sweat. The kind you don't mind having on you.
The reality, of course, turned out different, but just as awesome. So, here's what did happen.
The venue was closed when I arrived. Despite minor dream shatter and the clear sign that said the place wouldn't open until 7 p.m., I went for the handles that wouldn't budge. Loud, bearded men accumulated in front of the near by bars. The afternoon was bright with light rain drops that made splat sounds on my phone. Seagulls squawked above me. Loud car engines provided a mechanical chorus. Music was everywhere.
Fisher arrived literally two seconds after me. He appeared from the back of the building with a dark, leather-looking traveler bag in hand, wearing a chestnut brown coat and a blue men's shirt. "How's your day going?" he asked with a casual smile. He's been on the road for two weeks now.
"I'm a little foggy-brained from the drive," he said. Last night's show was "really good" but now, he said, he was a little tired.
"I have someone's number." He pulled out a phone and said something into it. A tall man emerged from the inside and unlocked the door. Inside, a dark hole of activity. The doors closed behind us.
Photo of chalkboard pub sign by Anja Konjicanin