I turned up at the picket line today with my ukulele case. It had gone over pretty well when I brought it on Friday, and I thought that, with the bitter cold, some music might warm up my colleagues. Opened the case, and it was empty: I had left the instrument itself on the stand at home. A colleague joked that I was like Machine Gun Kelly, only to find nothing with which to open fire.
Too bad for the line, but music is a great thing to have during a strike. I’m still learning what it is that gets British people motivated, though Billy Bragg’s “To Have and To Have Not” is a clear winner from my repertoire.
When I was out on the line on Sparks Street in 2005, I brought my guitar on Day Two. The next day, I was joined by two colleagues, and we started our own little Woodstock. Loads of protest songs, just feel-good singalong songs. With the help of other creative colleagues, we started adapting lyrics from the Beatles and the Clash to speak to our particular struggles with management. It was the kind of theatrical action you’d expect from creative producers.
Playing every day on the picket line was really important for my own self-conception as a musician. It gave me the resolve to make my own record and start gigging solo, after the Celt-punk band I was in had wrapped up, and suddenly, I was in the habit of playing music every day for people I cared about who told me they appreciated what I was doing.
Besides helping with morale, the music had a political purpose. We used the carnival atmosphere of the picket line to draw wider attention from the public. And periodically, I’d take my guitar and sing one of our creations for an external audience. My first time on the main stage of the Ottawa Folk Festival was with my colleague Rita Celli, a presenter on radio and, for a time, TV. She was the name, the draw; I was the satirical lyrics about CBC management set to “When I’m Sixty-Four”. I remember Rita talking about her dad, a former miner in Sudbury, Ontario, and a veteran of several strikes himself. “He told me, ‘Rita, keep your head down!'” she quipped, putting on his Italian accent. “So much for that!”
I think of that advice, too. But I don’t mind being visible for my colleagues, playing and singing and adding the skills that I have to the cause. I hope that it helps, in small ways if not in big ones.