Two for Tuesday

Sundown to Stormsong

• Michael Pezent • Season 1 • Episode 17

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 Michael dives into Gordon Lightfoot’s twin masterworks—“Sundown” (his lone U.S. #1) and “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” (a modern folk memorial). Hear the stories behind the songs: the late-night tension that powers Sundown, the Newsweek line that sparked Edmund Fitzgerald, the December ’75 studio session at Eastern Sound (with pedal steel, Moog atmosphere, and even an early 32-track digital rig), plus the chart runs, the respectful lyric tweaks, and why these tracks still feel inevitable today. Hit play, then head to 2nd Round Music on YouTube for a Lightfoot tribute performance. 

YouTube link: https://youtu.be/i-ReaEGqqUw

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SPEAKER_01:

Well, hello friends, and welcome back to the Two for Tuesday Podcast, brought to you by Second Round Music. I'm your host, Michael Pazent, your companion through the back roads of music history, where songs aren't just songs, they're maps, diaries, weather reports, or the heart. Today we're spending time with a songwriter who could make a single melody feel like a horizon. Gordon Lightfoot. We'll trace the arc that carried him from coffeehouse folk poet to international storyteller. And then we'll pull the lens tight on two poles of his craft. Sundown, a taunt radio-sized confession that became his lone U.S. number one hit, and The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald, a six-plus-minute ballad of loss that turned a Great Lakes tragedy into a living memorial. Gordon Meredith Lightfoot Jr. was born November 17th, 1938, in Aurelia, Ontario. His father ran a local dry cleaning business, and his mother, Jessie Thrill Lightfoot, saw early in him a tenderness for music and nurtured it. From grade school onward, Gordon was drawn to sound, and at the age of nine or ten, he sang Tura Lura Lura through the school PA system during a Parents' Day event, and that was his first public performance. And he became active in the choir at St. Paul's United Church under choir master Ray Williams, who taught him not simply to sing notes, but let them carry feeling. Williams would later be a touchstone. Gordon credited him for helping him develop confidence in his voice. As a boy soprano, he also performed in operettas and on local radio stations. He also entered a Kawanas festival competition. And at the age of twelve, after winning a contest for boys whose voices had not yet changed, he made his first appearance in Toronto's Massey Hall, a symbolic moment, considering how many times later that he would actually perform there. In adolescence, Gordon learned piano and experimented with drums and percussions, and he taught himself how to play the guitar. Now he gigged locally at the Muskoka resorts and small venues, singing for a couple of beers and honing what it means to carry your voice over ambient noise. He absorbed folk standards and early influences, Stephen Foster among them, and began writing also. One of his earliest known songs was The Hula Hoop Song back in 1957, which he pitched to BMI Records. The rejection sharpened rather than discouraged him. And in 1958, restless and ambitious, Gordon traveled to Los Angeles to study jazz composition, orchestration at the Westlake College of Modern Music. And he spent about two years there absorbing harmonic language, arranging skills, and songwriting discipline. And while he was in California, he worked behind the scenes. He did demo vocals and he wrote jingles. He did some studio work. And this was all to support himself. But home was pulling him back. And in 1960, he returned to Toronto. And he joined vocal ensembles such as the Singing Swinging Eight on CBC Country Hoedown and the Gino Sylvie Singers, where he carved his path in folk coffee houses. He also formed a duo, the Two Tones, with a guy by the name of Terry Wheelan, and they recorded a live album, Two Tones at the Village Corner, in 1962. Now during these years, his songs began to find other voices. Early Morning Rain, For Loving Me, and Ribbon of Darkness, among others, were covered by prominent acts names like Peter Paul and Mary, Judy Collins, and Marty Robbins. Now these covers extended his reach long before his recordings broke through, and by the 1960s, Gordon signed a United Artist, and he released a debut LP, Gordon, in 1966, anchoring his dual identity as performer and songwriter. Now that formative arc from church choir to studio classes in LA, from local gigs to songs covered by international artists, all of these things prepared Gordon to handle the weight of songs like Sundown and Edmund Fitzgerald. And before we get into the song breakdown, give a listen to this sponsored message, and I'll catch you on the other side. Our services include but are not limited to one-on-one financial coaching through a student conference or face-to-face, budgeting strategies, debt reduction plans, emergency fund creation, retirement planning, and investment guidance. But why choose us? Because we believe in empowering our clients with the knowledge and tools they need to achieve financial peace. With our guidance, you'll gain clarity over your financial situation, develop a realistic and achievable plan, and experience hope and confidence in your financial future. I have over 15 years' experience teaching and guiding families in the Ramsey Principles, along with a degree in finance and work experience in the banking and insurance industries. So let's get started today. Go to secondroundfinancial.com and click Book Now to schedule your free consultation today. Now by 1973, Gordon had evolved. He had moved beyond folk purity. His songs were growing richer, more electric, and more radio aware. And in November of that year, he went into the Eastern Sound Studios in Toronto to record what would become the Sundown album. Now when Sundown the Song was released March twenty fifth, nineteen seventy-four, it hit with precision. A taunt, moody confession wrapped in a melody. The lyrics smoldered with suspicion. Sundown, you better take care if I find you been creeping around my backstairs. It's not an overt accusation. The narrator attempts to control by vigilance, and in interviews and biographical reading, listeners have long tied the emotional center to a relationship with Kathy Smith, whom Gordon acknowledged as an influence in that area. Now hang on to that name of Kathy Smith for a moment. But he didn't always entangle fact from fiction in print, but the emotional truth is powerful. Now that's a figure whose life would thread through multiple musical worlds, and later, tragic headlines. Smith was more than a flirtation. She worked as a backup singer for Gordon and was deeply intertwined in the emotional turmoil that fueled Sundown. According to accounts, their relationship was volatile. Gordon himself once admitted I was sometimes crazy with jealousy. And in one violent episode, he actually fractured Smith's cheekbone. Now Smith's history connected beyond Gordon, and in the 1960s, she moved in circles tied to Levon Helms and the band. And she claimed to have met Helms while still a youth in Hamilton, Ontario, and at one point believed herself to be carrying a child of his, and could have been by other members of the band. Though the paternity was never definitely established, they actually called the child the band baby. Now she toured and socialized with members of the band, and her presence has been tied to the lore surrounding The Wait, one of the band's most famous songs, though she was never credited formally. Now later, Smith relocated to Los Angeles, drifting into much darker orbits. She became a known figure in the entertainment's undercurrent, working as a drug courier, a drug dealer, and a confidant to high profile musicians. Her most notorious act, however, linked her to John Belushi. And in nineteen eighty-two, Smith admitted that she injected Belushi with a fabled dose of a speedball, which is heroin and cocaine combined. And she did this in a hotel in West Hollywood. Now some accounts I actually read said that it was not just one speedball, it was eleven. And that fatal act led to her conviction for involuntary manslaughter. And she served time in a California penitentiary before being deported back to Canada. Their relationship was a crucible of suspicion, longing, and volatility. Elements embedded in the lyrics of that song. The recording personnel on Sundown, well, it's lean and potent. Gordon himself played a 12-string acoustic, and he sang lead vocals. Red Shea was on electric lead. Terry Clements on acoustic lead. John Stockfish on bass, Jim Gordon on drums, all engineered by Lee Hersberg. The arrangements let space matter. Guitars breathe. And the voice rides quietly confident. And the rhythm section holds just enough tension to suggest unrest without unraveling. And on the charts, Sundown soared. It reached number one on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 chart. And on the Easy Listening Chart. And it also climbed to number 13 on the U.S. Hot Country Charts. And in Canada, it climbed to the top spot on the RPM singles chart. In the UK, it peaked at number 33. And for 1974's year-in hot 100, Sundown landed at number 27. And it remains Gordon's only U.S. number one hit. Its success marked a turning point. Gordon was no longer just admired in folk circles. He was part of popular musical conversation.

SPEAKER_00:

The legend lives on from the Chippewa down to the big electric cocktail.

SPEAKER_01:

With a by late 1975, Gordon now confident turned outward. And on November 10th, hey, that's my dad's birthday, the U.S. Edmund Fitzgerald sank in a fierce storm on Lake Superior, with the loss of all twenty-nine crew members. Now he had read about this in a Newsweek article, specifically a piece named The Cruelest Month, which was November twenty-fourth, nineteen seventy-five. And that quoted the Chippewa belief that the lake never gives up her dead. Now that line lodged in him, and it became the hinge for the song. And he began writing almost immediately. And in December of 1975, he entered Eastern Sound again in Toronto with his regular band. The haunting guitar and the steel riffs that frame this song were born in the evening session's second take, credited to Terry Clements and Pee-Wee Charles. Notably, the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald was recorded on a prototype 3M 32-track digital recorder, making it one of the first commercially digital multi-track recordings. Gordon adopted a 6'8 meter to invoke the sway of the water and composed a B mixolydian, both choices given a melody of mourning and maritime gait. He alternates narrative verses and recurring instrumental reframes, each ripple between voice and echo. And lyrically, Gordon balances detail with difference. He narrates the ship's departure, the storm's escalation, radio calls, and the final moments. And he includes poetic lines like Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours? While some early versions had lines that implied crew error, for example, the hatch failure. In later life performances, Gordon offered altered them, softening the blame and adjusting the evolving evidence and family sensitivities. He also shifted image wording. Musty O'Hall became rustic old hall to respect those connected with the Mariner's Church in Detroit. Now when the record of Edmund Fitzgerald was released in August of 1976 from the Summertime Dream album, it resonated. And in Canada, it reached number one on the RPM's national singles chart. In the U.S., it climbed to number two on Billboard, stopped only by the number one of Rod Stewart's Tonight's The Night, and it was a number one hit on something called Cashbox. Internationally, it charted modestly, number 40 in the UK. Though long and unconventional for radio, it became one of Gordon's most beloved songs. And he often called it his finest work. Hey guys, thank you for listening today, and I hope you're enjoying this podcast. If you are, please subscribe or follow the podcast, click the like button, share it with other music lovers, and please consider giving it a five-star rating so we can reach a bigger audience. Now back to the show. Place this pair side by side. Sundown is dusk, a private suspicion. Edmund Fitzgerald is November on the lake and a public eulogy. Yet both carry Gordon's signature. The patience of phrasing, the spare but precise imagery, and trust given to Silent, the early songs of his youth, choir lines, performance competitions, and rehearsal rooms, jazz theory in LA, early covers, this all formed muscles in him, and it showed up in these songs as restraint and strength. In Sundown, he bends toward brevity, toward economy, because the emotional kernel is small, but it's volatile. And in Edmunds Fitzgerald, he expands it, letting the narrative breathe, letting instrumentation be a halo and an echo. Throughout both, the voice is steady, not heroic, but lucid, bearing weight without collapsing. Perhaps most importantly, those early years when a boy sang in a choir, taught himself the guitar, and traveled to LA returning to build his own scene, gave him a strong foundation. He knew how to listen, how to refine, how to tell a story without pushing too hard. Those lessons echo in each chord, each phrase, and each line left unsaid. Well, that's gonna do it for today's Two for Tuesday podcast brought to you by Second Round Music. If this walkthrough Gordon Lightfoot's life and music moved you, hit the subscribe button, drop us a rating, and share it with someone who loves songs with them. And head on over to the Second Round Music YouTube channel. I've got a Gordon Tribute performance waiting for you. So go check it out. And until next time, remember we love you and we need you. And every song has a place, every life a song. See you next week, and God bless you!