The Last Kind Word Blues from the Vinyl Cafe

I was introduced to the Vinyl Cafe a couple of years ago by Kevin, when we were both on the same team. Kevin is a mainframe programmer and a bit of a film and book buff. If I recall correctly, Kevin used to listen to Stuart McLean's Vinyl Cafe on CBC radio, and one Christmas, was looking for a particular Vinyl Cafe story to read over a Christmas gathering. I helped Kevin out by visiting Amazon.com and peering between the covers to gleam the story. I suspect Kevin's Christmas went a tad better than Dave's in the story -- I'm quite sure Kevin wasn't drunk and didn't take a turkey to a hotel. Stuart McLean has published many of his Vinyl Cafe stories collected in a few volumes over the years. What better way to enjoy the quirky Canadiana that it is his characters -- sort of Bob and Doug, but without the beer and hoser phenom.

I had nearly forgotten about the Vinyl Cafe, until my wife and I happened to be in a strip mall in Gander, last fall. We were killing some time on our two weeks on the rock, when I found a used bookstore. Those that know me, know that I have an affinity for used bookstores. Wandering around the store, my eye stopped at the Vinyl Cafe Unplugged. The only Stuart McLean book on the shelf. I picked it up, and for the remainder of our vacation, I indulged my wife by reading out loud to her, the misadventures of the Dave and Morley clan. There is something very Canadian about the Vinyl Cafe stories, in cabin looking over the Atlantic, as a storm rages outside. The stories are quaintly Canadian; making light of the everyday absurdities of life and our responses to them; and at times, poignant -- sad with a longing at the passage of time.

There are many memorable Vinyl Cafe stories. One that keeps coming back to me again and again is the Last Kind Word Blues, that introduced my wife and I to Geechie Wiley. There's not much known about Wiley. She was black American blues singer and guitar player from Mississippi, who recorded three disc records in the early 1930s. I wonder sometimes about who the woman was. From what we know of her today, she probably lived a life of relative obscurity -- came and went, and is remembered for the three songs she left behind. Her music is haunting. See the video below for the Last Kind Word Blues.

This past Christmas, our older daughter bought me the remainder Vinyl Cafe books. Since then, I've been called on to read a story or, preferably, two, after dinner, before we all head our separate ways. Tonight I knocked off another book. Our house is running dangerously low on the untapped wisdom of the Vinyl Cafe. Tonight, the second story came from the last book that was untouched.