This actually happened. One suddenly bitter autumn morning, the season's first cold air mass 
swept down out of Canada and pulled New York City out of Indian Summer overnight. 
Along with a co-worker, I hustled in from the wind-tunnel conditions on Manhattan's West side. 
We slipped into an elevator with two other people. The sudden chill had caught my co-worker 
off guard. "Wow! What happened?" she said. I made an attempt to humorously suggest that 
perhaps we should learn to expect this recurring phenomenon each year. Completely in jest, 
I said, "It's a Canadian cold air mass. I hate those Canadians! They should keep their air masses 
to themselves!" A woman standing in the rear of the elevator responded irately, "I'm Canadian 
and I'm offended! You should keep your remarks to yourself!" Rather than attempt to wriggle 
out of the awkwardness with a lame explanation, I just stated, "Hmm… my black humor will get
me in trouble every time." She continued on to a higher floor after we got out, taking her personal 
chilly air mass with her.

Later, I reflected, "But we love those Canadians, don't we?" Especially those of us drawn to the 
singer/songwriter genre. Joni Mitchell, Bruce Cockburn, Neil Young, Leonard Cohen, Gordon Lightfoot… 
And what about The Band, and Robbie Robertson?…
A few years ago, in this newsletter, we covered one of their newer  generation of performers, 
the brilliant Lynn Miles.
And if you're fascinated by the brutal grace of hockey, you gotta love those Canadians. 
Which brings us to Jory Nash.



This native of Toronto is engaged in a patient, gradual seduction of his American neighbors with a
 crisp guitar attack, smooth vocals, and a coterie of songs with beguiling melodies and lyrics. A true 
son of Canada, in colder months he travels with skates and a hockey stick. He'll strap on the skates 
for a pick-up game almost as readily as he straps on a guitar for a song. He did just that with a group 
of other native countrymen, also guitar-pickers, during the Folk Alliance Conference held this past 
fall in the Catskills.
My first introduction to him occurred in a manner that gets repeated often on these pages. His first CD, 
One Way Down was delivered to the Fast Folk Cafe back in 1998, where I found it and gave it a listen. 
It's a terrific album throughout, especially for a debut effort. Anyone who books venues or reviews CDs 
knows how rare that is. The title track alone would have been enough to get him a gig there (I booked 
him as soon as I was able to make contact). On this track, his silky voice performs levitation on a looping, 
weaving melody. The lyrics describe a lost and searching state common to performing songwriters. 
"Time to open your eyes / Maybe look up at threatening skies / The weather's gone crazy / 
It's freaked out and hazy…" 
It turns out that it's about getting past inflated expectations and taking care of what's realistic. On the chorus, 
we hear a beautiful but strange, hollow flute-like sound that he later identified as an ocarina when I got a chance 
to speak with him. [This is a handcrafted South American Aztec/Mayan whistle-like instrument made of terracotta, 
with holes for fingering notes, often shaped like an animal.]

The "Long Way Up"
Jory's description of his childhood sounds idyllic. His family lived in the suburbs of Toronto. There was a 
house with a porch and a yard and he'd get together with his friends in the warm months to play "ball hockey" 
out in the street. I wasn't aware that, in Canada, a child's first taste of hockey usually occurs without skates, 
chasing after a ball in the street with a hockey stick.
Jory got his first taste of folk music when he was seven years old. His parents took him to see Pete Seeger at 
Massey Hall, Toronto's 2000-seat version of Carnegie Hall. He says he can remember exactly where he sat. 
"It was on the floor, stage left, about fifteen rows out [pronounced 'oout' of course]."
His mom and dad were fanatical Pete Seeger fans. They left the kids in the care of a babysitter and traveled to 
New York City to see the Weavers' farewell concerts. "It was their version of the Grateful Dead," he states. 
[I suppose that would've made them "Weaver-heads."] Two years later they took him to see Gordon Lightfoot. 
The seed was planted.
The "idyllic" childhood was rattled just a bit by the inclusion of violin lessons from the age of 8 to age 15. 
"I hated it," he says. "I played it for eight years and I hated every year of it." He also took piano lessons for two 
years between the ages of 12 and 14. He was dropped by his piano teacher because he only wanted to play 
songs he'd written instead of the assigned lessons. I asked if he felt that later the lessons had actually been a good 
thing, he said, "No, I wasn't good at the violin. When I started guitar, I was glad to be playing something that 
wasn't a burden to pick up."

Summer Camp Turnaround
Summer camp is a huge factor in Jory's life. Every year, from 1979 to the present, he's spent from mid-June to 
Mid-August in a summer camp, first as a camper and then as a counselor. In 1986 it provided the catalyst to grow 
the seeds of folk music planted years earlier. As Jory tells it: "When I was fifteen, at summer camp, my favorite 
counselor was a sort of, long-haired hippiesque-type guy who played great guitar -- James Taylor, Arlo Guthrie 
tunes, So, I had to do it too. I went home and asked my parents if I could play guitar." They gave in. They found 
a friend who lent a guitar to him for six months. 

This picture from Jory's web site 
is titled "first gee-tar."

He "fiddled around" on his own during that time. Then, he recalls 
"After that I got my own inexpensive classical guitar and took classical lessons for a couple of years" A purchase 
of a cheap steel-string followed. As he explained it, his dad wanted to make sure that it wasn't just a passing fad 
and that Jory wasn't going to lose interest, putting aside an expensive instrument. That changed when  he was eighteen. 
The family visited relatives living in Morristown, New Jersey. Having heard about Mandolin Brothers Guitar store on 
Staten Island, he and his dad went there to pick out a quality instrument for him. He remembers the exact date: 
"May 4th 1989. I spent six hours trying out about 100 guitars. I picked out a Martin and my dad split the cost with me. 
That was my 'life's Savings' [He'd just started working part-time at a record store]. I still use that Martin today. 
It's the guitar I use on-stage." And so, he stated, "It was off to the races." 

Could this be that first Martin?

He began writing songs immediately, but says that they weren't very good. It wasn't until he was 17 that his skills 
caught up to what was in his head.
After high school, he attended the University of Toronto, graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Biogeography 
(Applied Ecology). A professor had made the subject seem interesting, but by the time he graduated, he knew  
he'd never use it to make a living. He had continued working at the record store during college while playing open mics, 
two and three per week, and writing songs. 

Turning "Pro"
After college, he worked full-time at the record store, with the idea pulsating in his mind "I'm gonna make a record." 
It took him about a year to a year and a half, until he had enough to self-produce One Way Down. In 1997, he started 
recording. After the CD wa s finished, sales were brisk and he was noticed at a performance by a local DJ, who asked 
him to come on his radio show, During the show, the DJ asked him how long he'd been a professional musician. Jory 
answered that he didn't yet consider himself to be a professional. The DJ picked up One Way Down and said, "Have 
you sold any of these?" Jory said yes, and the DJ replied, "Well, you're a professional." Jory's attitude immediately r
eadjusted and he readily agreed. In addition to that wakeup call, the DJ alerted him to the on-line listserve, FolkDJ, 
which was published playlists and was useful in finding out which radio stations would be likely to play his CD. He used 
it in shopping the CD. This got him more airplay and led to more gigs.
Jory continued to play small (50-60 seat) venues within 5 hours of Toronto, but started to extend his range further. In 1999, 
he came to the U.S. to play for the first time. He played a small festival on Long Island and then later returned to play at 
the Fast Folk Cafe in Manhattan.

Jory collects hats. These photos from his web site show a few in his collection that numbers in the hundreds. The reason for the hat fetish, 
stated on the web site is, "He just likes a good hat." Sounds like fun to us.

In 2000, he released his second album, Tangle with the Ghost, and in 2002, his third, Lo-Fi Northern Blues.
Onstage, he exudes an air of quiet confidence, standing in a slight crouch, leaning backward a tiny bit. The lyrics and 
music seem to suggest personal cataclysms that remain under control. When I made this observation to him, he said, 
"Depression comes easily. I use music to get me up. I don't tend to write happy songs.  They're more pensive and ironic. 
The process itself is uplifting. In that way, a lot of my sad songs will end up with an upbeat tempo."
When I asked him about influences, this is how he responded: "There are tons of artists that I love that I listen to, that I don't 
take much in an overt way. And then there are artists that I am conscious about things they do… the way they record, the 
way they write and the way they perform. People like Joni Mitchell or Paul Simon… I love the cadence  and the structure 
of their lyrics. I listen to the way records sound and how they're arranged. I'll take them into the studio when I'm recording. 
I'll point out to my producer, "See on this particular tune, the way this guitar sounds or where this piano sits in the mix? 
That's how I want it to sound on this tune. I also look at how people structure their records. Where do they put the quiet songs? 
Where should I put this solo piano tune?"
"There are so many different kinds of music I like. I include a lot of old 50's and 60's soul music like Sam Cooke, Marvin Gaye 
and Smoky Robinson. I'm not sure it's obvious to the listener, but I think their influence creeps in there." Among the artists in 
his record collection  during formative college years that might be seen as influential were: The Grateful Dead, Ricki Lee Jones, 
Neil Young, Elvis Costello, Lyle Lovett, and  Gordon Lightfoot. 
It should also be mentioned that his mom was an English, Drama and History teacher. In some instances his lyrics are a bit 
mysterious. He puts it this way: "I tend to be obtuse and go with idea and feeling."  A friend once remarked to Jory, "I like 
to listen to your songs. I always learn new words."

In the Works
There's a new CD on the way, due to be released in the Fall. The title will be Spaz Loves Weezie, a lover's message 
he saw spray-painted on a rock along the highway.  He's made a contribution to the CD Beautiful: A Tribute to Gordon 
Lightfoot. 

Along with Aengus Finnan and Terry Tufts, he'll be on "The Way We Feel" Lightfoot Tribute Tour next Fall. 
One of the stops will be at our favorite venue, Tim and Lori Blixt's Cabin Concerts in Wayne, New Jersey on November 
14th, 2004. 
So, drop on by and spend some time with three Canadians and an audience of about 30 
people. It'll be cozy in the living room, but you'll be in good company.

Jory's web site: www.jorynash.com