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7 minute read
Sneezy Waters: A Very Fine Biography,
by Peter B. Hodgson
Review by Ian Boyd
I was excited to read this book by Peter B. Hodgson, aka Sneezy Waters. It was worth every word. The cover lays out the type of book that the author wants you to see – it shows travel stickers, backstage passes, provincial logos and cause-related activism, all slapped on a well-worn travel case.
Sneezy Waters started out as Peter Hodgson, with an older brother to influence him in life. He grew up in west Ottawa. He enjoyed baseball and talks about his childhood exploits with a sense of glee and wonder. His parents had a huge influence on him as they encouraged his musical development. Peter’s parents travelled to Europe and lived in Paris for a time. Back in Ottawa, he went to high school, got his first guitar and started to make friends in the arts. He started playing local coffee houses while still in his teens, linking up with Bruce Cockburn in a band called The Children. He went to Asia with another band and played at Expo 70 in Osaka, Japan.
After that trip, Hodgson was playing a local bar, drinking a few beers – “lit up pretty sweet,” he writes – when “I started mumbling disparate words, meaningless.”
“At one point, while doing my Kerouac rant, I started to repeat ‘The waters are sneezing,’ thinking of a calm body of water which then suddenly sneezed.
I babbled those words for quite some time until I stopped and said, ‘Sneezy Waters – that sounds commercial!”
And so, in the early 70s, Peter Hodgson became Sneezy Waters!
Sneezy was part of the leading edge of what was then the folk revival. He did full-band gigs, solo coffee-house gigs, he even busked in the streets. He speaks fondly of playing Le Hibou, the Ottawa coffee house that moved around the city, ending up on Sussex Avenue before it closed in 1975.
Never letting any grass grow under his feet, Sneezy loved to hit the road. He hitchhiked across Canada on one early tour. He toured the U.S. and Mexico in finer style, and his Asia tour is legendary. He booked house gigs in Hong Kong and Bangkok, anywhere he could find work. His prowess at self-booking served him well, and his around-the-world trip was truly a fantastic adventure, featuring a 36-day car ride from Southeast Asia to Denmark.
Throughout the book, there are photos of Sneezy and his family, friends, band members and colleagues. He joined the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, the entertainment union, and moonlighted as a stagehand for many years. His first love was clearly performance, not just the music but the showmanship that goes with it.
This led to his famous interpretation of Hank Williams Sr. in the stage show and later in the 1980 film Hank Williams: The Show He Never Gave. From 1977 to 1990, he toured the show extensively around North America to good crowds and positive reviews, playing the concert that he imagined the American country music icon might have done in Canton, Ohio in 1952 had he not died of a drug overdose in the car on the way there.
It was around this time that I first met Sneezy Waters, only knowing him by that name for years. Oddly, my father was the logistics guy at the same company where Sneezy’s father also worked. Small world, eh? Sneezy was playing at the Chateau Laurier when I met him, and we have been friends ever since.
How to describe Peter Hodgson? Good guy, friendly, benevolent, funny, musical, great musician, friend to all, nomad, hard worker, fellow musician, generous, giving. Fine band member, honest worker, great photographer, songwriter, interpreter of songs, showman, performing artist. But none of those words work on their own. The best way to describe Peter Hodgson is simply . . . Sneezy Waters.
Sneezy Waters: A Very Fine Biography is available online from sneezywaters.com or at the Compact Music shop on Bank Street. I dare say it’s a very fine read.
Ian Boyd is the owner of Compact Music at 785 Bank Street.
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Oh sister! Oh brother!
In this Poetry Quarter, you will find poems that define, dignify and explore the precious nature of our relationship with siblings – those with whom we have often shared our most vulnerable moments and those with whom we have an intimate attachment. These poems include adult recollections from childhood, thoughts from a young poet and even a poem about a sister who exists only in a dream. We thank the poets for sharing their perceptions and for the touching recollections found in their poems.
My dream sister
I could have never dreamed of a better friend than you You believe in me more than I You love me more than I You trust me more than I You know how to push me through hard times and take me back from devastating impulses You elevate me with your so many qualities of heart and the openness of your mind, and the kindness of your helping hands
You know my past, we build our present, and we daydream our future
We share everything, and what we don’t share we don’t care You are my precious one
In your eyes, I take the strength I need to go my way every day
And in our laughter I know life is a pleasant ride by your side
My dear sister…the one I never had and always dreamed about
Carole Tremblay
Sister
Inner strength and beauty. My support and inspiration. My love, my best friend, My sister
Susan Buller
To Our Sister Liz at 60 In the Key of Kool
She’s our sister Liz. At the piano she’s a w(h)iz! Since there are no frets on her instrument, she invents a basketful to keep her admirers nicely on edge, and to add colour to the black and white keys.
Her charms are many, not just musical: Harmonious with friends and family; Rhythmic in pursuit of enlightenment; Melodious in her diction; and Contrapuntal in her opinions.
Unlike her hungry siblings when about to eat gelato She pauses a split second-an elegant rubato. She is all of these and many others. For 60 years a treasure to her sister and brothers.
Stephen Acker
Forever
Friends
From the day I went to the hospital, From the day I walked through the door, From the day I held him in my arms, My life wasn’t the same anymore.
As an older sister I have a big responsibility, To care and stand up for him
As he would do for me.
When I hold him in my arms And wipe his tears away, I hope we’ll share this closeness Forever and a day.
When I’m hurt or feeling sad Or if we fight and disagree, We find our way back to each other And he’s always there for me.
Inside jokes and cuddles, Love, laughter, and loyalty, My brother makes my life complete, Best friends we’ll always be.
Shreya Kappagantula Sharpe, Grade 4, Elmwood School
We Were Two
My mother kept two small stones in the cedar chest drawer that someone had picked up from the grounds of the Dionne Quints’ home and given to her as fertility charms: One for me and one for my sister. For a while, we believed the two magic stones had brought us into being. Later, we learned the facts of life, but remained fascinated with the tale of the five little girls, five miracles, kept alive by heroic means only to be exploited.
I read We Were Five when it first came out, and every book about them since. Just two of the sisters are alive now.
My sister and I were only two and now I’m the one left alive. Without her, my heart is heavy as a stone.
Ruth Latta
Sharing a Bed with My Brother
My brother Russell, now 81, is eight years my senior. We had no other siblings. They could not have fit in The tiny two-bedroom bungalow where we grew up In Kemptville in the time of The Bomb and no seatbelts. Russell, a teenager, tuned into Elvis after school everyday. A youngster, on Sunday I went to bed at the end of Ed Sullivan. Every night we slept side by side in a “three-quarter” bed. Russell often announced: “if you’re still wide awake When I go to bed, I will step all over your body.” There was no anger. This was just a statement of fact. I remember those times when his feet strode quickly atop me. But I think now he avoided my head, my ribs and my privates Because he just wanted to sleep and not hurt me. Soon he was no longer with me for he was university-bound. With summer jobs that took him away to new places. My folks built a rec room on one side of the basement. So, Russell could sleep there when he did come to see us. Today, all is forgiven. Now we work closely in tandem, Tracing our ancestors who all slept snugly together, Because in winter at night it was so cold in their houses.
Bob Irvine
Buggie
I have five siblings but only one I love.
Buggie is fourteen months younger, but He taught me to ride my bike
He suggested we play with gasoline
He can catch slippery trout with his bare hands
He is not just dangerously fun
He lights up every room he enters
And says I do.
Paige Raymond
The poetry of trees
Joyce Kilmer wrote in his 1914 poem, ‘I think that I shall never see/A poem lovely as a tree.’
But – intrepid Ottawa poets – let us try!
As they stretch into the sky with their majestic reach, they stand as the true giants of nature, and recent studies have shown that our happiness can be increased just by spending time with them. They not only help capture carbon from the atmosphere but are vital in stopping the decline of wildlife numbers by creating diverse habitats.
So, for the October 2023 Poetry Quarter, let’s take a moment to put pen to paper and show trees some wellearned, poetic love.
As usual, poems should be:
• Original and unpublished in any medium (no poems submitted elsewhere, please);
• No more than 30 lines each;
• On any aspect of the theme within the bounds of public discourse;
• Submitted on or before Monday, September 25. Poets in the National Capital Region of all ages welcome (school-age poets, please indicate your grade and school). Please send your entries (up to 5 poems that meet the criteria) to editor@glebereport.ca. Remember to send us your contact information and your grade and school if you are in school.
Deadline: Monday, September 25, 2023