Marathons and Meloids: The Stampede Lesson

The Calgary Stampede has started. That venerable time of year when everyone pretends to be a cowboy and drunken foolishness is forgiven. Stampede was, at one time, a veritable cash cow for local musicians. Gigs were abundant. Even those players that did not usually play country music cranked out terrible versions of Hank Williams' songs, in an attempt to cash in on the gig windfall. Virtually every company, gas station, mall, and community centre had a Stampede breakfast, dishing up greasy pancakes, limp bacon, and cold eggs to the milling throng that gathered to partake of the free grub. It was not uncommon for bands to play three gigs in one day. First, a breakfast, then some kind of afternoon bar-b-que, and finally the regular gig at night.

My first Stampede taught me a valuable lesson. The Trails End Band was booked at the Palliser Hotel for eight days (Sundays off) and we had to play from 5 p.m. until 1 a.m. Seven hours and we never repeated a song. This was in the days of the big downtown cabarets such as the Golden Garter and the Silver Slipper. People would start to queue up around 3 p.m. and eventually the line snaked out of the hotel and down 9 Avenue to the entrance of Palliser Square at the base of the Calgary Tower. Every night was packed. The beer was flowing. Good times were had by all.

Being caught up in the excitement, and somewhat inexperienced when it came to a marathon gig like this, we played with a fervour and zeal that was more suited to final Friday night set than the opening one of a seven hour night. Undaunted, we churned through the remaining six hours and the next day the effects were manifested. I could hardly talk. My voice was a croaky, hoarse, cracking-like-a-thirteen-year-old mess. Now what. I had seven more nights to do and could barely speak let alone sing.

I had heard somewhere that lozenges called Meloids were especially effective. I scampered to the nearby Shopper's Drug Mart to buy a package. Meloids are little tiny black licorice-flavoured lozenges. "Made for people that work in smoky environments and for speakers and singers," the back of the package proclaimed, and after a couple of hours and a half dozen Meloids, my voice miraculously returned to the point where I could make it through Saturday night.

Meloids became a fixture on stage for me. They saved my voice on more than one occasion. I haven't been able to find them lately; instead all I can find is the inferior imposter Fisherman's Friend. Meloids help aside, that first Stampede taught me to conserve my voice on long gigs, a lesson that came in handy over the years.