The story of Figgy Duff has yet to be told. While we were in it, there was no time to document it. When it was over, there was a period of grieving, an acute sense of loss, and wondering who I was, and where to go from here. I did manage to tell a partial story in the liner notes of the Retrospective, which I will copy here. I am in the process of gathering up all of the archival materials, piecing together what happened and when, interviewing those of us who are still here, and documenting it. This will be my work in the coming year.
Thank you for your interest. Please join my mailing list if you would like to know when this becomes available.
Pamela
From the Retrospective…
The 1970s heralded an era of newfound discovery and pride in Newfoundland culture and identity. The Folklore dept. at MUN was thriving, people stopped being ashamed of the way they spoke, and rebelled against the Newfie joke. We were in sync with a roots movement all over the world, as people began to look inward to their own people for inspiration.
Noel Dinn, who had defied all odds and led his 60s rock band Lukey's Boat from Newfoundland to Montreal, on to London, England, now began to assemble a group of musicians to carry on his vision, a band that would mingle his incredibly powerfiul rock drumming with the music of his people. This group became Figgy Duff.
However, our source of uniqueness and strength was also our obstacle. Ther was no music industry on this windswept island in the North Atlantic in the 60s and 70s. The energy, courage, and determination it took to blaze the Celtic trail across Canada and abroad in the 1970s is utterly astonishing.
In the very early years we travelled what seemed like every square inch of Newfoundland, seeking songs and music from the people. We played community halls, clubs, festivals, kitchens, full houses, empty houses, to audiences indifferent, hostile, enrapured. In St. John's we were eyed with suspicion by the folklore set who were re-discovering their uncles' oilskins and boots and cape-anns battened down. We favoured velvet and lace, and were vegetarians who smelled strongly of garlic and had a taste for poetry and copious amounts of fine wine. I remember a maze of dinner parties with songs, music, and laughter, and discussions far into the night of Blake, Yeats, and Newfoundland nationalism. Some of the folk purists were downright outraged that their precious folk music was being tampered with by long haired “urban intellectuals” using drums and amps. But in those years we measured our success by the joy we brought to the people from whom we learned the music- who instinctually understood that you can't cram a delicate and beautiful modal melody into a three chord country format.
The road became a way of life. We thought nothing then of picking up and hopping aboard the old Chevy van, perched on and between P.A. speakers, and driving to Toronto and beyond, gone for months on end, picking up gigs as we went. We crisscrossed Canada more times than I care to remember, sometimes on organized, well paid tours, but more often on a wing and a prayer.
In later years we began to turn our attention more to original music. Noel in particular needed more forms of expression- his poetry and original muic were crying for a voice. Times got hard- the record industry was unkind to us. The traditional players fell away to pursue their own interests- Dave formed Rawlins Cross and Kelly and Frank The Plankerdown Band; and on July 26, 1993, Noel Dinn passed away. But not before he had accomplished more in his 45 years than most people do in a lifetime. In the last two years of his life, he produced three albums with ex-members and close friends of “The Duff”- the exquisite Colour of Amber, the joyful and spirited Vive la Rose, and the dark and poignant Downstream.
Thank you for buying this album. It represents a cross- section of some of our best recorded works (some previously unreleased) and 18 years of laughter and tears, elation and desperation, loyalty and betrayal, work and play. The selection of photos is random and haphazard- there was rarely a camera around, and we were notorious for our band shots! A lot of our more memorable gigs are missing- Philly Folk festival (1982) Cambridge Folk Festival (1982) New Orleans Jazz Festival (1988), Glastonbury Festival (1989) as well as performances for two prime ministers, one US president, and a princess!
Thank-yous would fill a book on their own, but high on my personal list are the true patrons of the arts- those who not only came to our concerts, but took us into their homes where we slept in their beds and on their floors, emptied their fridges and liquor cabinets, and kept them up all night with the adrenaline- fuelled ravings of the dispossed. Thank you all
Pamela Morgan, February, 1995.