One of the good

by JOHNSON CUMMINS

Once a journalist, NDG ex-pat Dan Burke freelanced coverage of underground crime for Macleans, the Gazette and others before putting down the pen 10 years ago, moving to Toronto and immersing himself in the Herculean task of not only promoting rock ’n’ roll, but saving it from the narcoleptic state it has sadly slid into.

Don’t let the music-media spin fool ya. In these dark days, there are indeed still rock ’n’ roll foot soldiers fighting the good fight. Japan’s Zoobombs can proudly place themselves on the front line, but when they come to town this week, they should prove to be only half the show. Co-promoter Burke will also be on hand, and if you treasure real rock ’n’ roll, you’ll head down to Club Lambi on March 2 and/or 4, seek this cool curmudgeon out and buy the good man a beer. Legends with hearts of gold deserve no less.

The reluctant saint of this column has hardly made life easy on himself, and has had about as many drinks thrown in his face as bought for him. His exploits have engendered a decade-long drug habit (for which he is unapologetic), which has had him one step ahead of collection agencies, beaten up, homeless for stretches and so forth, but then again, what cultural revolution was ever easy? And if kicking some life into the corpse of rock ’n’ roll isn’t a valiant calling, I don’t know what is.

If all of these accolades sound a lot like a posthumous commemoration, maybe it’s because me and many other friends of Burke’s are just a bit surprised the guy is still alive.

Look a little deeper, beyond the puffy eyes and twitchiness that result from the exchange of punches between too much drugs and too little sleep, and you’ll see the fiery passion and fearlessness in those baby blues of Burke’s. He’s sacrificed it all and will proudly extend his glass chin again and again, be it for publicly calling out the annual CMW festival and comparable industry events as “a bunch of cocksuckers,” going tits-up financially by flying in his favourite bands, or tirelessly championing local and Montreal bands on Toronto turf, even if it comes out of his pocket.

Burke is considered a loose cannon and even a pariah in the Canadian music industry, simply because a man with a heart of gold and a cast-in-iron mission, one who has the balls to tell it like it is, is as rare as hen’s teeth these days. Burke’s tough constitution truly threatens the applecart of an industry where jadedness, spinelessness, bald-faced lying and desperation not only prevail but are applauded.

Burke’s previous status as mere sparring partner to the bigwigs has recently, and rapidly, been upgraded to that of genuine contender, and he insists that the fight has only just begun—if he can only K.O. his biggest opponent. “The drugs don’t work for me anymore, and if anything, just leave me feeling lonely,” Burke rasps over the phone from Toronto’s Silver Dollar club. “I realize I hit the canvas a little faster than most because of it, but I’m starting to think it may be time to give them up. I always got up from the mat, though, and if people think I can fight now, I really feel like I’m just getting started.”

Keep swingin’, Dan… Jonathan.cummins@gmail.com