Looking for a sign. Photo by Simplyzel

By Ryan Pratt

Ask me to sing the song Signs, the chorus anyway. “Sign, sign, everywhere a sign,” and I can recall the lyrics and melody as if they were spoon-fed to me as a child.  But ask me to name the band responsible for the 1971 hit single and I’m terrorized by the feeling that I should know better.

I’d never heard of Five Man Electrical Band before moving to Ottawa, but its legendary reputation intrigued me and Its impending performance at Super Ex would be a rare opportunity to catch them live. So there I was, surrounded by the neon lights of carnival rides, the microphone feedback of chatty prize tents and all the fenced-off alleyways of the parking lot sprawl.  And I was lost.

If the exhibition wasn’t busy enough on its first Saturday, summer appeared to be finished as cold winds and perpetual rain made it all the more challenging for someone who’d forgotten to check the venue’s site-map.

Coincidentally, it was the canned music of The Guess Who that drew me toward the concert stage. The Canadian icon had recorded a split album with Five Man Electrical Band, back when it were known as the Staccatos. It chronicled its singular break into the international music scene, but that was almost 50 years ago.

The Guess Who would reunite, achieving the highest-grossing Canadian tour of 2000.  The Five Man Electrical Band would re-emerge to play a free show at Lansdowne Park.

The mid-1960s Staccatos become...... (Courtesy of the Seattle Post Inteligencer).

Perhaps I was expecting a live presence that albums like Coming Of Age and Good-byes and Butterflies disguised from me, or any reason that would warrant Five Man Electrical Band’s cult-following beyond municipal loyalty.  There’s something heartwarming about that allegiance, like how SuperEx’s Website purported that the band was “on the same playing field as the Beatles” or how keyboardist Ted Gerow introduced Les Emmerson as “one of the greatest songwriters of all time.”

For a band that unsuccessfully tried to escape Ottawa for Los Angeles during its formative years, this must be a salute to its hometown’s defiant, albeit fickle, devotion.  And for most in attendance, the concert wasn’t just a showcase in nostalgia; it was modern folklore at its best.

No sooner had I settled upon a fold-out chair several rows from the stage than an elderly woman asked me, point-blank, whether Emmerson was still with the group.  Drawing on all of the research I’d done prior to the show, I could only shrug.

For a band that offers no online presence other than a defunct website, and that performs live only a few times per decade, her question was valid, but hardly widespread among groups of double-dating Baby Boomers and seniors chatting under umbrellas.  Were these friendly people braving the cold weather to warm their hearts or their extremities?

Opening act Eddy & the Stingrays answered this to a degree, causing an immediate stir by walking out in hot-pink blazers and with pale green instruments.  Launching into a string of rockabilly classics like At the Hop and The Twist, the quartet effectively turned their opening slot into a 1950s jukebox, which elicited broad smiles and composed applause.  The set boasted an obvious disconnect for younger adults but overcame the age gap with an enthusiasm that blew the zeitgeist gateway wide open.

To my delight, the arrival of Five Man Electrical Band fetched a greater reaction, even without the kitschy spectacle.  Instead, the seven members – from their late 30s to late 60s – filed out in an assortment of tie-dyed shirts and Hawaiian prints, looking appropriately disassembled for a band that has survived its share of reincarnations.

With the opening bars of Absolutely Right, the audience came alive, clapping and forming a line at the base of the stage.  A few individuals even gave standing ovations. Finally, some genuine buzz!  One can learn a lot about a band by spending a few hours with its fans, although Five Man Electrical Band hadn’t impressed me any more as performers than as recording artists.

The 2010 Five Man Electrical Band. Courtesy of Super Ex.

I live for those concert moments when a band unites a mass of strangers and sends a pulse of energy through the anticipating crowd.  It’s a familiar feeling that never gets old.

But then, three songs into their set, something happened: the audience lost interest.  Conversations that had fallen silent when Eddie & the Stingrays opened the show, started again. Mothers began to fuss over their stray children and, at a gentle pace, casual viewers began to sift out of the crowd.

Not all manners were abandoned; the audience offered its attention and polite applause between songs, but continued to fidget through goofy guitar-stomps like The Dance Of the Swamp Women and an untitled composition about human destruction from an alien’s point of view.

For the first time, I was on the same wavelength as the majority of this crowd; we knew Signs would be played last, and we weren’t leaving until Five Man Electrical Band played it.

When it came, the audience was united in chorus.  Even I burrowed out from my rogue disposition and surrendered to the mob mentality. Those final three minutes witnessed a minor celebration, as a group of Ottawa’s longtime citizens sought to communally toast a timeless song.

Does six minutes of Billboard success – the two songs which bookended the concert’s set-list – adequately justify an evening of tedious lingering?  As an unwilling member of the ring-tone generation, I’m not sure, but the consensus among departing show-goers indicated that Signs was worth both the wait and weather.