I met Tom Keenlyside in September 1970 when we were both enrolled in first-year music courses at the University of British Columbia. We lost touch for a while, but towards the end of 1972 Tom asked me to play drums for him ... a one-night gig at a small club in Surrey, near Vancouver.

Two years earlier Canadian Prime Minister Pierre Elliot Trudeau had established a "summer works program" called Opportunities For Youth (OFY for short). Young Canadians were invited to propose self-styled "summer projects" for which the government would pay the grand sum of $75 a week to each participant. The criteria was extremely loose and flexible. Bruce Fairbairn's proposal for "seven musicians playing Dixieland music in the streets, with a juggler" was readily accepted and approved.

Eventually (and rightly so, as I now see it) Canadian taxpayers grew weary of OFY's "hand-outs to hippies". A significant number of citizens and politicians voiced their vehement opposition and the program was cancelled in the autumn of 1974.

In the meantime, for much of the summer of 1973 I dressed-up in a silly costume with a snare drum strapped over my shoulder. Tom traded his flute for a valve trombone, Peter played clarinet, David played banjo, Richard pounded on a bass drum, while Bruce and Ralph played trumpet and slide trombone.

Most of our "performances" took place on the streets of Vancouver, however we also travelled to other British Columbia communities, marching in parades and performing at outdoor music festivals.

When the summer of '73 ended so did our OFY funding. The band dispersed. Peter Bjerring and I went back to university, but six weeks into our studies we decided we'd had enough. One Sunday evening, over a bottle of Yago, Peter and I hatched a plan to quit school and travel to Europe.

The next day we cancelled our classes, packed our knapsacks and guitars, and on November 26, 1973 we boarded a flight to Amsterdam. Peter's friend Tom Mirhady also came along (with a large cello-case in tow) hoping to study with a famous teacher in Stuttgart ... which he did.

On a previous trip to Europe (1971) I'd met a talented guitarist named Hartmut Dowidat. Hartmut lived in Landsberg, a picturesque village in southern Germany. We'd kept in touch, and part of the plan was for Peter and Tom and I to hook up with Hartmut, and perhaps form a band. When we arrived in Landsberg we discovered that Hartmut's older brother Anselm had already put a band together and was eagerly awaiting our arrival.

Anselm was an intelligent, soft-spoken man who had given up a successful career in fashion photography to pursue his dream of writing and recording an album. He was also an intensely devout Mormon who constantly preached "the way of the Lord" to the other band members. We'd only been in Landsberg a week or two when Peter and Tom reached the end of their tether with Anselm and his preaching. We caught the next train out of town.

After Landsberg the three of us travelled to Rome and Florence. At some point we decided to go our separate ways. Tom stayed in Germany to study cello, and Peter returned to Vancouver. I flew home a few months after Peter.

I arrived back in Vancouver in March '74, eager to re-join Sunshyne for another summer of fun. Unfortunately, not knowing when (or if) I would return, the band had hired another drummer, Dave Calder. I was disappointed -- devastated, in fact -- but I couldn't blame the band for carrying on in my absence, and I couldn't blame them for hiring Dave, a superb drummer.

I spent most of the next year doing sporadic studio work as a drummer (radio commercials, etc.) and one-night stands (wedding receptions, bar mitzvah's, office parties, bowling clubs).

Meanwhile, with the addition of singer-guitarist Lindsay Mitchell, Sunshyne had deviated from its jazz-rock roots. They were now writing R&B-influenced pop songs in hopes of securing a recording contract. But despite submitting dozens of demo's and knocking on countless music industry doors, by mid-1975 the band remained unsigned.

Bruce Fairbairn decided it was time to shake up the recipe.

On the evening of Wednesday July 16, 1975 I met the members of Sunshyne at Jericho, an abandoned World War II military base, to rehearse the new arrangements I'd prepared for Lindsay's tunes.  It was bad enough that my car had "died" that day, but even worse, it was soon apparent that some of the band members were not particularly enthusiastic. Bruce may have welcomed my involvement, but clearly some of the others did not ... in fact, their attitude bordered on hostility. It was an unexpected and difficult situation to be in, but it just made me want to work harder to prove myself.

With rehearsals complete, we spent Friday and Saturday at Can-Base with engineer Rolf Hennemann recording basic tracks and overdubs for Lindsay's two songs -- everything but the vocals. We needed more time in the studio, but first we had to find a way to pay the bills!

Bruce booked the band for a six-night run at the Fraser Arms Pub, with Lindsay on guitar and vocals, Richard Christie on bass, Dave Calder on drums, Bruce Fairbairn, Ralph Eppel and Tom Keenlyside on horns, and myself on percussion. The musicians' salaries would be pooled to pay the recording debt.

A week later (July 28, 1975) we were back at Can-Base cutting three more tracks: my songs "Open Soul Surgery"and "Julie", and a brilliant seven-minute Peter Bjerring epic titled "Lost Horizons".

With five tracks completed we booked two additional sessions -- July 31st and August 4th -- to record Lindsay's vocals ... but an hour into the first session Lindsay "folded". He'd lost confidence in his ability to carry the project vocally, and he no longer wanted the responsibility of fronting the band. 

Fortunately he had a replacement in mind.

Lindsay had recently seen a young singer at a New Westminster nightclub. His name was Ron Tabak. On August 7th Ron auditioned for Bruce, Lindsay and I at Can-Base.  We were blown away by his vocal ability and we asked him to join the band on the spot.

Ron was a big guy, tall and muscular, but gentle as a kitten. He had a speech impediment, a terrible stutter that made it difficult to understand him at times ... but he sang like an angel and he had a heart of gold. Ron was six inches taller than me, a giant by comparison, but all the years I knew him he called me "Big Buddy".

The following week we were back in the studio. Ron effortlessly replaced Lindsay’s vocals, and suddenly everything started coming together.  By the end of August 1975 we'd completed five tracks, including vocals and rough mixes.

Things were going extremely well ... or so I thought.

The next morning I phoned Fairbairn to explain what had happened. I apologized for causing friction in the band and I offered my resignation.

Bruce was caught completely off guard, but he assured me I was still a welcome member of the team, and it was "full steam ahead".

To warm up for the tour Bruce booked a gig at Vancouver's Body Shop night-club. At Jeff Burns' suggestion we had already scrapped the name "Sunshyne", but we hadn't yet found a suitable replacement (Stanley Screamer wasn't a majority favourite, although I rather liked it). Instead, for the Body Shop gig we appeared as "Under Construction".

The performance was well received, and we felt ready to take on the world.

Prism's first tour was a short one.  We opened for "Heart" at two Oregon State Fairs (Yakima and Medford), and we opened for "Foreigner" at the Paramount Theatre in Seattle.

It was in Medford that I first heard "Spaceship Superstar" on the radio.  In fact, it was the first time I'd ever heard a song of mine on the radio. I was at the wheel of the band's rental car, and I was so excited I drove right through a red light! - (luckily it was late at night and there was no traffic).

After the tour we returned to Vancouver and played to a small but receptive audience at the Pacific Coliseum on August 28, 1977, opening for "Dr. Hook" (best known for their 1972 song "Cover Of The Rolling Stone").

Shortly after the tour I quit the band.

I believed then, as I believe now, that a "hit" record must have several necessary components: a strong lyric and melody (obviously), but also an innovative musical arrangement. It doesn't have to be complicated -- in fact it can be dead simple -- but it has to be unique in some way, different than anything that's come before.

To the contrary, Lindsay Mitchell's first love was improvisational blues. By his own admission Lindsay had little interest in rehearsing, or learning arrangements. He preferred to "jam" in the studio and see what came of it. That was his style.

The more I insisted we rehearse, the more Lindsay resisted ... which put us on a collision course.  One of us had to go.   I volunteered.

Now (2006) Lindsay and I get along splendidly. But back then we were young and defiant, with fire in our bellies, and our heads full of ideas that we believed were worth fighting for. 

If only we'd known then what we know now.