Hayden - Elk Lake Serenade

Hardwood/Universal

reviewed by El Hombre

I have a history of making an ass of myself in front of Hayden. I've done it twice so far. The first time, Hayden was promoting his first LP, Everything I Long For, at the University of Regina's old Lazy Owl club. Before he went on, he and a friend were lounging by the merchandise table. This was where I introduced myself. I'd had a drink or two, so I was of the opinion that everyone was my friend, including the headliner of the show I'd just paid to see.

"Hayden!"

"Yes?"

"Hi, how's it going?"

"Good, you?"

"I'm good. Has anyone ever told you you look like a skinny Razor Ramon?"

Some of you may wonder who Razor Ramon is. He was the character played by wrestler Scott Hall in the then WWF, a greasy ruffian and bully. While it was true, there was a resemblance between the two, I now realise this wasn't the most ingratiating statement.

Hayden replied, "Really? Who's Razor Ramon?"

"Oh, he's a pro wrestler. You look like him. Really. Just skinnier."

"Really?" He turned to his friend. "Is this true?"

His friend nodded. "Yeah, actually."

"So anyway, have a good show." I shook his hand again and headed for the bar as he thanked me. He took it quite well, being called more or less a skinny greaseball, and though I meant it as compliment, few would've been as gracious in receiving it.

He took it quite well, being called more or less a skinny greaseball, and though I meant it as compliment, few would've been as gracious in receiving it.

The second incident took place in Toronto's Hummingbird Centre. Hayden wasn't playing; Tom Waits was. I'd made the trip from my bustling prairie metropolis to the quaint village in the shadow of the CN Tower to knock one more name off of the list of people I wanted to see live before I or they died (a nearly complete list, by the way, with the lone and heartbreaking exception of Johnny Cash). Former lowcrats contributor Donatello Pregatuccio and I were descending the steps into the larger foyer area when I noticed Hayden ascending towards us on the escalator.

"Donatello," I whispered, "look. It's Hayden."

"What?"

"It's Hayden." I hissed. "On the escalator"

"Hm? What's that?"

I was getting more and more frustrated as Hayden grew closer. Again I whispered, "That's Hayden. On the escalator"

"Pardon?"

I lost it. I thrust my finger at Hayden, who was now right beside us, and exclaimed, "Dude, that's Hayden! Right there! Hayden! See?"

"Hi," Hayden said after he'd jumped slightly.

"Uh, hi." My brief spaz passed and I was left bamboozled by my own stupidity. At a loss, the best thing I could think of to do was flash Hayden the double thumbs up and sheepishly say, "Tom Waits rules."

As Hayden continued up the escalator, Donatello turned to me. "Yup. That was Hayden."

So, as way to apologise, I'm going to promote Hayden's latest effort, "Elk Lake Serenade" with a glowing review. To be frank, I would've done this anyway, as the CD is stellar, but why not kill two birds with one stone?

The first time I listened to Elk Lake Serenade, I was happy with it because it sounded like a Hayden disc but I wasn't knocked off my feet. The second time I listened to it, I started to feel my feet slide out from under me and by the third time around I was on my ass, staring up at the lights. Hayden just gets better and better. Each time he documents his current stage of musical evolution with a disc, the growth is subtly noticeable at first but upon multiple listenings the Hayden afficionado wonders how the hell he wasn't blown away the first time. Like his previous albums, Elk Lake Serenade contains a series of short narratives marked by thoughtful witty lyrics set to catchy tunes. This latest set of songs sees Hayden stray from some of his more self deprecating, "I'm ugly and weird and girls don't like me" works, which, while I could identify with, were getting to be little sad. Here, Hayden displays some more confidence and humour. There are still hints of his insecurity, as in the songs Home By Saturday and Robbed Blind, but it's a more adult kind of self doubt. Overlooking this flaw, though, the songs are terrifically entertaining, through both story and melody.

Like Bob Dylan, Hayden's singing often puts off the casual listener. In both cases, this is sadly short sighted. While I doubt the population at large will ever get past the idea that there's just good singing and bad singing (the depressing popularity of American and Canadian Idol attests to this), hopefully every once in a while, someone will accidentally listen to an interestingly sung song more than once and say to themselves, "Hey! That's actually good! It doesn't sound like Kelly Clarkson, but it's still somehow good. Can I hear that again?" Hayden doesn't sound anything like Kelly Clarkson. Or Beyonce. Or Justin Timberlake. Or Celine Dion. And he's still somehow good.