As the founding member of the band Brookfield North, (formerly Brookfield), I thought it would be a fun project to visit our discography and selected poetry from my books.
Once a week, I’ll post one song and one poem from our beginnings to today. I will also include a commentary, photos and more.
I welcome your feedback.
Fredrick
Now lets go way back to 1982…
PRISONERS
45 vinyl - A side - first single 1982
Band Members
Fredrick Brooks acoustic guitar/lead vocals
Jeff Brackett - electric guitar/vocal harmony
Joy Brooks - vocal harmony
Mel Kay - Bass
David Hawes - keyboards
Morey Patchen - drums
Eric Walker - vocal harmony
Chris Catton - live take CBC - congas
Bob Federer - mix engineer/mastering
Our hometown was quiet back then, when some small-time youth gangs began a turf war. Nothing too serious, so I used them as fodder and wrote Prisoners. It was my three-minute attempt at turning their conflict into a mini West Side Story.
We booked Round Sound in Toronto and got our feet wet in a quality recording studio.
I still enjoy the pops and scratchy warm sound from the analog two-inch tape recordings. It wasn't perfect, but there's some stellar playing here.
>Click here to listen to Prisoners<
PRISONERS
I saw two white boys in click rhythm
Moving through their paces
Black leathers hard in a mid-day sun
Small time curses
Chorus
Enter side street wars and lover’s dance in drag
Knife wheelers pause in bloody romance
And eye to eye - I see leather fall
This day uncovered
Do you think I’m the only one
Who hides away - (Who hides away - Who hides Away)
We’re hardened senses encased in steel
For such a long time we remain alone
Self-exiled just one last time
From lover’s arms, this wing must fly
These moments misunderstood
Are they justified
For here we stand sheltered home and dry
Prisoners - in fear
We close our eyes.
Chorus
© Fredrick Brooks 1982
Homeland
Bone white - rigid and thirsty,
opaque as the day's dried skin.
How is it with the heart of my existence?
I long to touch your calloused soil, breathe the calm of your rural breast.
Born of petals and violence,
under the curse of winter and thaw,
you with your delicate veins emerged
so long ago.
Released in a triumphant myriad of colour.
Canada - Home
© Fredrick Brooks
From XXVII TWENTY SEVEN
