A sequel to Record Store Tales #30:  Sausagefest

I have been informed that this year’s Sausagefest will be the festival’s last.  Established in 2002, that would make 2026 the 25th installment of the hallowed establishment.

The origins and nature of Sausagefest were relayed to me originally by Uncle Meat.

The heart and core of Sausagefest is the annual Top 100 list.  The format has varied slightly over the years, but it remains largely unchanged.  They take votes from all attendees, months in advance, of their top 100 song picks that year.  They tabulate them, and over two crazy nights in an undisclosed but vast outdoor location, they count them down one by one.

The top 100 list was started by Eric and his buddy Derek back in 1990.  It was New Year’s Eve, and he collected a top 100 list and put together the tapes (!) himself.  He often had to borrow a CD from somebody to do it, because there was no web.   An evening would typically run from 5pm to 3am, solid with tunes and the odd skit in between.

This went on for three years.  Much later, in 2002, the concept was reinvented as Sausagefest.  The setting was now a pristine scenic valley with a river running through it.  Awesome.  A generator powers the wall of sound, and there are no neighbors to complain about the noise.

I attended my first Sausagefest in 2006.  The directions were sketchy at best, and cell phone reception non-existent in the valley.  I knew a few people, but many were total strangers.  Being a first-timer, I didn’t feel in on all the jokes or conversations, and frequently found myself alone.  I bathed in the revitalizing waters of the Beaver river, and back then the boys still rented a porta-potty, giving us some semblance of civilization.

I went again in 2007 and 2008, but stopped going for a few years after I got married.  I came back again in 2012 and went steadily until the pandemic in 2020 made me afraid of human contact.

In hindsight, the pandemic excuse either enabled, or hastened the inevitable.  It changed my perspective on the cottage.  During the uncertain times of Covid, I learned to take every cottage weekend available, and treat it as precious as the water of life.  I also became accustomed to peace, quiet, and a thick mattress.  I got soft.  It’s undeniable.  As I compose this epitaph for my Sausagefesf experience, my left arm throbs in pain from a pinched nerve.  All it takes is one bad sleep.  My back stabs me silently from my chair, and I am often robbed of sleep due to a miscellaneous discomfort or bodily need.

There’s also the expense and work involved.  For my last year, I had a pretty deluxe tent and gazebo.  They’re all in storage with my sleeping bag.  Who knows how they fared the years.  I might have to buy all new stuff.  A new cooler for certain, and all that food, drink, and other necessities.  It adds up.  But that’s just pedestrian stuff.  There’s also the two day recovery it takes to get over a weekend like that, considering body pain and poor sleep.

There was a comraderie at Sausagefest.  There were some that welcomed me immediately, and struck up quick conversations about music.  There was Ryan, and his buddies Chuck and Mark.  There was Seb, sweet French Seb, intimidating looking with his tattoos and moustache.  Then you take a closer look, and one of the tattoos is of the Klingon Empire sigil.  One more human bonded.  Zachary, the Lord of Lamb, and master of the Tardis lore.  A quirky but loveable individual who “is the reason we still do this shit,” according to the lyrics of The Maiden Song, which was written for him.  He does love Iron Maiden.  He does love Iron Maiden a lot.  And now the lyrics make a little more sense.  The song was written and debuted at Sausagefest, and is loaded with inside jokes about Zachary.  I’ve only heard of “McMullin’s Bar and Grill” because of that song.  The song is what you’d call a “roast”, which is the context in which to take the lyrics.  Musically though, it is a dead serious homage to Iron Maiden written and recorded by Seb, with Dr. Dave and Uncle Meat.

Ah yes, Dr. Dave.  Not really a new face, but someone I saw yearly because of Sausagefest.  I attended concerts with him in the 90s.  When I think of Dave, I’m always reminded of that time he was what I call “asshole dancing” wildly between me and the fire, and impaled my face with his elbow, when he tripped.  He impacted my glasses right into the bridge of my nose.  It fucking hurt.  I’ll never let him forget that.

Love ya Dave, you Transformers-hating animal with an alien on the end of his knob.  Great drummer and musician as well.

In the earliest days there were some weird people.  There was this one guy who always wore jeans even in the hottest weather, with sunglasses.  I don’t know I ever saw his eyes.  He was completely disinterested in everything and was unapproachable.  I think he died a few years ago.  There was another guy, I think his name was “Crazy Dave”.  He was utterly insane and used to throw firecrackers into the bonfire.  I definitely did not like that guy.

There were also friends of Tom Morwood, our gracious host, that I had known from parties and concerts.  Phil, or “The British Guy” was always supportive to me.  Frankie Thoms, who let me taste his BBQ rabbit pieces.  The late, great Troy Generoux was a wonderful human being.  We spent an evening talking about spirituality and religion one year.  His younger brother Tyler and his dog Zeppelin were annual stalwarts that I had known for years.  You can guess Tyler’s favourite band, and that his dog was indeed black.  Also a talented drummer.

The thing about Sausagefest is there were no formal introductions.  Neither Tom nor Meat take you from chair to chair, introducing you to people around the fire.  You were on your own.  And so I was never introduced to Tom’s younger brother Ernie, who probably never said a single word to me in all the years I’ve been going.  There was a nice guy named Alf who was in charge of the bonfire.  I can’t remember the guy with one eye’s name but he was nice too.  I just…like I said…nobody introduced me, and I’m always socially awkward under the best of circumstances.

Later on a new younger crew of kids started going.  Sausagefest the Next Generation.  They had some interesting taste in music, bringing in a lot of funk, but also rap.  I remember years before, the Stone Roses were not tolerated at Sausagefest, but now rap was?  It was…unexpected.  Change is inevitable, but I was starting to feel like Admiral Kirk in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.  Old.

They’re good guys, the Next Generation that were only kids when I met them but are now fathers in their own rights.  But again, I was on the outside.  These guys were all schoolmates.  I was from The Beat Goes On.  Tom was from The  Beat Goes On, Meat worked there for about a year, and Dr. Dave a short while.  I had no outside contact with any of these other guys.

Of course, we cannot talk about Sausagefest without mentioning Max the Axe.  Meat start talking about this guy and his music.  Songs like “Where’s Pablo?” and “Magnum P.I.”.  Like a myth, I was told “he may or may not show up, who knows.”  I think Meat’s exact words were, “He said he’s coming.  That could mean he’s hitch-hiking or dropping in from a parachute, knowing him.”  When Max finally did arrive, with his friend Chris Alderton the Lamb Lad, he liked me immediately.  Max is a big personality and likes everyone, but he and I bonded.  He made me laugh.

I remember one year I got up and improvised a song about him, which was never recorded.  “Max the fuckin’ Axe,” was the main hook.  “He’s gonna kick your fuckin’ ass.”

Nobody but me will remember that.

One standby of the Fest every year was Tom’s dad Lionel.  You’d see him drive his tractor down the hill and all the guys would greet him as patriarch.  As old friends of Tom, they’ve known him decades.  Tom lost Lionel a few years ago, and I can’t imagine that place without his tractor coming down the hill for a hello.

The music was the main feature, but I’m going to spend only a little time talking about the songs.  There were, after all, so many.  you figure roughly 100 songs per year, times 24 years, that’s 2400 songs.  Of course, many were repeat.  There were also many extra songs, like “tribute songs” to attendees and the year an entire Rush album was #1.  Eventually repeat songs were permitted.  Annually you could probably count on Rush, Maiden, Sabbath, but also artists more obscure that I had never heard before.  Five Alarm Funk, for example.  Many from the lighter side:  Gordon Lightfoot, Stompin’ Tom Connors and Johnny Cash would make appearances.  Jazz, blues, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, anything.  Yes even rap.  The kids liked Afroman and I really don’t get it.

I’ve gotten old.  I’ve gotten soft.  I can’t party like that without paying a heavy price, rendering the good time briefer and not worth it.  My left arm is absolutely throbbing today.  Typing is exertion.  I wish I could sleep on the ground, on an air mattress in a tent again.  I think about how we would just bake in that humid, shadeless field.  I would cheat and go into my car for half an hour, charging my phone and blasting the air conditioning.  Even when you take a dip in the Beaver river, your revitalization only lasts a short while.  Then you’re sweating again.

I’m tired.  So I won’t be there for the finale in 2026.

I wish you all well, my friends.  For many of us, we only saw each other once a year, and they will be saying goodbye for possibly the final time.  Some of those guys aren’t on social media.  I am sure for Uncle Meat, this is a sad farewell.  He threw all his creative energy into the annual countdown tape and the numerous sketches and original songs that came during the countdown.  I am sure that this is a hole in his life.

I’m grateful that there were many artists that I discovered thanks to the countdown.  I used to buy at least one album after every Fest because of what I heard.

Thank you Tom for your annual hospitality.  Thank you Meat for your hard work.  I have to go take another pain pill.  Qa’Pla, and enjoy the last hurrah.

For the first time ever:  Exclusive!  “The Maiden Song” – the studio version – performance video