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Ron Bartley has been around music since before he was born. His parents were the hit-making duo known as the Singing Sweethearts who performed across the country. At a very young age Ron would pick up his dad's Gibson Hummingbird guitar and mimic entertainers such as Elvis, Johnny Cash and others. Born in beautiful Vernon, Manitoba, his life as a boy was everything from a Rockwell painting. His folks would one day get a telegram asking that they come and perform in Toronto, the hub of the entertainment world in Canada. Little Ronnie, who was then about 10, welcomed the change. After all, he had heard so much about the big city and all its excitement. In the summer of 1960-something Ron met Jimi. They were 13 years old, living in the annex of Toronto. They hit it off right away, spending most of their time at St. Albans Boys Club, a community centre that became a big part of their teens. They talked about music and how much fun it would be to form a band. They began hanging out together and would sometimes borrow instruments to jam and make up songs. They became inseparable and would often skip school just to play. When Jimi 's parents bought him his first bass guitar it was the talk of the neighbourhood. It was a "Hofner Beatle Bass". Soon after, Ron would have his first electric guitar, a Gibson Jr. They would spend many hours playing and writing songs. It was evident, even at that time, that the talent these two boys had would result in something great. Jimi was asked to play with a band called "The Death". He told Ronnie about the offer who was quick to say "take it, it's a great opportunity", considering that these guys were older. One of Jimi's first professional gigs with The Death was opening for James Brown and The Famous Flames in Mimico, Ontario. Soon after, Jimi would introduce Ronnie to the band as lead guitarist. They played for a while in local clubs and high schools. One day Jimi approached Ron saying he was not into the music this band was making and wanted to start his own band. Would he like to be in it. They both were overjoyed with the idea of starting a totally original band. An so was born the LondonTones. The music had that British flavor that the boys were looking for. The names of the bands changed often, as they were always searching for the perfect marketing word. JUST US represented the young entrepeneurs that were ready to set the world on fire.....and you know what? They did. The band was performing at The 813 Club, primarily a Jamacian nightspot that served up some of the best curry lamb in the city. One night after a long performance a man approached the band and gave them his card. He commented " I like your sound and look, call me I think I can help you guys out." The boys couldn't wait to see if this character that saw them in such obscure environment was on the up and up. They connected with Jack Morrow and he quickly could see that these boys were extremely talented. He signed them to a 5 year contract and began shopping the band. Within a couple of months he had a recording deal and concerts set up. It would not be long before they would have their first hit record. More iUpdates on Ron coming soon. Read more about the band at AC history.

 

The idea of sharing many years with someone in a very intimate musical relationship is triompho. It was a brotherhood. The bond was more than we could have ever expected. Then, to lose one of those special people, serves only to awaken the life in ourselves. All we can do is continue doing what we do best. Brian was making music till the end. I loved Brian and will miss him and think of him forever. Ron AC
The Killing Road (cont'd) Club 813 was a predominantly Jamaican hangout, and the smell of curried lamb filled the air as much as the ganja and the tunes that four white boys were jamming on stage. During one of our rock-steady nights, this elderly man with a voluptuous woman wearing an extravagantly large, maroon, velvet hat was silently watching us play. He approached us after our first set and proceeded to hand me a business card. "Call me tomorrow, I've got big plans for you guys," he said nonchalantly, before leaving the club.
He was right, he did have big plans for us...As our marketing team was busy designing and distributing memorabilia to the masses, the band was racking up sky miles and every other day we would arrive in a different destination. The fan base was getting bigger and demand for the band was beginning to take its toll. We would sometimes do as many as 55 cities in 60 days; this would include meet-and-greet sessions, radio interviews, in-store appearances and how can we forget those special gatherings that promoters put together for after the shows. These theatrical events would consist of that old cliché, S, D & RnR, and if you've heard anything about this traveling carnal zoo, 99% of the dirt is probably true.
For many years I lived the life of a rock star, within my own outrageous bounds. My sweet clairvoyant Mama would save every postcard I sent and review or newspaper clipping about the band, as she mailed off our popular 45-records to her relatives in Southern Italy.
By this point I was in need of a passport, more countries, more concerts, more everything. The overindulgence became monotonous and practically routine. I was a sequined soldier, defending my public persona by means of gratifying my supporters. At times it seemed that even the simplest form of stability was a luxury. The revenue I was collecting afforded me the ability to drive a great car, to have a recording studio built into the mansion on the hill, and all the material goods one could drink, but no sooner than I would sit down to enjoy a quiet brunch on my patio overlooking the shore, I would receive a phone call notifying me of the next scheduled tour. No time to soak up the sunlight or read a good book, I had to hit the road again.
It felt good knowing that our faithful followers found some satisfaction in our egocentric endeavors. Everything imaginable was available to us, meaning the abundance of candy and promiscuity was part of our daily menu. Our intrigue was not limited only to musical fans. Our collective group of admirers ranged from gay politicians to bored rich brats looking for kicks with rock bands. The subtle, unrecognizable torment we sometimes faced was stored deep underneath the layers of laughter and eye-piercing facades. We wanted the fame, we demanded the attention, only to find ourselves weighed down by a burden of responsibility. Luckily, time has a way of slowing down the fast-paced highway of popularity; a good thing if you're caught up in the redundant ruckus. In the end, we can reflect as mature connoisseurs of our self-appointed space and smile, knowing we slayed many dragons along the killing road.

 

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