Lighthouse, Grosvenor Theatre at Kay Meek Arts Centre, March 22 and 23, 7:30 p.m. kaymeek.com.
Jamie Prokop turned down his first chance to join his dad’s band. He was six.
It was 1982. Approximately 33,000 fans were crammed into Ontario Place to hear Lighthouse.
Known for hits like “One Fine Morning,” “1849” and “Pretty Lady,” Toronto’s rock ‘n’ roll orchestra seemed built for the excesses of the 1970s. They were big enough for stadiums and rock operas and concept albums about alienation. Boasting 10 musicians, their old band photos looks like a police lineup of Canada’s 10 most groovy.
But in 1976 they came off the road and didn’t get back on it.
The 1982 concert, which was broadcast on CBC, features Prokop’s father Skip on drums and Prokop’s sisters wailing along with the band. But not Prokop.
“I remember just clinging onto my mom’s neck. They couldn’t get me away from her,” he says.
After six years apart, the concert got Lighthouse together. But it didn’t get them back together.
When Prokop talks about the music of his youth, Lighthouse is largely absent.
He remembers his dad waking his kids on Saturday mornings with Average White Band and Hall and Oates.
“He would just put the stereo on and crank it,” he says with a laugh.
But Lighthouse albums were heard only rarely,
he recalls.
As a teenager, Prokop’s focus shifted to football. He punted, placekicked, captained the defence, and served as backup quarterback. But music was never absent, he says.
“Music was always in the house, always being worked on.”
As a young child, his father taught him to drum. Prokop can’t remember if he asked his dad for lessons or if his father asked him, but he remembers hitting paradiddles and double stroke rolls on a pillow.
“A pillow doesn’t rebound,” he says, explaining its value for beginners.
Appraising his abilities, Prokop says he’s “fairly proficient” on drums and guitar and can “dabble” on bass and keyboards.
“Fairly proficient” may sound self-deprecating, but Prokop’s standards are understandably high.
He remembers his dad laying down rat-a-tat-tat Buddy Rich phrases and winking at him, like it was no big deal.
“I’m a decent drummer but I’m not him,” Prokop says.
Despite spending long hours on the gridiron, Prokop found himself pulled back to music when he was in high school. Around that same time, his dad found himself back in Lighthouse.
In 1996, the band released its first album in 22 years: Song of Ages. And this time they stayed together.
It wasn’t a hell-freezes-over, not-in-this-lifetime reunion requiring extensive group therapy or vows of sobriety. They were just busy musicians who missed making music together.
Through the band’s long breaks, reunions, and personnel change (Lighthouse’s Wikipedia entry counts 25 horn players) a constant was Skip on drums.
But following multiple heart attacks, Skip realized he didn’t have much time left.
After ventricular tachycardia turned the drummer’s heartbeat into a dangerous quiver, Skip, his bandmates, and their manager sat down to “talk about the hard thing.”
Prokop suggested Bill Hibbs take over as drummer, he recalls.
“What about Bill?” he asked.
“What about you?” they countered.
For the second time, Prokop had a chance to get on stage with his dad’s band. He wasn’t sure. His dad was.
Skip died in 2017. But despite his failing health, he found the vitality to pass his drumsticks to his son.
Following the invitation, Prokop and his dad repaired to a Brantford, Ont. recording studio. And just like the pillow lessons 30 years earlier, Skip walked his son through the rudiments of his band’s songs.
Jamie joined.
“And so it goes,” Prokop says. “I’m not that young anymore but I’m the youngest in the band.”
Lighthouse just wrapped up a rock ‘n’ roll cruise out of Miami where they shared the stage with Alan Parsons and The Zombies.
“A lot of them are in their 50-plus years, just like us,” he says. “Most of them are actually wrapping up.”
The grind gets harder, Prokop says. The days of getting off the bus and relaxing until show time are over.
“I’m tearing down and setting up the drums. We’re lugging each other’s gear around or helping out the older guys with their amps.”
Most of their fans are in their 60s and 70s. But there are younger listeners who stumbled on Lighthouse through satellite radio or old LPs.
There will come a time when Lighthouse will have to leave the road, Prokop notes.
“We’re getting there,” he says. “There’s definitely a point at which you probably want to pack it in. But not yet. . . . Not this year.”
