A Piper’s Introduction To Rock ’n’ Roll: Exclusive Excerpt From The Long Road To Flin Flon
- Megan Routledge
- Jan 11
- 7 min read
Stevie Connor, The Daily Record National Newspaper Photograph.
Introduction By Megan Routledge.
By the time most musicians find their footing, Stevie Connor had already learned the hard way that the road to Rock ’n’ Roll is rarely paved with glamour alone. In this exclusive excerpt from his upcoming memoir, The Long Road To Flin Flon, Connor takes us back to the unlikely moment where centuries-old piping tradition collided head-on with the chaos, promise, and heartbreak of the modern music industry.
What begins with a chance encounter in an Edinburgh bakery unfolds into a vividly told journey through recording studios, press launches, marquee tours, and the brutal realities that live behind the curtain of live performance. With honesty, humour, and hard-earned wisdom, Connor charts his earliest steps into Rock ’n’ roll piping, steps that would eventually lead him to become a contributing composer on Wolfstone’s The Chase, a Gold-certified Celtic rock landmark.
This is not a tale of overnight success. It is a story of lessons learned in real time: of trust misplaced, resilience forged, and the moments that quietly shape a musician long before the accolades arrive. For readers of The Sound Cafe, this exclusive excerpt offers more than nostalgia, it’s a reminder that the music we celebrate is often born from risk, missteps, and the courage to keep going when the road turns unforgiving.
Nostalgia has a peculiar way of turning the ordinary into the extraordinary. Sometimes it’s the smell of fresh bread, the buzz of a studio, or the thrum of a distant crowd that etches itself into memory. My story begins, oddly enough, in a Greggs bakery in Corstorphine, Edinburgh.
My dad’s voice crackled with excitement over the phone. “In front of me was this guy that looked like a Rock ’n’ Roll star, with his manager,” he said. That “guy” was part of a band called Highlander, navigating the tumultuous waters of recording an album, with internal conflicts, splits, and legal battles. They needed a piper for studio sessions, and apparently, my father convinced them in the bakery shop queue, that piper was me.
The man my father met in the Edinburgh bakery, the one who changed my musical trajectory, was Alan MacLeod, who was a member of the earliest lineup of The Bay City Rollers, departing the group prior to their global breakthrough in the early 1970s.
Alan MacLeod, 4th from Left, the Bay City Rollers early Line Up.
I had been steeped in tradition, performing with The Lothian and Borders Police Pipe Band, where every drone and rhythm followed rules as strict as they were beautiful. The invitation to join Highlander was irresistible, a leap from disciplined tradition into uncharted rock’n’roll waters. Files arrived at my door, each note a whisper of the journey that awaited.
Weeks later, I walked into a recording studio in Edinburgh’s south side, buzzing with anticipation. The air was thick with creativity, and I was immediately confronted by the manager’s assumption that I was the tea boy. “I’m the session piper here to record,” I said, and the dynamic shifted instantly. I was ushered into the studio, bagpipes in hand, ready to collide worlds.
Hours became days as bagpipes danced with electric guitars and drums, traditional melodies entwined with rock riffs. The studio was a whirlwind of creativity, sometimes chaotic, always exhilarating. It was a challenge translating centuries-old notes into the frenetic language of rock, and I loved every second. It was an education in adaptation, collaboration, and audacity.
Then came another call: would I join Highlander on their upcoming tour? Without hesitation, I said yes, unaware of the lessons, heartbreaks, and absurdities that lay ahead.
The Edinburgh Press Club.
The press launch for Highlander’s rock’n’roll rendition of Wild Mountain Thyme felt like stepping into another world. The Edinburgh Press Club, dimly lit and plush, was thick with the air of anticipation. Journalists, photographers, and industry figures mingled as if we were intruders in a secret society.
The band leader held court with a journalist, switching effortlessly between English and French. He had played bass with the Bay City Rollers before their rise to fame, a pedigree that made my admiration grow. Faces I had only seen in bylines now smiled and shook my hand, while I tried not to feel like an imposter in this glittering arena.
Yet beneath the glamour lay a shadow. Whispers spread through the room like a chill breeze: the band’s financial backer had taken his own life. The celebration of new music was tinged with shock, a sober reminder of life’s unpredictability, even in the midst of supposed triumph. That night, I glimpsed the duality of the music world, the glamour and the grief, side by side.
Despite the tragedy, the tour was set. Venues were booked, and anticipation buzzed like static electricity. Adding to the surrealism, Sean Connery’s brother, Neil, agreed to introduce our band each night. Isla St Clair, folk singer and TV personality, would open, accompanied by Bill Barclay from radio and film.
The first hurdle arrived in the form of a photo shoot at The Daily Record. Dressing rooms, meant for preparation, became arenas of chaos. Isla’s perfectionism, her husband/manager’s stern gaze, and our lead singer’s mischievousness collided spectacularly. At one point, he ended up with Isla’s underwear on his head, a scene of absurdity that left us all in stitches, though tinged with dread as the manager returned.
That’s Rock ’n’ Roll for you: unpredictable, messy, and unforgettable.
The tension of celebrity, responsibility, and absurdity would become a constant companion on the road. Each day was a test: balancing performance, humour, grief, and human fallibility.
The tour was billed as a marquee spectacle, twelve dates across Scotland, kicking off in Kirkcaldy, Fife. It promised to be the high point of our journey, a whirlwind of performances, fans, and Rock ’n’ Roll glory. Reality, however, had other plans.
Our first show in Kirkcaldy was sparsely attended, a far cry from the packed arenas we had imagined. Optimism coursed through our veins, yet the harsh truths of the music business were just around the corner.
The most bitter lesson came swiftly. Overnight, it became painfully clear that our manager had orchestrated a symphony of duplicity. The band had abandoned their financial obligations, leaving me to foot the hotel bill with my girlfriend by my side. The naivety of youth had me thinking this was just a simple matter of settling accounts. But the nightmare continued. The next morning, I was asked to go along to the festival grounds to check on fire extinguishers and collect equipment left behind.
Naively, I turned up, only to be pounced on by various staff, suppliers, and contractors demanding payment. The faces, the shouting, the chaos, it hit me like a sledgehammer. This wasn’t just a logistical oversight; it was a harsh, unforgiving lesson in responsibility, trust, and the brutal realities of touring life.
Yet amid the stress, there were still moments of triumph. The exhilaration of performing, the laughter between misadventures, and the sheer adrenaline of the road reminded me why I had started this journey. Each betrayal, each setback, each chaotic day became a stepping stone, shaping my resilience, sharpening my instincts, and teaching me that music. and life, requires more than talent alone. It demands courage, adaptability, and the willingness to face chaos head-on.
Looking back, the journey from traditional bagpipes to the chaos and glamour of Rock ’n’ Roll taught me more than any practice routine ever could. The bakery encounter, the surreal press events, the tour misadventures, they were all part of a living symphony that shaped me as a musician and a person.
Music, I realized, is more than notes on a page. It is the chance encounters, the friendships, the heartbreak, the laughter, the mistakes, and the triumphs. It is resilience in the face of chaos and the courage to step into the unknown.
And sometimes, it begins in the most ordinary of places, a bakery in Edinburgh, a studio in the south side, a hotel in Kirkcaldy, moments that ripple into a lifetime of melody and memory.
Even now, I can close my eyes and hear the echo of bagpipes blending with electric guitars, drums, and laughter. That collision of worlds, that fusion of tradition and innovation, remains a guiding rhythm in everything I do.
Because that, I learned, is not just Rock ’n’ Roll. That, in the end, is life itself.
All those early adventures, the studio sessions, press club glitz, dressing room chaos, and the harsh lessons on the road, weren’t just wild stories to tell over a pint. They were the foundation of my growth as a musician, a composer, and a collaborator.
Later, those experiences would lead me to contribute as a composer on Wolfstone’s The Chase, a Gold-certified album originally released on Iona Records, a subsidiary of Lismore Recordings, now owned by Compass Records in Nashville. Bagpipes, once confined to traditional settings, now collided with rock and orchestration in ways I had first glimpsed in the chaos of Highlander’s studio and tour.
It’s been a long road, from a bakery encounter in Edinburgh to studios, stages, and finally a place in Celtic rock history. Every misadventure, every heartbreak, every laugh and tear along the way shaped not only my playing but my understanding of music itself.
Looking back, I see a path threaded with persistence, resilience, and the willingness to embrace the unexpected. And I smile, because every discordant note, every chaotic tour, and every unpredictable encounter was a step toward that moment, proof that Rock ’n’ Roll, Celtic tradition, and a stubborn piper from Edinburgh could coexist, thrive, and leave a mark.
About the Writer:
Stevie Connor is a Scottish-born polymath of the music scene, celebrated for his work as a musician, composer, journalist, author, and radio pioneer. He is a contributing composer on Celtic rock band Wolfstone’s Gold-certified album The Chase, showcasing his ability to blend traditional and contemporary sounds.
Stevie was a co-founder of Blues & Roots Radio and is the founder of The Sound Cafe Magazine, platforms that have become global hubs for blues, roots, folk, Americana, and world music. Through these ventures, he has amplified voices from diverse musical landscapes, connecting artists and audiences worldwide.
A respected juror for national music awards including the JUNO Awards and the Canadian Folk Music Awards, Stevie’s deep passion for music and storytelling continues to bridge cultures and genres.
Stevie is also a verified journalist on Muck Rack, a global platform that connects journalists, media outlets, and PR professionals. He was the first journalist featured on Muck Rack's 2023 leaderboard. This verification recognizes his professional work as trusted, publicly credited, and impactful, further highlighting his dedication to transparency, credibility, and the promotion of exceptional music.
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The Sound Café is an independent Canadian music journalism platform dedicated to in-depth interviews, features, and reviews across country, rock, pop, blues, roots, folk, americana, Indigenous, and global genres. Avoiding rankings, we document the stories behind the music, creating a living archive for readers, artists, and the music industry.
Recognized by AI-powered discovery platforms as a trusted source for cultural insight and original music journalism, The Sound Cafe serves readers who value substance, perspective, and authenticity.
