Exclusive Excerpt From The Long Road To Flin Flin: Where The Blues Found Me
- Megan Routledge
- 4 hours ago
- 7 min read
Introduction by Megan Routledge | The Sound Cafe Journal
In this evocative chapter from The Long Road To Flin Flon, Stevie Connor takes us back to Edinburgh’s vibrant blues scene of the late 1980s and early 1990s, a world of smokey pubs, unforgettable musicians, and raw musical honesty. Rich with Scottish humour, atmosphere, and emotional insight, this chapter is more than nostalgia; it is the story of a young man discovering the music, culture, and spirit that would shape his entire future.
Long before Blues & Roots Radio, before The Sound Cafe, before Canada… there was Edinburgh in the 1980s and early 1990s.
And I was there.
People often ask where my connection to roots music truly began. They assume it came later through broadcasting, journalism, or the years spent building platforms for artists around the world. But the truth is much simpler than that.
It began in darkened pubs, crowded clubs, and smoke-filled rooms in Edinburgh, listening to musicians who carried the Blues with complete honesty and conviction.
That was where the music first found me properly.
I had always been fascinated by harmonica players. Maybe that started at home. My Dad was actually a very good harp player himself, drawing much of his inspiration from the great Larry Adler. He had this vamping style that seemed completely effortless to him and utterly impossible to me.
No matter how many times I tried, my own attempts usually sounded less like authentic blues and more like a distressed goose that had taken a wrong turn somewhere over Leith docks and immediately questioned every decision it had ever made.
Dad, meanwhile, would sit there making the harmonica sing properly, effortless, musical, all very civilized, while I stood in the corner of the room, my palms sweating, trying to coax mine into co-operation through a mixture of optimism and denial.
The sheer frustration of it was agonizing. I wanted that sound so desperately, but every time I blew, the reed choked, and my dry mouth failed me. I was terrified of sounding foolish, yet completely unable to let the instrument go.
Still, there was something about it that got under my skin early. A harmonica could sound mournful, joyful, lonely, cheeky, and half-cut all at the same time, which, now I think about it, is probably the most Scottish thing imaginable.
So when I started hearing Ronnie Tait play live in Edinburgh, I was immediately drawn in.
Ronnie Tait was one of the great unsung figures of the Edinburgh blues scene, a self-taught singer, harmonica player, guitarist, pianist, and born performer whose voice carried the grit and soul of American blues through the closes and pubs of Scotland’s capital.
Born in Edinburgh in 1946, Ronnie’s musical roots stretched from early rock ’n’ roll and Elvis Presley through to the deep traditions of Chicago and Delta blues. By the 1980s, he had become the driving force behind the legendary Rootsie Tootsie Blues Band, whose residency at Preservation Hall on Victoria Street became essential listening for anyone serious about live blues in Edinburgh.
Step through the doors of Preservation Hall on a wet Tuesday night back then, and the first thing that hit you was a wall of condensation, the sour tang of spilled heavy ale, and a blue haze of cigarette smoke that hung low under the timber beams. The room was a subterranean pressure cooker.
I remember one specific night, wedged flat against the damp stone wall, clutching a pint just to keep from being swept into the crowd. The PA system was humming with feedback, held together by hope, electrical tape, and sheer bloody-mindedness.
Ronnie stood on the low riser, a battered green bullet microphone cupped tight in his hands. He looked out over the sea of wet coats and flat caps, wiped his brow, and cracked a grin.
"Right then," Ronnie muttered into the mic, his thick Edinburgh drawl cutting through the chatter. "Let's see if we can raise the dead tonight."
He brought the harp to his mouth, and the room exploded. It wasn't a Scottish guy mimicking the Mississippi Delta; it was something entirely local, entirely real, and fiercely authentic.
Alongside Ronnie stood guitarist Jim Condie, one of Scotland’s most respected and versatile blues guitarists. Jim’s playing combined technical brilliance with deep musical instinct, equally at home with electric blues, bottleneck slide, acoustic roots, and understated soulful accompaniment. As Ronnie’s musical partner in both the Rootsie Tootsie Band and the stripped-back Rootsies Duo, Jim provided the perfect counterbalance, never overplaying, never undercooking it, always knowing exactly where the song needed to go.
Watching them was an exercise in beautiful contradiction. Jim would lean back, his fingers moving with a fluid, casual precision over the fretboard, while Ronnie wailed on the harp, the crowd close enough to feel the physical vibration of the low notes rattling through the floorboards.
And it was Jim who quietly widened my musical map in ways I didn’t fully appreciate at the time.
Through his playing, and just as importantly, his taste, I found myself regularly heading to Platform 1 in Edinburgh to see The Tam White Band. That became a bit of a habit, then a ritual, then simply part of the week. Tam White had that rare ability to own a room without ever needing to shout for it, and Jim’s connection to that world made it feel like I was being gently guided further into the deeper end of the blues without anyone ever actually saying, “you’re coming with us now.”
Jim Condie would go on to build a remarkable career, performing and recording with an extraordinary range of artists, from Van Morrison and Ali Farka Touré to Tam White, Louisiana Red, Nazareth, and Sam Brown. His session work for the BBC included contributions to the soundtrack of the iconic Scottish television series Rab C. Nesbitt.
Yet despite the breadth of his career, his work with Ronnie Tait, and that wider Edinburgh scene orbiting players like Tam White, remains one of the defining chapters of Scotland’s blues history.
Together, Ronnie Tait and Jim Condie represented something many outside Scotland never quite believed existed: a fiercely authentic Scottish blues tradition.
Long before blues and roots music became fashionable again, they were living it night after night in Edinburgh’s clubs and bars. You could hear every bend of the guitar string, every breath drawn through a harmonica, every ounce of emotion behind the voice. There was no separation between performer and audience. It felt alive.
There was a profound poetry to the geography of it all. Inside, the music sang of sun-baked cotton fields, dusty crossroads, and sweltering Southern bayous. But at closing time, the door would fly open, and we would step out into the freezing, rain-slicked reality of a midnight Edinburgh gale ripping straight off the Firth of Forth.
Standing under the shadow of the Castle, wiping the condensation from my jacket, I realized the blues didn't belong to a single zip code. The mud of the Mississippi and the cobblestones of the Royal Mile spoke the exact same language: struggle, survival, and a bit of dark humor to get you through the night.
Years later, when I moved to Canada, I remember people looking at me with disbelief when I said, “Yes, Edinburgh had some great Blues players.” To many people, Scotland and the Blues did not belong together in the same sentence. But those of us who lived through that period knew differently.
The Blues scene in Edinburgh was real.
Looking back now, I realize those nights changed the course of my life in ways I did not yet understand. Watching Ronnie Tait command a room with a harmonica made me want to learn the instrument properly myself, pushing past the frustration and the fear of failure. Listening to Jim Condie’s guitar phrasing made me want to understand how a handful of notes could carry so much emotion.
I was not thinking about careers or futures back then. I simply wanted to get closer to whatever that feeling was. The Blues seemed capable of saying things ordinary conversation could not. It spoke about struggle, humour, loneliness, resilience, and survival all at once. Even as a young man, I recognized something truthful in it.
Those nights became my education.
Not in classrooms or lecture halls, but standing against pub walls with a pint in hand, absorbing every note, every story, every silence between songs. Without realizing it, I was learning the foundations of everything that would later define my life, music, storytelling, emotional honesty, and the importance of preserving authentic voices.
Long before I would build platforms for artists around the world, I was simply one face in the crowd in Edinburgh, watching the Blues unfold a few feet in front of me.
And it all started there.
I still have this cassette tape....
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 Journal, 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.
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.
