Exclusive Article: 'The Long Road To Flin Flon' - Prologue

Introduction by Megan Routledge:

I’m absolutely thrilled to share that The Sound Cafe Magazine has been granted the exclusive privilege to publish select chapters from Stevie Connor’s upcoming book, The Long Road To Flin Flon. As a contributing writer for the magazine, it’s an incredible honour to be entrusted with bringing Stevie’s deeply personal and compelling stories to our readers first.

Stevie’s journey is one of resilience, adventure, and unflinching honesty — a tapestry woven with music, family, industry, and unexpected twists that truly resonate beyond the pages.

Having the chance to feature these exclusive excerpts allows us to dive into a narrative that is as richly textured as it is inspiring.

To be part of this unique collaboration, sharing the voices and memories that shaped Stevie’s remarkable life, is a privilege I don’t take lightly. I’m excited for you to join us on this extraordinary journey down The Long Road To Flin Flon, right here in The Sound Cafe.

Megan.

Some lives unfold in a straight line — clean, predictable, well-lit by convention. Mine didn’t. Mine zigzagged through the wilds of possibility, along paths less travelled, shaped more by instinct than instruction. If there’s one constant thread running through my story, it’s this: music wasn’t just something I listened to — it was something I followed.

I was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, where the wind off the North Sea doesn’t just rattle windows, it seeps into your bones — and maybe your soul, too. My early years were steeped in melody, but not in the way you’d expect. It wasn’t always about formal training or polished technique. It was about atmosphere. The hum of the kettle. The clack of boots on wet stone. The old records spinning in the corner, worn to a soft hiss from too many plays. I absorbed it all. Somewhere along the way, I realized music wasn’t a backdrop — it was the script.

Football was supposed to be the path. That was the plan. But music, like all the best troublemakers, had other ideas. One chord, one lyric, one late-night gig at a half-empty pub — that’s all it takes. Suddenly, the world opened into stages and stadiums. And so began the slow burn of a journey that would carry me across oceans, into studios, radio stations, festival fields, and eventually to the founding of two platforms that changed the direction of my life: Blues and Roots Radio and The Sound Cafe Magazine.

I never set out to be a broadcaster. Or a writer. Or a music journalist. I didn’t wake up one day with a roadmap to becoming a juror for the JUNO Awards, the Canadian Folk Music Awards, or the Maple Blues Awards. It all evolved, piece by piece, built on a deep, unshakable belief that real music — honest music — deserves a voice.

This book isn’t about celebrity. It’s about community. It’s about the people who pick up guitars in kitchen corners, who sing harmonies on back porches, who record albums with more heart than budget. It’s about long drives and longer nights. It’s about the ones who keep going — even when no one’s watching.

In these pages, you’ll meet artists I’ve crossed paths with, stories that never left me, songs that still echo through my memory like old friends. You’ll see how platforms like The Sound Cafe became more than just projects — they became reflections of everything I care about. Passion. Integrity. Curiosity. Connection.

So, this is where it begins — not at the top, but at the edge. At the beginning of a long road. Not paved, but possible. And if you’re reading this, I’d like to believe you’re walking it with me.

This is not a sanitized tale of predictable milestones or well-planned triumphs. It’s a real one. Rough around the edges. Full of contradictions. Beautiful in places, bruised in others. And above all else, true.

If you're expecting a standard autobiography, you may want to set that aside right now. What you’re reading is more like a mixtape of memories — spliced together from different chapters of a life lived far off the beaten track. Each recollection is a note in a melody that spans decades: some raw, some refined, all essential. It’s not always neat. But it’s always honest.

You’ll find no rags-to-riches cliché here. Instead, this is a portrait of a boy born in Scotland, raised on the grit of working-class neighbourhoods and the grace of music passed down through bloodlines. It’s the story of how football almost wrote my future before injury rerouted the whole script. It’s about the bands that burned bright in pubs and clubs, the stages that shimmered with possibility, and the moments when everything fell apart — only to be rebuilt stronger, louder, and more determined.

It’s also about Flin Flon — that curious name, that dot on the Canadian map — and how it came to symbolize more than just a destination. For my father, it was almost a beginning. For me, it became an end point that looped back and made sense of the chaos. A metaphor. A myth. A real place and a living symbol of a life that never once followed the rules.

This is my way of stitching it all together — the pipe bands, the folk bands, the rock bands, Kung Fu belts, heartbreak and humour, the backstage buzz and boardroom battles. The chapters that follow are populated with people — real people — who made an impact.

Some stayed for a season, others for a lifetime. All of them helped shape the long road.

If there's a lesson buried in these musings, it’s this: we don't always choose the road, but we can choose how we walk it. With purpose. With passion. With humility. And sometimes, when we’re lucky, with a pint in one hand and a great song playing in the background.

Thank you for showing an interest in my journey. The long road to Flin Flon is calling — and this time, it’s not just a place. It’s the whole damn journey.

There are nights — quiet, fire-lit nights — when memory pours in like a familiar song. I find myself drifting back to the evenings when my father would settle into his worn recliner, the coal fire crackling low, the lamplight casting flickering shadows across the walls like ghosts of stories waiting to be told. It was in those moments, tucked into the rhythm of home, that the legend of Flin Flon came alive.

He wasn’t just telling a story. He was building something — with words, with dreams, with that curious mix of optimism and unease that lives in all great ambitions. There was something magical in the way he spoke of it: Flin Flon. The name alone had a melody to it, strange and lyrical, like a place from a book you weren’t sure was real. To my young ears, it sounded like the edge of the world.

He’d talk about it as if he’d already seen it: the endless trees, the glitter of lakes catching the northern sun, the hum of a community where no one was a stranger. To him, it wasn’t just a dot on a map tucked deep in the Canadian wilds — it was possibility, carved out of granite and laced with promise. A fresh start. A new chapter. A chance to rewrite the story.

But beneath the glint in his eye, there was always something else — a hesitation, soft and unspoken. You could hear it in the way he paused between sentences. A flicker in his voice that suggested he knew just how steep the road might be. Moving across the world with a young family, trading the familiar grit of Edinburgh for the snow-laden silence of a faraway mining town — it wasn’t just bold. It was terrifying. And yet, he spoke of it like someone reciting a calling rather than a plan.

Those conversations taught me more than just geography. They taught me about risk. About what it means to leave behind the known in search of something better — even if “better” comes dressed in uncertainty. My father never claimed to have all the answers, but in sharing his doubts alongside his dreams, he showed me the quiet strength it takes to chase change. He wasn’t just planning a move. He was confronting the terrifying, beautiful truth that life only grows when you dare to plant it in new soil.

And that, I came to understand, was the heart of Flin Flon — not just a place, but a possibility. A symbol of the courage it takes to go when staying feels safer. A lesson wrapped in a name. A destination that, whether we made it there or not, had already changed us.

"I was around seven or eight years old when my father, Danny Connor, a multiple world champion with the Shotts and Dykehead Caledonia Pipe Band, began leaving a practice chanter around the house. It was an invitation to explore a legacy."

Crossed Paths in Edinburgh — or How a Bank Queue Changed Everything

It was 1964, and Edinburgh’s grand old bank on Lothian Road stood as a beacon of stodgy stability in a city that wore its history like a well-loved tartan. Midday sunlight struggled through rain-speckled windows, spotlighting the slow-moving line of customers who, like loyal audience members, waited their turn for the performance of paperwork and cash exchanges to unfold.

Enter Robert MacIntyre: a Canadian businessman who looked like he’d just stepped off a maple-scented boardroom set. His suit was sharp but unflashy — the kind of modest professionalism that says, “I mean business, but I don’t need to shout about it.” Salt-and-pepper hair, calm eyes — the very picture of dignified patience as he stood in line, probably calculating exchange rates in his head.

Behind him tapped Danny Connor — a sharp-featured Scotsman with a mop of unruly dark hair and the unmistakable restless energy of a man on a mission. Danny wasn’t here for small talk or to admire the bank’s ornate architecture. No, he was there to turn his hard-earned Scottish pounds into Canadian dollars, a critical step in a bold plan to upend his life and head to the wilds of Flin Flon, Manitoba.

Family and friends had already weighed in with opinions — ranging from supportive to downright baffled. But Danny was undeterred. The decision was made. Adventure awaited.

As the line crept forward with all the urgency of a glacier, Robert and Danny exchanged polite nods — the kind that hinted at a brewing conversation, the kind that fate seems to arrange just to shake things up a bit.

“Quite the day, isn’t it?” Robert offered, breaking the ice with a smile.

Danny’s response carried the unmistakable brogue, thick enough to cut with a knife. “Aye, it is. Just trying to sort out some Canadian dollars. Headin’ off to Flin Flon, you know.”

Robert’s eyebrows arched. “Flin Flon? That’s a bit off the beaten path. What’s taking you there?”

Danny laid out his plan: a fresh start with the Hudson Bay Mining Company, setting up a pipe band and prepping them for competitions. It sounded grand — and yet, Robert caught the flicker behind Danny’s eyes: a fatigue that said this wasn’t just excitement; it was hope mixed with a dash of worry.

“Flin Flon’s a unique place,” Robert said carefully. “Been around Canada quite a bit. It’s remote. Winters can be brutal. And a bit… isolated — especially if you’ve got a family. You’ve got a wife, right?”

Danny’s face sobered. “Aye. She’s expecting our first bairn. But I reckon we can make it work.”

Robert leaned in, not quite a warning but not far from it either. “Listen, I don’t mean to meddle, but Flin Flon might not be the best spot for a fresh start with a baby on the way. You considered other places? Canada’s got some cities where the winter doesn’t feel like a punishment and people actually know their neighbours.”

Danny paused, chewing on the unexpected advice. Doubt and gratitude wrestled across his features. Suddenly, a stranger’s words carried weight.

As the line shuffled forward, Robert shared stories — tales of vibrant Canadian cities, communities that thrived despite the cold, places that might offer Danny’s growing family a better chance at a good life.

By the time Danny reached the teller, the currency in his hand was heavier than just coins and notes. It was the weight of reconsideration, of futures to be reshaped.

Neither man knew it then, but that mundane moment in an Edinburgh bank queue was a quiet turning point — the kind of small, seemingly insignificant encounter that can spin the threads of fate into a tapestry you never expected to see.

So, Where Is Flin Flon?

The town's name is taken from the lead character in a 1905 paperback novel, The Sunless City by British author J. E. Preston Muddock:

Josiah Flintabbatey Flonatin, Esq., or, as he was more familiarly known amongst his fellows, “Flin Flon,” was a gentleman conspicuous for two things -- the smallness of his stature and the largeness of his perception. His origin was lost in the mists of antiquity, but he boasted that he was a descendant of the noble Italian family of the Flonatins ...

Flin Flon — a name that sounds like a riddle wrapped in a mining helmet — was born in 1927, courtesy of Hudbay, then known as Hudson Bay Mining and Smelting Co. The town sprang up to chase the rich veins of copper and zinc lurking beneath the Canadian Shield’s rugged surface. By the late 1920s, Hudbay wasn’t messing around: they built a railway, a mine, a smelter, and even a hydroelectric power plant out at Island Falls, Saskatchewan. By 1928, the railway had officially punched through to the mine, opening the door to a new frontier.

The 1930s saw Flin Flon swell as the Great Depression drove folks from farms and tough times into the promise of mining work. People who’d abandoned their fields sought stability underground, and the town officially made it onto the map as a municipality in 1933, eventually earning city status by 1970. Despite its population slowly shrinking since the ’60s, Flin Flon kept mining its way forward, adding new digs and maintaining its industrial heartbeat.

But it’s not all hard hats and haul trucks. Nestled among scenic lakes and wild landscapes, Flin Flon has also carved out a reputation as a charming tourist stop — a place where nature and industry oddly coexist.

Geographically, Flin Flon is a bit of a boundary rebel, straddling the border between Manitoba and Saskatchewan. The lion’s share of the city sits in Manitoba, but a slice spills into Saskatchewan — so much so that some streets quite literally change their names crossing the provincial line. Oddly enough, thanks to the quirky zig-zag of boundary lines, the Saskatchewan bit lies south of Manitoba’s, not west, defying your map-reading expectations.

Postal codes stick to Manitoba, but phone area codes tip their hat to Saskatchewan. Power? Manitoba Hydro keeps the lights on for both sides. The city’s famously perched on exposed Canadian Shield bedrock, earning it the nickname “the city built on rock.” This geological stubbornness means farming is mostly a no-go, and the infrastructure had to get creative — with above-ground sewer boxes doubling as impromptu sidewalks in some northern neighborhoods.

In May 2025, Flin Flon showed its resilience once more, evacuating ahead of the Canadian wildfires — a reminder that life on the edge is never dull in this rugged mining town.

So, where is Flin Flon? It’s where industry meets wilderness, where borders blur, and where the ground beneath your feet is as solid and unyielding as the spirit of its people.

And yet, for all its rugged industry and border-bending geography, Flin Flon is far from just a mining town. Beneath the surface — both literal and cultural—it’s a surprising hub for the creative arts. A place where the harsh landscape fuels imagination, and the community’s grit finds expression in music, theatre, visual art, and festivals that celebrate more than just minerals.

Artists, musicians, and performers have long been drawn to Flin Flon’s unique blend of wilderness and industry, finding inspiration in the sweeping northern skies and the stories etched into the rock beneath their feet. The city’s cultural pulse beats strong, with local galleries showcasing everything from traditional Indigenous art to contemporary works, and theatres bringing narratives to life that echo the spirit of resilience and reinvention.

Flin Flon’s creative scene is a testament to how even the most unexpected places can nurture vibrant communities of expression. Here, art and industry coexist — each shaping the other, each adding layers to the city’s rich, evolving story. This is a town that mines not just copper and zinc, but the deep veins of creativity running through its heart.

Footnote:

Flin Flon has lived rent-free in my imagination since childhood. It was that far-off place with the unforgettable name — a dream, a destination I never quite reached. Born in Scotland (though almost Canadian by birth), I could never have predicted that I'd one day find myself living in Canada, surrounded by Flin Flon connections so uncanny, you’d swear I was making them up. But I’m not. Life’s funny like that.

Stevie Connor, a Scottish-born polymath of the music scene, is renowned for his versatility across various domains within the industry. Initially destined for football, Stevie's heart found its true calling in music. His multifaceted journey has seen him excel as a musician, composer, recording artist, journalist, and internet radio pioneer.

In 2012, Stevie laid the foundation for Blues and Roots Radio, an online platform that quickly became a global stage for blues, roots, folk, Americana, and Celtic music. His visionary leadership propelled the platform to international acclaim. Not content with just one venture, Stevie expanded his influence in 2020 by founding The Sound Cafe Magazine, a multilingual platform dedicated to artist interviews, album reviews, and music news.

Stevie's impact extends beyond these platforms. His discerning ear and industry acumen have presented opportunities to be selected as a juror for national awards such as the JUNO Awards, the Canadian Folk Music Awards, and the Maple Blues Awards. Through his tireless efforts, he has earned a solid reputation within the music community, garnering respect from peers and artists alike.

Despite his extensive responsibilities, Stevie remains deeply connected to his roots, both musically and geographically. He continues to contribute to the vibrant tapestry of the music world, ensuring his influence resonates far beyond any single platform. Stevie's enduring passion and commitment to music make him a true luminary in the industry.

Stevie is a verified journalist on the global PR platform, Muck Rack.

muckrack.com/stevie-connor

Read some of Stevie's articles for The Sound Cafe

www.thesoundcafe.com/post/the-sound-cafe-celebrates-5-years-of-sharing-global-sounds-and-stories