Bam. That first verse springs out of us in about 15 minutes. Damned if I can remember who wrote what; I only remember trying my hardest not to cry. We finish the song a few months later, at Paul’s home in Toronto. Marty Worthy, Paul’s long-time musical collaborator and dear friend, contributes a middle section, and then I’m called in to finish it with Paul. The film crew is catching our every chord, the five phrases we bat around for every one we eventually settle on. I was bossy, pushy, because I’m hurting so much over Paul’s deteriorating health. Rather than own up to my pain, I simply turn hyper-opinionated. Still, the writing is flowing.
Ocean’s rising, as the sun goes down / What isn’t water, will surely drown / But I can’t hold the tide at bay, the moon will rise, gonna light my way / No one can tell me where I’m gonna be, as I sail into this mystery / I know I’m falling, don’t know where I’m gonna land / Are you ready, am I ready / I believe I am.
“You sing the first are you ready and then I sing the am I ready, I believe I am,” Paul instructs, happily, seeming to forget that this is more than a song, this is a story about his life, and his death.
When I first learn Paul has terminal lung cancer, I book an appointment with my shrink and bawl my eyes out for the entire hour.
“You have issues with abandonment,” my shrink notes, handing me not one Kleenex but the entire box. “Stems from childhood issues with your parents . . . ”
“F–k that. This ain’t about my parents. Abandonment has nothing to do with it. I’m just f–king torn up. I can’t bear to lose Paul. He’s just so damned lovable, so f–king funny and vulnerable, and so bloody curious. He notices every little thing around him, he’s got the eye, the curiosity of a little boy, I’m like a jaded old man compared to Paul. And I can’t stand the thought of him not being around. First my dad dies and now Paul . . . I can’t imagine a world without him.”
A month before Nashville, I call him up.
“What do you feel like doing, Paul? You name it, I’m game.”
“Let’s just get in a car and drive.”
“Where to?”
“Don Mills.”
We spend the drive listening to each other’s songs. It is a Friday night and there is a lightning storm flashing in the distance.
“That’s where I’m going, Danny, into the light. We should write a song about going into the light.”
How about “through the light”? I offer.
“Nope, where I’m headed, there’s no going ‘through the light.’ Once I’m there, I’m not getting out.”
With half of one lung left, Paul cuts his vocal to Are You Ready. Always a great baritone singer, with an authentic, lived-in voice, Paul makes his vocal on Are You Ready a thing of wonder. How the hell can he sing like that, with such purity of tone and bang-on phrasing, while affixed to an oxygen machine, with two tubes going up his nostrils? In Nashville, Matt and Fred—with Matt covering every cent of the cost—overdub a plangent acoustic guitar, accordion, and pedal steel, giving Paul’s voice, and the chords, more poignancy than I can bear to listen to. I sing harmonies, for one version; in another I swap lead vocals with Paul, turning Are You Ready into a duet. Paul, the greatest contributor to this song, turns it into something universal. We all have to be ready at some point, ready to cross to the other side.
And we all have to be ready to lose loved ones. Throughout my vocal session in Nashville, I approach singing Are You Ready the same way I approached co-writing it. Professionally. As a craftsman. If I think too hard about what I am writing and singing about, I will never make it through the song. And when you cry, your vocal chords swell up, you sound like a foghorn, you can’t do any serious singing. Paul is the gutsiest guy I’ve ever known. The least I can do is save my sobbing for when I’m out of the studio, out of Nashville, in the safety of my shrink’s office, as he waxes supreme about my so-called abandonment issues.
I don’t feel abandoned by Paul, as he grows weaker. Nor do I feel abandoned by Paul now that he has died. I just feel crushed and heartbroken and utterly alone.
Paul Quarrington died Jan. 21, 10 days after he overdubbed his final vocals on Are You Ready. Like the song, this article, too, was meant to be a collaboration between two old friends. Are You Ready will be featured in the documentary Bravo! film, Paul Quarrington: Life in Music. Readers can stream both versions of the song below. Donations can be made to the Quarrington Art Society, a charitable organization that will provide scholarships to children showing talent in the arts.
Solo: Paul Quarrington
Duet: Hill/Quarrington
