Q&A: the immortal Gordon Lightfoot

At 81, Gordon Lightfoot has cheated death, racked up countless awards and recorded 21 albums. His latest, Solo, drops this month. Wisdom from a legend

How does it feel to release your 21st record at the age of 81?

I feel good about how it came about. Back in 2002, the band and I were about to go on a 28-show tour across North America. Then I got hit with an aortic aneurysm, ended up in the hospital, being operated on multiple times, and I was out of commission for more than two years.

What a scary ordeal. And you were in a coma for part of it?

That was just at the start—for six weeks. By this point, I was supposed to have croaked anyway.

Yeah, I remember there was a rumour about your death on Twitter.

Me too. Anyway, while I was getting back on my feet, we cut an album and it came out pretty good. Then, a year and a half ago, I was looking through a massive pile of stuff in my office and I found a CD. I listened to it, and it was me, but I didn’t remember having recorded any of it. Maybe the anesthesia messed up my memory. I’m not sure. In any event, those tracks became the raw material for the new album. I really like the feel of this record. It ain’t rock and roll, man, but it’s real.

A lesser man would have retired by now, but you’re in the midst of an 80-show tour. What do you still get out of performing live?

It’s rejuvenating, but you have to be prepared. These days, I go to the gym six days a week. I drive down to the Sheraton, park under city hall and work out there. I just do an hour, but I used to do a lot more. I’m keeping myself strong as I get older.

When you’re not on tour, what do you do with your days?

I see my family, and I’m here at my house, working on music. There’s all kinds of stuff to keep you busy. I look after my guitars: my two 12-strings and my spare Martin.

What compelled you to move to the Bridle Path? I’d been in Rosedale for 25 years, and our house needed a lot of work, and my then-wife wanted to move.

I’ve been here for 20 years now. I like it.

It’s quiet.

You’ve had, and have, neighbours who are as famous as you are:

Prince, Conrad Black, Drake. Does Drake ever drop in for tea?

I’ve never met him, but his music is beautifully orchestrated. I have that album with him sitting on the CN Tower. He lives kitty-corner from me, and I’ve been watching him fix up that house from the beginning. I’ve heard he’s even got a gymnasium in there.

I’m surprised you don’t have a gym, given your dedication to fitness.

I like driving into the city. I like going downtown. When I was involved with the environmental movement, working with David Suzuki, he used to give me a hard time, saying, “You drive all this way just to work your butt off for an hour. You should just run to the gym.” I did that once. But now I’m just lucky I can still drive. Most people my age don’t have the privilege anymore.

What else do you do when you go downtown? Do you still have favourite haunts?

I go to the Eaton Centre. I see fans there and talk to them, pose for pictures. I don’t mind. My mother always said, “Be polite,” and I am. It’s required.

In addition to Drake, who are your favourite artists?

Springsteen. Bob Dylan. I love Alanis Morissette—I think she’s great. Natalie MacMaster and Shania Twain. Anne Murray, best of all. She’s a real professional.

How do you feel at your age, to have so many friends and fellow musicians—people like Leonard Cohen—no longer around? Does it get lonely?

A bit. You just don’t want to be the next one to croak. That’s why I keep my body moving.

You’ve cheated death a couple of times.

Have you given much thought to what happens when we die?

I’m agnostic, but I was trained to sing in the church, and I still sing at Rosedale United every Christmas. I’ve been doing it for 40 years. Maybe I’ll be in heaven, maybe I’ll just be gone. No worries, no cares. That’s what it was like when I was in that coma.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.