Vinyl Hour!
Diamond Mine - Risqué Disque, 1989
"Did I ever tell you what I thought? / Of what you did for me? Some things cost too much / Even when they’re free" —from How Long, lyrics by Jim Cuddy and Greg Keelor
After watching Lost Together, the new Blue Rodeo documentary, I had the urge to play their second album, Diamond Mine, which was my first. Looking back, it feels good to have gotten into the great Canadian band so early in their career.
The sophomore effort has a looser, more spontaneous feel than their debut—thanks to being recorded almost entirely live off the floor. This gave it an atmospheric, almost barroom vibe that contrasts sharply with the cleaner edges of Outskirts.
Diamond Mine was the last Blue Rodeo album to feature their original drummer, Cleave Anderson—though Bob Wiseman stayed on until Lost Together. Wiseman brought a wild mix of avant-garde keys, accordion, and fearless improvisation to the band’s work. His swirling organ and airy, open arrangement in the title track provide its hypnotic, cinematic feel.
Two other standouts are Now and Forever, with lush melodic writing from Jim Cuddy—a beautiful early example of his gift for yearning ballads—and House of Dreams, one of Greg Keelor’s strongest early tracks, equal parts haunted and inviting. A deep-cut gem is The Ballad of the Dime Store Greaser and the Blonde Mona Lisa, a lovely ballad.
It always amazes me how consistent this band is, both between and within albums. Every record delivers solid songwriting, heart, and craft. I’ve seen them perform a couple of times, and the live versions explode with energy. On one occasion, the Sadies opened for them. If you haven’t heard the Sadies, check them out—what a great mix of country-tinged garage rock and psychedelic twang.
What other bands are extremely consistent in quality—both between and within albums?
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This album feels like a living room turned barroom, its looseness carrying the warmth of human presence.
Recorded live off the floor, it breathes with spontaneity, imperfections becoming part of its soul.
Bob Wiseman’s organ swirls like memory itself, giving the title track its hypnotic, cinematic pulse.
Jim Cuddy’s Now and Forever aches with tenderness, an early glimpse of his gift for longing ballads.
Greg Keelor’s House of Dreams is haunted yet inviting, a doorway into vulnerability and desire.
Even the deep cut ballad glows with intimacy, proof that hidden corners hold their own beauty.
Cleave Anderson’s final drumming marks transition, a reminder of endings folded into beginnings.
What endures is consistency: every track stitched with craft, sincerity, and fearless improvisation.
Live, these songs erupt with energy, reminding us that music is communion, not just performance.
Ultimately, Diamond Mine humanises artistry itself messy, tender, spontaneous, yet enduringly rich in soul.