In 2005, Beija Flor was poised to be the band to bring Canada’s attention to Calgary’s often overlooked music scene.
Unfortunately, it didn’t unfold quite as expected. In April of this year, Beija Flor dissolved after six years of hard work. The band produced two acclaimed albums and played countless local shows, but a myriad of factors undermined their attempts to gain success on a broader level and ultimately led to the band’s dissolution.
“We were our own worst enemies in a lot of ways,” former frontman Stephen van Kampen says. “We definitely had some vibrant years. We put out that record in 2007, we sold out the Marquee Room, we played Folk Fest in 2008, we did collaborations with Jim Cuddy. All these big, fun things were happening and it was great.”
But like any band struggling to make it, things get in the way, especially with eight members contributing to a six year run.
“Things started to deteriorate. We had a guitarist move to Vancouver, because he wanted his solo projects to do better, and then we lost our drummer of four or five years and things just started to chip away,” says Kampen. “That’s part of the deal. When you’re trying to keep volunteer artists together and all working towards the same thing, there’s no pay to keep them there . . . it just didn’t happen quick enough and people started to lose interest and move on and do other things.”
It isn’t all bad though. Out of the ashes of Beija Flor new projects have risen. Former pianist Paul van Kampen- Stephen’s brother- is the lead singer for The Magnetic North and former bassist Henry Hsieh is now a member of local up-and-comers Friendo. Stephen van Kampen has started his own solo project, Savk, which is continuing where Beija Flor left off.
“I had written an entirely new record for Beija Flor and it had been sitting on blocks for six or seven months and the songs were getting stale,” says van Kampen. “I was thinking, ‘Fuck, I want to put out another record, but these songs are losing fire for me.’ That’s where this [Savk] record came from. The songs were all pretty much destined for Beija Flor that just never materialized.”
It may sound like van Kampen’s new project is just Beija Flor 2.0, but that definitely isn’t the case. Those familiar with Beija Flor may recognize certain elements, but van Kampen’s newly acquired freedom has lead to a stripped-down approach. His self-titled album, Savk, is worlds away from the sound the band was known for.
“The songs have been really minimized down to their core message,” says van Kampen. “One of the things I liked about Beija Flor was that we were able to reach pretty epic arrangements because we had so many people in the group. But one of the things I didn’t like is that, I love epic arrangements, but I like minimalism sometimes too. We had a bad tendency to have
everyone playing at the same time.”
Savk is only six months old and van Kampen already has the aforementioned album out, but he’s still putting together pieces and fleshing out his live performances. Most of his shows have been acoustic sets- him and his guitar or banjo- which can be somewhat problematic. Despite a riveting performance during Sled Island at the Arrata Opera Centre, Van Kampen laments that he finds it more difficult to capture attention in crowded bars without the energy and volume of a full band. With his Beija Flor experience in mind, van Kampen considers adding a back-up band for live performances.
“If I did bring in a back-up band, I’d just have to be ruthless with saying, ‘There are times when everyone needs to shut the fuck up.’ There are times when I need to shut the fuck up. You have to be economical with what you are doing and make sure the shoe fits every time. You listen to bands that have been around forever like Wilco . . . from a songwriting perspective and an arrangement perspective they all know how to serve the project.When they should be playing, when they shouldn’t be playing.”
Despite the occasional gripe, van Kampen is not at all negative about his time spent with Flor. He recognizes and appreciates that the band had the liberty to avoid one of those tragic clichés of the music industry- they escaped with their dignity intact.
“I look back at those heydays of Beija Flor with a lot of fondness and there was some promise there, but that’s partly why we called it quits when we did. We were still strong and still pretty well-respected and I said, ‘You know what? Let’s cut this while we’re decent, rather than fizzling.’ “