HIP. HERE. NOW.

It is upon us. No dress rehearsal - this is our life. One more show to go. Just over 24 hours away. The band united a nation. First, slowly over the course of years of faithful commitment to the True North, and then again underlining it these past few months since we first heard the news, in one long concert event that has reached across the country and by the end of Saturday night will have gone around the globe. The band has reached an end that took thirty years to arrive at.

It may be true that not every Canadian is a fan of the Hip, but that fact that so very many of us are and that so many of those are snarling mad for them more than make up for those who yawn. So many of us won over throughout the years (I can walk you to the place in my hometown where I heard Small Town Bringdown when it first came out. Yea, I've been here all along.) All our home towns were cryptically being sung of then, and again over and over through the years. They shot a movie once, in my hometown, it's where I saw the Constellations pushing around a weathervane Jesus while stranded at the Unique Motel. Gord Downie managed to speak specifically to and of all of us.

This goodbye has been so unusual – unique even. Bands have broken up before. Musicians have died. Great things have come to an end because of tragedy and illness. But how many times have an artist’s fans been gifted with a farewell like this? How many times have the artists been gifted with it? Bowie – he knew what was coming and he made it art, but none of us knew what it was all about until he was gone. And we never got a chance to say goodbye. Prince – just gone. Even Spirit of the West… while close in essence… they didn’t fill arenas and there was no last great work – the magnitude was not there, and though I did not get to see any of those last shows, it sounds as though off-stage John Mann had already lost much of himself (which is heart-breaking). But in this case, Gord (and the rest of the fellows too, but let’s face it, their tragedy is that after thirty years of being the ‘other guys’ in Gord Downie’s band, they end has really – understandably - been ALL about him facing his final bow) has also been given this gift. 

I was fortunate to get to see them on the second night of the tour – the first of the two Vancouver shows. It wasn’t the best concert I’ve ever seen, nor the best Hip concert I’d ever seen (Tie: Canada Day 1992, Thunderbird Stadium or November(ish) 1993 Royal Theatre, Victoria – too hard to call.) but I have no doubt it is the one that I will remember the most. There is a moment – a very long moment – that will probably be the single most memorable concert moment of my life (and hey, I saw U2 right after the Enniskillen bombing). Grace, Too was the last song of the main set and there was a point where Gord stopped and looked out at the crowd where a look came over his face….  It went on for probably half a minute. I think we can safely say that Gord Downie was not known for his emotional honesty. Which is not to say that he was a disingenuous performer exactly, but that his style was (and for one more night, IS) a weird fantasy world of mime performed to dense, sung poetry and surreal monologues. Whether he had entered the persona of a doomed sailor, or an ill-fated pool-cleaner or half of a Canadian Bonnie & Clyde, or any of the thousand other characters from tales he vaguely told in a thousand different concerts, he was rarely showing us what Gord Downie himself felt. But not in this moment. He took in the crowd. Appreciative of them and appreciative of the moment. Appreciative of the place in our country’s history he has been given. A place he built out of a thousand pieces of the obscure Canadiana he appreciated. He wasn’t saying “thank you.” He was just being with us for a moment, knowing that all the tiny pieces like this one – that each we had taken for granted as they past had added up to something bigger and this moment embodied it. His part in our collective history, mirroring the impact of his career. Obviously, I don’t know what he was thinking in that moment – but that’s what I took away. Then the moment passed and the mime returned, hitting balls and throwing javelins into the crowd – shining a microphone-shaped flashlight out into the dark….

The moment in question occurs shortly after 2:45 - but you're going to watch the whole thing, right?

I’m trying hard not to put expectations upon tomorrow’s show. I'll watch the CBC broadcast from Kingston in the Woodward's Atrium - practically home. I’m going because it’s the last. I’m going because it is something that Canadians across the world will be sharing.  (For two hours or so, we will collectively quit paying attention to the Olympics. This band means a lot to Canada.) I’m going because I can share it with Jodie and December. (The former isn’t a Hip fan, but understands the importance. The latter doesn’t really even know the Hip yet, but someday I hope she will look back and recognize that the event was significant to me and that she was glad to have shared that.)  I do expect they will do the same thing they’ve done across the country where they spend the first half hour playing to each other, all but ignoring the audience – which is a tremendously powerful statement of brotherhood. I expect the crowd will sing along to even the most obscure of tracks. I expect I’ll cry before its over – hell, I’ve been crying intermittently about it being over since May.

And yes, Gord, you were always right. We will miss you. None of this “wait and you’ll see” bullshit. We will. Fully. And Completely.

Gord Full Stop

“It makes no sense how it makes no sense.”

                Blow at High Dough – from Up to Here

You pretty much have to be Canadian to know that 2016 has struck again.

This morning the news hit my generation of Canadians like the Rogers Pass avalanche. (The only way to do this right has to include a few obscure pieces of Canadiana.) Gord Downie has terminal brain cancer - a glioblastoma.

He isn’t gone yet. But I have to process this now. Forgive me for eulogizing him prematurely. I can’t do this twice.

You may have to have hit adulthood in the late 80s or early 90s above the 49^th parallel for this to be true, but for those of us who did, this is Prince. This is Bowie. This is one assholebastardmutherfucker of a year.

“There’s more worms than earth in the afterlife.”

                Leave – from In Violet Light

I’ve lost track of how I ended up being the harbinger, but it has become a bit of a sick joke among friends that this is all my fault. I suspect that I wake up early enough that I am the first one tapped into the news cycle… although Jodie has actually been the one breaking the news to me on most of these things.  Lemmy (three days short of 2016), Bowie, Prince, very nearly Sinead O’Connor (and don’t begin to think that drama is over yet) as well as a long list of diminishingly relevant supporting cast from Glenn Frey (who touched our generation, but was really a luminary of an earlier time) to John Berry – the Beastie Boys’ Pete Best, to Phife Dawg… the depth of my rap and hip hop cred is admittedly shallow. It has escaped few people that 2016 has it out for our music idols.  In Canada we’ve already faced the farewell tour of Spirit of the West, as John Mann cannot carry on due to early on-set Alzheimers, and now we are awaiting dates for the final Tragically Hip tour. I will try to be there. But I’m going to be a complete mess.

Both Bowie and Prince hit me. Bowie comes a hair short of making my list of artists I think can do no wrong, and is responsible for one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen. Prince, I never loved, but I always appreciated and I respect his impact on the music world.  I didn’t cry for either of them.  But this morning I wasn’t surprised when a few minutes after getting the news I felt the tears well up in my eyes.

As 2016 cut swathes through pop-culture I was holding my breath and crossing my fingers that at least my top three would get through unscathed. But that hope is gone now. (U2 & Pearl Jam, to answer the associated question.)

“Get Ry Cooder to sing my eulogy.”

                At the 100^th Meridian – from Fully Completely

I could take you to within yards of where I was when I heard my first Tragically Hip song. I was listening to the radio on my way to a friend’s house.  The DJ had some blah blah about a new Canadian band out of Kingston and then Small Town Bringdown was unleashed upon my future. A few years later, playing in a band myself, our bassist suggested that we should play Blow at High Dough from “this new band” he’d heard of. I was delighted that The Hip weren’t yet another of the long list of bands that hit my radar once and then disappeared.

When I was touring in the early 90s with the Juanabees, The Hip were always in high rotation and we did our best to convert non-Canadians to the church of Gord – his bizarre mid-song sermons of fractured thought.  “I’m wearin’ my red shirt!” he told us on Canada Day in 1992, as he went on to muse about whether he should burn it there on the stage or save it for the next 25 year benchmark of Confederation. It looks like he should have burned it. That concert – their third in that day as they played coast to coast – still stands as one of the greatest I’ve ever seen. We had been in the sun all day and The Hip were probably the 10^th or 12^th act of the day, but everyone in that stadium found the reserves to give every joule of energy put out by the band right back to them ten-fold. It was a revival.

“God has left the museum for good.”

                Scared – from Day for Night

The band behind him was – is – a highly functioning rock and roll unit, and it is unfair as it is inevitable to diminish their contributions. Despite the fact that they were all better raw musicians than Gord, The Hip were nothing without him.  It wasn’t just his riveting stage antics that did it.  While he wasn’t the greatest vocalist, indeed some of his cliché embellishments were kind of mock-worthy (E.g. By 1994, his penchant for hopping up an octave on the last syllable of a line was boringly predictable… fortunately he out grew that one.), his lyrics made him an unofficial poet-laureate of Canada. Each song was a perfectly crafted puzzle – always with enough clear intent to invite you to glean more, but every one with enough depth and obscure reference as to be tantalizingly out of reach.  And every now and then he would succinctly encapsule a universal feeling with hideous economy that could strike me to the core.  Never was this more the case for me personally than with the last line of “Ahead By a Century.”  By now I’ve forgotten what exactly was going on in my life that made it so pertinent, but on the very first listen that line – “Disappointing you is getting me down” – tore into my present with the violence of the Lac Megantic explosion. I was in tears before the final chord faded.

“Did I read it all wrong? Or have I just not gotten it yet?”
                Bring it All Back – from Road Apples

More than that though, over the course of his thirty years in the spotlight, Gord focussed his own eye repeatedly on a number of subjects that recurred throughout his poetry that seemed to tie together his work into some kind of tangled unity. Numerous Hip songs make reference to any number of nautical mishaps either in process (Nautical Disaster) or in the narrator’s past (Fiddler’s Green), with varying levels of direct (The Dire Wolf) and oblique (Locked in the Trunk of a Car) reference.  The same goes with crime – usually lurid, often Canadian;  Hockey – Gord was a goalie of accomplishment… at least at the Juno Cup; and of course more diabolically dysfunctional relationships than any lifetime has time for. But throughout it all it was unabashedly Canadian. Canadian in a manner that not only defined his style, but also in a manner that could mark something as Canadian by right of having fallen under his gaze. He loved Canada and he became a singular part of Canadian culture.

“Heaven is a better place today because of this. But the world is just not the same.”

                Heaven is a better place today – from In Between Evolution

I saw them 5 or maybe 6 times. It would have been more if not that by some frustrating bit of fate The Juanabees tour was always travelling West when the Another Roadside Attraction Tour was travelling East. Without fail we would play Winnipeg while they were in Saskatoon and two days later we would have switched places. I'm not sure I'll handle it well if I go to this last tour, and maybe it would be best if I don't. But if the opportunity presents itself, I don't think I can afford to not see them one last time.

"Those melodies come back to me. Time beyond our heartbeat."

                Escape is at Hand for the Travellin' Man – from Phantom Power

We have one last album. Man. Machine. Poem. Its due in a few weeks. Even the title scares me, like once again he has said more in three words about one idea than I can express in several pages of rambling. Of course he is much closer to whatever thought processes face the terminally ill. I feel like there are emotional hand-grenades destined to be hidden in there - little windows into his mind as he faces the event horizon of life. And we all know he is capable of expressing those ideas in ways that will fascinate, confuse and devastate. I eagerly want to tear into it, but I've avoided the pre-release single. I didn't have a reason before now. I don't want to face the reality that it is the end.

"When the birds can be heard above the reckoning carts doing some final accounting."

                Poets - From Phantom Power

Fuck.

The Olympic Hangover Begins

With the dust settling from the 2010 games, I can see from here that the enormous Canada flag has been taken down from Athlete's Village, Abbott Street appears as though it may be hours away from being open to through traffic, and I suspect that at least in Vancouver - if not nation wide - there has been a record level of absenteeism this morning; there is little doubt that Canada brought it's Eh! game to Vancouver over the past two and a half weeks.

There was much political anxiety leading up to the games; protesters variously got their message out, looked like fools, caused despicable violence and for the most part shortly sat down and shut up.  The "Olympic Tent Village" (Heard of it?  Yeah, it didn't get much attention after their first night.) is visible from the window where I sit and write this.  Last night the police were well in evidence around them.  I bet the protestors will tell you the police were holding them back...  I suspect the police were in fact making sure somone was there to protect them.  Had the protesters even tried to raise their voice anywhere near Robson and Granville last night they probably would have been torn limb from limb - if the ecstatic crowd could have been convinced to look.

We should never forget the luge tragedy that preceeded the opening ceremonies, but neither that tragedy, nor the death of a VANOC bus driver, nor the loss of Joannie Rochette's mother should dampen the overall sense of Canadian victory that has been sparked by the 2010 games.  As it stands, they have all made up part of the greater narrative that has concluded gloriously.

Premature declarations from Blighty that the Vancouver games were the "worst games ever"; scoffing from competing countries about Canada's "jingoistic arrogance" and "pathetic, ineffectiveness" (most loudly from Americans); and grumpy Russians, unhappy that things weren't going their way, only served to spur Canada onwards defiantly.

John Furlong's clunky French could not deflate the power of his words.  I haven't personally had much to say for his ability to speak publically.  His opening ceremonies speech was dull and cliched, but he could not have said it better last night when he defined our golden bookends: "Alexandre, your first Gold Medal gave us all permission to feel like and behave like champions. Our last one will be remembered for generations."  The narrative of Bilodeau's medal winning performance was fantastic on the day - our first gold medal on Canadian soil.  How naive we were.  Before the dust had settled we would have heard our anthem played more times than any country in these or any winter games, and that last gold medal... "Henderson Scores!" is no longer the call behind the greatest goal in our country's history.

From my apartment in Gastown, these games were a success.  Listening to my firends who were working on the inside, they were a success.  Walking down Granville Street last night before and after the closing ceremonies - there is little doubt that the people who came to Vancouver and those who merely "came downtown" thought it was a success.

People came to Canada during these games and we brought Canada to the world.

We opened the games by showing the world the Canada that truly is.  The one that lives behind the cliches.  We kicked a lot of sporting ass during the games - I shant belabour that point more than I already have elsewhere.  By any report I have seen, we were excellent hosts.  And when all was said and done, we winked.  From bringing out Catriona LeMay Doane to (finally) light her pillar of the olympic cauldron, to the over-the-top march of Canadian iconography with the cliche's literally inflated to absurd proportions we demonstrated one of the greatest of Canadian cliches - we don't really take ourselves that seriously.

Yeah, I cringe at the oatmealy uninterestingness of Nickleback; Avril Lavigne is only a little ahead of the curve for her category of teener-pop; and K-OS is not my kind of music at all... but honestly, I have to recognize that Spirit of the West, Rush and The Hip would have been seen as 'old hat.'  Neil Young did a fine job of filling the rock dinosaur hole.  Indeed, I've never much liked Neil Young, but he was perfect last night.

The numbers will follow.  No doubt there will be reports about how the grotesque over-spending is going to take years to recover from.  It may be true.  But I don't think there can be any doubt that these games have been far more successful than could have been expected.  We may even look back in future years at the recession that made the lead up to these games so financially painful and declare that in the long run, the success of the games gave us a leg-up in the slow climb out.  I am no economist.  This could go either way, but had you asked me before the games, I would have not have been able to tell you with a straight face that a positive outcome was financially possible.

Vancouver, Whistler and Richmond respectively will get the direct legacy of the Athlete's Village, the Sliding Centre, the Olympic Centre and the Oval; as well as the various other indirect items that were piggy-backed onto the games - the Canada Line, the new Sea-to-Sky highway, the Vancouver Convention Centre.  It's going to be a long time before our taxes catch up with those.  But, I doubt Vancouver (and by extension, Canadian) tourism could possibly have benefited more, both immediately or in the long term. 

Canadian sport will never be the same.  If you'll forgive the allusion, Calgary was a shot in the arm, but Vancouver will be a full-on massive steroid program.  Children who were inspired by Calgary Games athletes competed here and won.  In the years to come we will see the effects of this Olympics on our youth. 

Canadian spirit has shifted too.  I don't know that there is any price that can be put upon a feeling of pride in your country.  May we maintain a sense of humility as we move forward, but the patriotism displayed on the streets of Vancouver since February 12th feels very very good.  That may be why Neil Young was so perfect last night.  "Long May You Run."

Defending the Music XIX: Disappointing you is getting me down.

Down to the last three.

This one is practically a given for a Canadian my age... though simply saying that is likely enough to elicit a tidal wave of denial. Certainly there is a significant segement of the population who is in denial about thier love of The Hip. Okay, that's not fair. What there is is a segment of the population who are either deliberately contrary, or whose taste is significantly out of whack with the popular taste of their countrymen. More power to them.

I've already done quite a discussion of my discovery of the Hip and how it affected my life, so this will be kinda short.

What is it about the Hip that makes them so enduring? Well, I do generally like their music - have since the very first listen. But it's the live experience that elevates them to a level of musical divinity. I've seen them five times in concert. Four of them rank amongst the best concerts I've ever seen. I don't know that it's something that traslates any way except in person.

Foremost in the live Hip experience is Gord Downie's stream of conscious rambling. I could recite word for word long strings of verbal effluvia that have excaped his mouth at concerts I've been to. The most famous example is the so called 'Killer Whale' monologue. Too bad it wasn't caught on video as well.

There is probably something perverse that bolsters the love of the Hip in that they are 'ours', by which I mean I'm kind of proud they never really broke in the U.S. They're more special as our secret. I've kind of made similar comments in other installments - how there is something less special in a way about the bands that have gone big. This one just happens to be additionally tied up in national pride. There is no doubt that the Tragically Hip's music is inextricably entwined with the Canadian experience. Gord Downie's poetic reference set is unapologetic in it's Canuck affiliation. We love him for it. Some day he ought to be our official poet laureate, not just the populist one.

The last line of Ahead by a Century stands as the single most affect lyric ever for me. I had experienced that feelsing, but never had the words by which to express it. The first time I heard the song, that last line cut me to my soul. I know I'm not the only one. It's that universal, and if there is no other example of genius in Gord Downie, he will always have 'Disappointing you is getting me down.'

On top of it all, I've got an amusing tale about flirting inadvertently with Paul Langois' wife at the Kingston Busker's festival. For the record, it was clear that she thought it was quaint - when I realised who she was with, it became apparent why... not to mention I was practically a kid.