That night in London, a real love-in for a Canadian icon
AS THE MAY ANNOUNCEMENT that Tragically Hip frontman Gord Downie had terminal brain cancer washed over the country, the coverage and outpouring of public anguish was unlike anything you could imagine for any other artist, so intertwined with Canadian culture has the band become.
A final tour was announced. Tickets sold out in minutes. It’s easy to imagine the frenzy of longtime fans who’d seen the band on numerous occasions right through to those who’d never been to a Hip concert eager for a final chance to do so. Everyone looking to be a part of what promised to be an emotional farewell, even as we hold out hope for a medical miracle that makes this Hip tour as final as The Who’s.
Why the national angst? There’s certainly been plenty of ink, and far more pixels, dedicated to explaining Canada’s devotion to the band since its 1983 formation. Is it the Canadiana? There’s plenty of that. Many of the songs tells us stories about Canada, though without any nationalistic fervour. Downie’s lyrics are poetry that we can actually enjoy, set to a rockin’ soundtrack – high school English class was never remotely this compelling. (Paying more attention during CanLit would have been helpful in deciphering songs such as Courage, which draws on Hugh MacLellan’s The Watch that Ends the Night.)
I’ve always thought that somebody needed to lock Downie in a room, not releasing him until he’d explained the lyrics of his songs. Full of poetic allegories and metaphors, many of the songs defy easy interpretation, with Downie himself eager to keep things ambiguous. (That doesn’t stop us from trying. See, for instance, fan Stephen Dame’s website hipmuseum.com).
Oh, sure, some of them are straight ahead rockers or deal with recognizable subjects (Wheat Kings’ story of David Milgaard or Fifty Mission Cap’s Bill Barilko), but what’s really going on at The Hundredth Meridian? I like to think it has to do with Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, but who knows? Of course, that’s the point – we each get to decide what the song means ... and means to us.
That’s perhaps why The Hip are embraced by hockey hosers and alternative-music aficionados alike.
A live Hip show is always an event, not only for Downie’s trademark asides, stories and frantic gyrations, but because of the atmosphere, audience included.
For the pure emotion – and Canadiana – of a Hip show, I take you back to Cleveland, Apr. 14, 2007. Taking a jaunt across the border to see the band always pays dividends: smaller venues, and enthusiastic crowds, mostly Canucks out for some road-trippin’ good times. On this night, Cleveland is coated in a mid-spring snow flurry that rolls in off of Lake Erie, which seems appropriate: Kingston boys, the members of the Hip are steeped in Great Lakes/St. Lawrence River lore. On this night, there are odes to the water, including a cover of Randy Newman’s take on the infamous fire on the Cuyahoga called Burn On Big River, with Cleveland references setting off the locals. Later, everyone is transfixed by Downie’s take on Gordon Lightfoot’s The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald – about as Canadian as you can get.
The crowd goes wild, lapping up everything the band’s offering. There are clearly plenty of Canadians, the Hip never having managed to make it big in the U.S., an inexplicable phenomenon to those here who love the band. Well, perhaps explained by the aforementioned Canadiana that proved no barrier to one young convert from Erie, Pennsylvania, who was enthused volubly (it was loud inside the confines of the House of Blues), “These guys are so awesome! You guys (Canadians) are so lucky!”
Live shows have always been The Hip’s bread and butter. They’re what got them to an eponymous EP in 1987 and then the record label breakout Up to Here, where the stadium rockers were born. Fans have been keen for more ever since.
Monday night in London, the band’s first stop in Ontario as they make their way to the ultimate farewell at home in Kingston on Aug. 20, was nothing short of a love-in. Every song and every move was greeted with poignant enthusiasm befitting the circumstance, though the night was nothing less than upbeat – this was no downer, least of all up on stage.
The reality of Downie’s illness and the crowd’s hopes were readily apparent in the roar that erupted as the singer reached a particular point in Day for Night’s Scared: “Their lives need not be shortened/ Truth be told, they can live a long, long while ...”
On a night when everyone was reading things into Downie’s enigmatic lyrics, the title track to Fully Completely – an album that really cemented The Hip’s iconic status – there was particular resonance in “You’re going to miss me/ Wait and you’ll see/Fully and completely.”
Even the second, one-song encore of Fiddler’s Green – written for his sister following the death of her five-year-old son – felt uplifting, despite more than a few teary eyes.
We were all there for the music, of course, but in reality it was a collective thank-you to Downie – part message of love, part don’t-leave-us. Not surprisingly, the ovation went on much longer than usual. The band members embraced before trickling off stage until only Downie remained. Clearly emotional, he did a lap around the stage – including the rear, where even the obstructed-view seats sold out – acknowledging the outpouring of affection and giving it back.
A voice from up high shouts, “We love you, Gordie.” Very true, but that much was already obvious.