Penning a love letter to Gord and The Hip

Bob McKenzie

TSN Hockey Insider

Follow| Archive

Tragically Hip frontman singer Gord Downie passed away at the age of 53.

Two summers ago, TSN's Bob McKenzie offered his thoughts and stories of his friend.

---

It was the day after Victoria Day, Tuesday May 24 as a matter of fact, and I was at the cottage.

I was awake much earlier than usual to partake in one of my great joys in life -- the 10-mile, 40-minute mountain bike sprint into town for breakfast, and then the 10-mile, longer-than-40-minute cruise back to the cottage, before driving back to the city and working later that day.

It was 7 a.m., I was laying in bed, doing what I do to start a lot of mornings -- checking Twitter to see what may have transpired in the world overnight before getting up and on with my day.

One of the first tweets I saw, posted at 6:50 a.m., was from Alan Doyle, the affable Newfoundlander and front man for Great Big Sea and The Beautiful Gypsies:

The link to the Globe and Mail story in Alan's tweet gave no immediate clue as to who was afflicted. I was curious to see which famous Canadian was dealing with bad news.

I clicked on the link. I saw the headline, which was as jarring, unsettling and upsetting as it was succinct and to the point:

Tragically Hip singer Gord Downie diagnosed with terminal brain cancer

My friend Gord Downie, the lead singer of my favourite band ever, The Tragically Hip.

No, no, no... 

I had no words then; I'm not so sure I do now either, but I'll make some effort here, weak as it may be, to do what I tried to do that morning and, really, all we can ever do in the face of horrible news and infinite sadness -- come to terms with it as best we can.

After that, I didn't much feel like riding my bike that morning, but I did anyway. I eschewed my Bike Ridin' Tracks playlist on my iPod and clicked on Artists: The Tragically Hip, 16 albums, 190 songs. I hit shuffle, put in my earbuds and began riding. Gordie and The Hip sang and played my way into town, just as they have through much of my adult life.

It was such an emotional ride. So many feelings, so jumbled in my heart and mind -- most of them about Gord. How is he doing? How is he dealing with it? What must it be like for him and his family? Unimaginable.

When I got to town, I tried to make sense of it, but we all know how that goes in these situations. So I stood outside the Tim Horton's in Fenelon Falls and just wrote a short email:

No words...
Thinking of you.
Stay strong.

A short while later, I received a response from Gord. It was caring, loving and heartfelt -- no surprise if you know Gord. I'll treasure it always, just as I have always treasured and will always treasure Gord Downie and The Tragically Hip.

I got back on my bike, hit play on the hap-hap-happiest Hip tune ever, In View from World Container, a melody that ordinarily makes me feel happy and hopeful and optimistic. I pedaled my way home:

I love you
You know I do
Yeah, it's perfect
Well, it isn't and it is

And I've been meaning to call you
I've been meaning to call you
Then I do...

I, I am of you
And you are in everything I do
I do...and you are always in view.

I love The Tragically Hip.

I have from the first time I heard Small Town Bringdown and Last American Exit in the late 1980s and here we are, almost 30 years later -- 30 years, where the f--- did the time go? -- and I'm as enthralled today with Man and In a World Possessed by the Human Mind and all the new tracks on Man Machine Poem as I was with their raw and gritty 1987 introductory release and everything in between.

I can't sit here and tell you The Tragically Hip is the best ever, better than The Beatles or The Stones or Creedence or Neil Young or Springsteen or any of the great iconic bands or artists I grew up with and hold near and dear.

"Best ever" is such a highly subjective thing. But I can say this without reserve: The Hip and their music mean more to me personally than any band or any artist at any time. If I were stranded on a desert island and could only have the complete works on one artist, it would be The Hip. No doubt about it.

There would be so many songs to choose from. The Hip have been nothing if not prolific, releasing a new album every other year, more or less, from 1987 to the present.

Up to Here in 1989; Road Apples in 1991; Fully Completely in 1992; Day for Night in 1994; Trouble at the Henhouse in 1996; Phantom Power in 1998; Music at Work in 2000; In Violet Light in 2002; In Between Evolution in 2004; World Container in 2006; We are the Same in 2009; Now for Plan A in 2012 and, finally, Man Machine Poem in 2016.

So many songs; so many styles; so many feelings; so much imagery.

I want hard-driving rock, there's Three Pistols or Blow at High Dough or Fully Completely. If I'm heading out for a night on the town, it's All Tore Up. If I'm feeling melancholy (Fiddler's Green) or edgy (Twist My Arm) or thoughtful (Long Time Running) or complex (Nautical Disaster) or someone is being critical of my work (My Music @ Work) or I'm feeling particularly Canadian (Bobcaygeon or Wheat Kings) or just flat out happy (In View), there's literally a Hip song or two for every thought or emotion or feeling or mood.

I'm probably doing a lousy job of chronicling it, but The Tragically Hip connects with me on some crazy, deep level. Sometimes it's the music; sometimes it's the lyrics. Often times it's both. It could be just a riff or a turn of phrase or a beat or a tune. It could just be Gord with his trademark Woooo! -- Three Pistols is as good as it gets for Woooo! All I know is I feel like these five guys from Kingston, Ont., have been personally talking to me in most everything they do.

Many of The Hip's albums were summer releases. Back in the good old days, I'd buy the CD. I'd always listen to it in the car. I'd usually listen to it two or three times in a row to get a real feel for it. All these years later, the routine is still the same (no CD, mind you). And the funny thing is, no matter how many times I've heard a Hip song or an album, if I listen carefully to it, even now, I'll hear or take something new from it each time.

Many believe The Hip have become an iconic Canadian band because they sing so much about Canada and things that are uniquely Canadian. I suppose that's true to a large extent. When I first heard Last American Exit, I must confess, it immediately conjured imagery of driving north on I-81 and seeing that Last American Exit sign before making the Ivy Lea crossing at the Thousand Islands bridge border crossing east of Kingston. It instantly became a homecoming song for me.

My cottage is a short drive from Bobcaygeon. I've been sitting in a bar in Bobcaygeon listening to Bobcaygeon; it doesn't get any more Canadian than that, except maybe when The Hip actually played in Bobcaygeon, or reasonably close to it anyway. We all have our own "that night in Toronto." To varying degrees, we can identify with Jacques Cartier or Tom Thomson or David Milgaard or Millhaven Maximum Security or Hugh MacLennan or Attawapiskat or the countless references to hockey -- Bill Barilko, Dan Snyder, Bobby Orr and the lonely end of the rink.

The whole Hip as standard bearers of Canadiana is such a cliche, but the funny thing about cliches is that they're usually rooted in truth. For me, honestly though, The Hip doesn't make me feel uniquely Canadian as much as they make me feel uniquely me.

If that makes any sense at all.

One of my favorite Hip albums, In Violet Light, is probably the least-talked about, least well known and least played in their collection. Rare is a Hip show that includes anything from In Violet Light.

I love all of it, especially Are You Ready, Use It Up, The Darkest One, All Tore Up, Leave, A Beautiful Thing, The Dire Wolf and most notably The Dark Canuck (leave it to The Hip to craft a song about a drive-in movie theatre). I'm even mesmerized by the cover art, the silhouette of a heron set against the violet background.

One of the things I love most about Hip music is the pacing and the changes within songs, how they can gear up or gear down on a moment's notice. The Dark Canuck has two refrains that are the same and if the song ended there after three minutes, it would be a fine and good song. But it gears down hard there, there's a dark and heavy guitar riff that takes you to a virtually new song for the remaining three minutes. I know not why it's my favorite element of any Hip song but it is -- the lyrics, the music, the feel, all of it. If The Hip has played The Dark Canuck at a show, I've not been there to see it.

That's okay, though. It only makes experiencing it that much more personal:

If we ever get home
Let's don't compare
Let's relinquish all our holidays
And drive in premieres
If we ever get home
I'm going to have me three children
Apple, Zippo and Metronome
That's what I'm going to name them

And get celebrity skin
The illusion of tough
I'm going to talk about nothing
Till nothing's enough
If we ever get home
And the subject comes up
This war isn't for children
War is nothing's enough

In the clouds of blood at the end of Jaws
In the misted cars honking their applause
At the drive-in double feature
At the heart of dark enough
It's Jaws and The Dark Canuck
Should we stay for The Dark Canuck?
Yeah, everyone, hands up
Who's for The Dark Canuck?
I think we relinquished enough
And it's still dark enough

And it goes on and on and on...

I first saw The Tragically Hip perform live 25 years ago this month. It was July 5, 1991, at The Concert Hall (Masonic Temple) at Yonge and Davenport in Toronto.

My, how time flies. I was a month shy of my 35th birthday back then, a relatively new father of two, just navigating the early stages of adulthood.

The Concert Hall, a small but awesome venue, was a veritable sweat box that night. What I saw and heard that evening was something special. No one ever forgets their first Hip experience.

Road Apples, the band's second official album (third if you count the introductory EP), had already been released, so the show was almost everything from Road Apples (Little Bones, Twist My Arm, Cordelia, The Luxury, Born in the Water, Long Time Running, Bring It All Back, Three Pistols, Fight, On The Verge, Fiddler's Green and The Last of the Unplucked Gems plus much of the seminal Up to Here album (Blow at High Dough, New Orleans is Sinking, 38 Years old, Boots and Hearts etc.), which many believe, even today, is epic Hip.

Gord Downie is not only a tremendous lyricist and singer, but an incredible performer. Young Gord, with his ubiquitous white handkerchief and microphonic manipulations, was on full display that hot July night. The entire show was dizzying -- so hard driving; so tight, so hot, so sweaty, so goddam unforgettable.

That was also the first night I got to meet the guys in The Hip. My friend Andy Frost from Q107 radio station had hooked me up with tickets for the show and, apparently, when the band's manager found out I would be there, they left after-show passes with an invitation to come backstage and meet the band, which I did.

Another cliche, I know, but they turned out to be the good Canadian boys they appear to be. Humble, personable, genuine, seemingly average fellows individually but collectively something much greater than the sum of their parts. Together, on stage, they're a force. From that first Hip show, I always felt like, in my own mind anyway, I knew this band. I don't know if it's a correct take -- what I know about music is nothing more than what I like -- but this is how I view them.

The outside walls or pillars of The Hip are the two guitarists -- Paul Langlois on the left and Rob Baker on the right. Physically, they couldn't be more different.

Paul, all denim and plaid and a mess of curly hair with bangs that come down almost over his eyes, is of slight build. He always struck me from that first time I saw him as that really amiable, chill dude at high school who could always be found in the smoking area. Smallish guy, produces a deceptively big sound but nothing showy about him. An artist.

Rob is an imposing figure. Tall and dark, with the trademark straight long, jet-black hair well down his back. He sometimes has this cool sway with the music, not above sporting some cool crushed velvet or satin jacket, often times in a bright color, like purple. I find myself sometimes just mesmerized watching him play.

Rob is also the subject of a shared moment with me and my kids, Mike and Shawn, who have come to love The Hip as much as I do.

The boys and I were at a Hip show. Every time Rob would really go to town on the guitar, a guy next to Mike and Shawn would scream: "Play the f--- outta that thing, Bobby Baker." The boys still find this endlessly amusing and not a Hip show goes by that one or both of them, in honor of that fan, will scream it out.

Play the f--- outta that thing, Bobby Baker, indeed.

If the guitars are the pillars or walls of The Hip, I see the engine as the two guys centre stage -- drummer Johnny Fay in the back, Gord Downie in the front. Gord's voice and mannerisms and lyrics are well documented; he is the front man after all.

Johnny seems a life force of his own. He's not a tall guy but he's all coiled energy and power, the hard driver who pushes it all forward. As chill and relaxed as all the guys, including Johnny, appear when not on stage, Johnny is the one who strikes me as maybe he could have a little more edge, maybe a little less likely to suffer a fool, but maybe it's just me mis-reading a streak of mischievousness with that boyish grin.

In between Gord Downie and Rob Baker is bassist Gord Sinclair. I always think of Gord S. as the stabilizer, the steadfast rudder who aligns all that kinetic energy and keeps the Langlois-Baker walls/pillars from crashing inward on the high-revving Fay-Downie engine. Gord Sinclair looks like an everyman, so earnest and industrious and strong in keeping it all together. He's also as congenial a fellow as you'd ever want to meet.

The truth is, while I've met the guys on numerous occasions, I can't profess to know them really well. From watching them interact in shared post-show moments with their family, friends and fans, they certainly  appear to be good men, good people, and it's been an honor to watch them, and their families, grow up.

Gord Downie, I've gotten to know a bit better.

After that show in 1991, we would exchange emails, mostly about his beloved Boston Bruins but also about hockey in general. Whenever I would attend a Hip show, we'd get to share a handshake, a hug and a few words to get caught up on each other's lives.

In 2002, at the Salt Lake City Winter Olympics, after The Hip appeared there at a concert for the athletes, we enjoyed a night that didn't end until the sun came up. A special time, to be sure.

When I was writing my book, Hockey Confidential, and wanted to include a chapter on him and The Hip and their connection to hockey, he took the time to meet me for lunch and told me many personal and family stories he'd never shared before. For that, I cannot be more thankful and here's the product of that session.

As forceful as Gord is on stage, he comes across as equally gentle off it. He speaks in thoughtful, hushed tones and has a wry smile with an equally wry sense of humor.

He is a great family man, he and his brothers Mike and Pat love their Bruins, he has a passion for clean water and the environment, amongst a number of other charitable causes, and he's only ever been kind and generous to me, as well as many others, no doubt.

For that, I'm eternally grateful and honored. Humbled, actually.

As you are no doubt aware, The Tragically Hip are in the midst of what amounts to a cross-Canada farewell tour. To be brutally honest, when the news first broke about Gord's health, and it was announced The Hip were still going to be able to tour this summer, I wasn't sure I even wanted to attend one of the concerts.

I'm not sure why; it just didn't feel right...at that time.

But when the tour opened in Victoria, B.C., on July 22 and I saw the photo of Gord on opening night wearing a fuchsia silk jacket and a white hat with a big feather, well, I looked at that glorious, defiant bastard that he is and instantly knew I'll be at one of the Toronto shows and will certainly be watching with all of their fans on television on Saturday Aug. 20, when The Hip play their final show in their hometown of Kingston.

If fans of the band like myself are having difficulty reconciling what is happening to The Hip, and more importantly Gord, I cannot even imagine the cauldron of emotion this tour must be for them and their families and close friends, especially Gord.

But they are still out there, making their way across the country, playing two-plus hour shows for their faithful fans who know only too well the human emotions at play here.

There's not a lot more to say, is there? Just so long as Gord and the boys know how much they've meant to us, certainly to me. The Tragically Hip is the soundtrack of my adult life; they are in my heart and soul and always will be.

So much Courage (for Gord Downie). Grace, Too.