Having secured Bob Dylan a place on the menu bar, my next step was to fulfill my promise to do the same for The Hip. As things turned out, the planets were in alignment, and I had serendipity on my side.

Knowing how unpopular my Hip reviews are with my American followers, I had scheduled this review for Thanksgiving Day in the States, when most of them would be watching football, stuffing themselves with food and drink, and unlikely to pay me a visit. That plan changed once I accepted the consulting gig in Montreal and flew back to Canada last week to seal the deal and set up the implementation plan. I arrived on a Wednesday and expected to return to Ireland on Saturday, but my client shared some news that forced me to extend my stay.

We had taken a break for lunch, and instead of talking shop, she brought up the deteriorating relationship with the United States and how Quebec separatists had postponed any referendums on the subject until Voldemort is out of office. I asked about the separatist movement in Alberta, and she said, “The polls are against them. Carney is doing all he can to hold things together, and the CBC’s airing of the 10th anniversary of The Tragically Hip’s last performance this Saturday couldn’t have come at a better time.”

“Damn! I’d love to see it, but I can’t get CBC in Ireland.”

“You’re a Hip fan? I had no idea! They weren’t that popular with us francophones, but my anglophone husband is a big fan, so we’ll be watching. You’re welcome to join us.”

“That would be great! Let me check the flight situation when we get back to the office and see if I can pull it off.”

Even though my best bet was a red-eye, I changed my flight and called the hotel to extend my stay. When the workday was done, I picked up a couple of bottles of wine and some flowers, and arrived in time for The Tragically Hip: A National Celebration. I learned later that the concert had already been released on DVD,  but it was nice to watch it with at least one Canadian Hip fan in the room (a former denizen of London, Ontario). Like her hubby and everyone in the audience, I cheered the immediately recognizable intros to each song, and cried along with them during those moments when they remembered that Gord Downie would soon be gone forever.

The Hip had finished recording what would be their final studio album (Man Machine Poem) when Gord Downie suffered a seizure and was diagnosed with an incurable brain tumor in December, 2015. When he was hit with a second cancer-related seizure in February 2016, The Hip decided to delay the release and the promotional tour. After going through chemo, radiation, and surgery, Gord insisted that they do the tour. In a recent interview with Tom Power of the CBC, Rob Baker shared his concerns: “We got together for our first rehearsal, and it was, wow, this is never going to happen, but he got a little stronger as things went on.” Not wanting to refuse a dying man’s last wish, the Hip announced both the diagnosis and their plans to tour on their website on May 24, 2016. “This feels like the right thing to do now, for Gord, and for all of us . . . What we in The Hip receive, each time we play together, is a connection; with each other; with music and its magic; and during the shows, a special connection with all of you, our incredible fans.” From the first show in Victoria to the final concert in their hometown of Kingston, Gord grew stronger and stronger as he soaked up the energy from the enthusiastic and appreciative audiences. The final show was broadcast live on the CBC, and one-third of the Canadian population tuned in.

On the flight home, I thought about The Hip’s unusually strong and loving relationship with their followers and how the fans viewed the band as “one of us” rather than rock stars. Despite the sad ending, their story is both unique and worth telling, so I decided to move up the review of their fifth studio album, regardless of American disinterest. Once again, the timing couldn’t have been better because Trouble at the Henhouse contains one of The Hip’s most cherished songs, the song they chose as the final song in their farewell concert.

*****

Continuing their tendency to do something different with each new album, Mark Jenkins of the Washington Post noted that in contrast to Day for Night, Trouble at the Henhouse consisted largely of songs that “are more atmospheric than aggressive.” Meanwhile, the unnamed idiot on Trouser Press who “reviewed” all thirteen albums in about twenty minutes flat wrote, “If Day for Night represented a peak in the Hip’s work, the only way to go was down. The self-produced Trouble at the Henhouse shows signs of fatigue, and the album suffers from a sluggish pace. There are some solid tracks, like the mid-tempo rocker “Springtime In Vienna” and the sly boogie of “Butts Wigglin’,” but too much of Henhouse finds the Hip wallowing in meandering psychedelia.” While the latter assessment is just plain fucking stupid (I don’t know how any review of Henhouse could exclude “Ahead By A Century”), the former is just plain old superficial. I will admit that the album is far from perfect, but the great songs are songs for the ages.

Several of the arrangements follow the soft-loud approach, which makes the loud part seem much louder—an old dynamic trick dating back to Haydn’s Surprise Symphony. The approach was popularized in our time by the Pixies and frequently employed by Nirvana, and it’s not surprising that The Hip would employ the tactic in the era of grunge on an album containing a song devoted to Kurt Cobain. The Hip had used the approach as far back as “Blow At High Dough,” but they took things a step further on this album, and in the process, gave us plenty of “aggressive” moments, balanced by several beautiful passages.

Prior to the recording, The Hip decided that it was time to self-produce their albums (with help from longtime sound man Mark Vreeken) and pooled their earnings to buy a house in Bath Village that they turned into a studio christened as The Bathouse. The move freed them from having to record to a fixed schedule, which in turn gave them more time to work on the songs, explore new pathways in their music, and take little naps in the upstairs bedroom. When they needed a bit of fresh air, Lake Ontario was a short walk away.

AND WILL NEVER BE LAKE AMERICA!

It should come as no surprise that Trouble at the Henhouse opened at #1 on the Canadian charts, but it could have been a worldwide hit if The Hip had agreed to MCA’s plans to promote the album. From the No Dress Rehearsal documentary: (Jake Gold) “The record company hears ‘Ahead By A Century’ and goes, ‘Holy Shit, like we’ve got a real song here.’ And the head of the Canadian record company (Randy Lennox) comes to me and says, ‘We want you to play the Tower Records opening, downtown Toronto, on the rooftop. We’ll make it a huge media event. We will be able to get Trouble at the Henhouse prioritized at Tower Records all around the world: The U.K., Japan, the U.S.’ And the band said, ‘You know Randy, we buy our records at Sam the Record Man (a Canadian chain). You know, we’re loyal to Sam.’ And yes, they sat at me, straight-faced, and said, ‘Respectfully, no.'”

Randy Lennox noted that “Ninety-nine out of a hundred bands would have pulled their knickers down for an opportunity like this.” The Hip viewed the offer as a sellout that would have changed their trajectory for the worse. They didn’t give a shit about fame or fortune and weren’t particularly troubled about their weak record sales in other countries. As Jay Baruchel observed in the documentary, “One of the things in the Canadian character to be admired the least is our desperate cloying need to succeed outside of here in order to be even kinda respected, or taken seriously or worth being paid attention to.” Gord Downie wrote about the Canadian experience because it was what he knew and cared about. If listeners outside of Canada failed to grasp that his songs also depicted the human experience because they contained unfamiliar names and places, that was their problem. The Hip did have a loyal niche following in the States and played to packed houses at some of the most respected venues, but they all felt that a huge marketing effort would have weakened their ability to forge an intimate connection with the audience, which was priority #1 for The Tragically Hip.

*****

“Gift Shop”: The album opens with the soft, dreamy swirling sounds of a Hammond organ played by Canadian musician-songwriter Peter Tuepah, soon backed by Rob Baker’s light guitar arpeggios and Gord Sinclair’s root-note bass of the D-F chord pattern. Gord Downie makes his entrance in an appropriately reflective mood, as if he’s sharing his inner thoughts with the audience. Some have claimed that the song is about a trip to the Grand Canyon, while others vote for Niagara Falls, but the video makes it clear that the song is largely about all awe-inspiring natural treasures and monuments that sadly turn into tourist traps (including the Statue of Liberty).

The beautiful lull, the dangerous tug
We get to feel small, from high up above
And after a glimpse, over the top
The rest of the world, becomes a gift shop

Leave it to humans to trivialize a breathtaking experience by trying to make a buck . . . and leave it to humans to buy loads of crap so they can show their friends they were there.

In a perfectly executed soft-loud maneuver, Johnny Fay and Paul Langlois make their loud and powerful entrance at the moment Gord sings, “The pendulum swings.” The scene here is definitely the Grand Canyon, where the beauty of the lull is unmistakable but also dangerous if, in your state of fascination, you get too close to the edge. The closing line addresses our contrary feelings about our relative smallness in such settings. Sometimes the vastness of nature can leave us feeling insignificant, but the sheer beauty of nature also helps us forget about our trivial, day-to-day problems, encouraging a sense of belonging.

The pendulum swings
For the horse like a man
Out over the rim, is ice cream to him
The beautiful lull, the dangerous tug
We get to feel small, but not out of place at all

That verse features a call-and-response arrangement where Rob responds to Gord’s lyrics with counterpoint arpeggios. In the next verse, Rob’s guitar gives way to Paul’s wordless responses to give the verse about the human experience a human touch.

We’re forced to bed, but we’re free to dream
All us human extras, all us herded beings
And after a glimpse (Bah Bada Bah)
Over the top (Bah Bada Bah)
The rest of the world (Bah Bada Bah)
Becomes a gift shop

Yes, we are all herded beings (except for the elites), forever queuing at airports, stadiums, grocery stores, on the sidewalks outside of nightclubs, etc., etc., etc. I feel much more insignificant in a queue than I do when watching the night sky.

The closing verse is rather curious, but the folks at lyricsmeaning.com provided a credible interpretation.

I don’t know what to believe,
Sometimes I even forget
And if it’s a lie,
Terrorists made me say it

Interpretation: “The line ‘I don’t know what to believe, sometimes I even forget’ introduces an element of uncertainty, reflecting the confusion and complexity of navigating a world that can seem both enchanting and bewildering. The mention of terrorism adds a layer of contemporary relevance, suggesting that external influences may shape our perceptions and narratives. In our post-truth world, confusion and complexity reign, confirming the timelessness of the song.”

“Gift Shop” gives listeners plenty of fodder for self-reflection, and from a musical perspective, The Hip hit a grand slam. Bravo!

“Springtime in Vienna”: This arrangement also moves from soft to loud, employing a slow build rather than a grand explosion. Some have described it as a slow burn, and I’m cool with that.

As for the lyrics, well, here’s a twist or two . .  . or three, and maybe four. The lyrics contain no mention or reference to Vienna or springtime. From The Hip Museum: “Gord Downie told Mav in September, 2005 that the title of the song was derived from a quip Gord Sinclair made after the band overheard a couple arguing while walking in New Orleans: ‘It’s like springtime in Vienna.'” Okay, so the song is about bickering couples, right? Nah. As Gord Downie explained while reading from the album’s enclosed lyrics in a YouTube short, “‘Springtime in Vienna,’ the blues . . . ‘Instructions from the manual/Could not have been more plain/The blues are still required.’ I mean, they’re always required, you know, and the blues are not really so much about heartache as they are about physical, molecular existence—sing it like you feel it and feel it like you feel it.”

So the song is about the blues? Huh. That doesn’t feel right. If it were a song about the blues, one would think it would be set to a blues scale, but the chord pattern in the verses is Dsus2-Csus2-Bsus2 and the bridge employs an A-G-D+A progression. Arghh! What’s Gord going on about?

First, I will dismiss the common perception that the blues “requirement” represents a barrier to artistic freedom, as Gord argued that the blues were more than a simple chord progression, but a path to authentic expression. And what blocks people from expressing their authentic selves? Other people, particularly those in power. Ergo, we need the authenticity of the expanded definition of the blues to get us . . .

Past territorial piss-posts (i.e., competitive personal conflict and war)
Past whispers in the closets (i.e., people talking behind your back, spreading rumors to discredit you, or trying to force you to stay in the closet)
Past screamin’ from the rooftops (i.e., in this context, advertising and political bullshit)
We live to survive our paradoxes (3) (i.e., the human condition of opposing forces: the coexistence of beauty and brutality, love and hate, freedom and oppression, rich and poor . . . and a gazillion others)

Surviving those paradoxes represents the ultimate human challenge, made more difficult by the avoidance of transparency from those in power. In short, we never know what the fuck they’re up to, which makes life difficult for all of us.

Men hear of the secret
They pass in upholstered silence
They only exist in crisis
They only exist in silence

That said, we little guys and gals also contribute to the mess by engaging in competition rather than trying to understand where the other is coming from.

The Hip were themselves paradoxical, at least in the eyes of the music moguls, who had a hard time connecting their need for authenticity to profit margins. Artists in every field have to find a way to balance the sacred act of creation with the dirty dealings on the commercial side. Life in a paradoxical world is not easy, but Gord’s closing line expresses confidence in our ability to deal with all the bullshit: he changes the key line “We live to survive our paradoxes” to “We’ll live to survive our paradoxes.” I hope with all my heart that his prediction will come true.

Out of all the wonderful songs Gord wrote, he identified this as his favorite. If you wrote a song that accurately and passionately depicts the challenges we face, it damn well should be your favorite.

“Ahead By A Century”: As Rob explained in No Dress Rehearsal, “We had the list of songs that we were working on, and you always have a sort of A-list and B-list. The A-list were ‘these songs were working,’ and the B-List were songs you were trying to improve. On the B-list was ‘Ahead By A Century.’ It was Paul’s music and Gord’s lyrics, and we didn’t feel that involved in the song the way it was, so one night after everyone left the studio, I said to Johnny, ‘Why don’t you stick around and we’ll work on that song and see if we could get something to happen.’ I had an open string guitar part, and Johnny worked up a thing on a LinnDrum, and the song lifted right away.” The narrative moves from childhood to adulthood, and the combination of guitar and LinnDrum is not only exceptionally engaging but also a perfect fit for the segments covering childhood. Halfway through the adult segments, Johnny shifts to the kit, and at the end of that verse we hear distorted guitar bursts indicating that adulthood is a rougher ride.

I rarely run across a song interpretation that covers all the bases, but I found a brilliant analysis of the song written by Robert Morrison, Professor of English Language and Literature at Queen’s University, titled “The Hip Imagines a Better Future.”  I’ll share his observations in italics and add my comments in regular type.

Verse one:

First we’d climb a tree and maybe then we’d talk
Or sit silently and listen to our thoughts
With illusions of someday casting a golden light
No dress rehearsal, this is our life

“The opening verse recalls childhood. It begins with the words “First thing,” which immediately captures the excitement children feel when they recount their day. The singer and his friend have played together many times: “First thing we’d climb a tree / And maybe then we’d talk / Or sit silently / And listen to our thoughts.”

Among other things, the two discuss what they will do when they get older, or what they think their future will be like. They have “illusions of someday” that as children cast “a golden light.” But as the rest of the song reveals, their ideas of the future are “illusions.” It will not be as they planned or hoped. Having been back to childhood, and then forward to “someday,” the verse closes with the present and an insistence on living as fully and genuinely as possible: “No dress rehearsal / This is our life.”

Bridge one:

That’s when the hornet stung me and I had a feverish dream
With revenge and doubt, tonight we smoke them out

In the bridge, the “illusions” of childhood are inevitably and almost accidentally punctured. The voice of the child is again captured when he explains — perhaps to a parent — “that’s where the hornet stung me.” This unexpected and unpleasant experience marks the end of childhood’s “golden light,” and brings on the “feverish dream” of adulthood, where we are all addled by emotions such as “revenge and doubt.”

The final line of the bridge — like the final line of the verse — returns us to the present: “Tonight we smoke them out.” Literally, of course, the “them” in this line refers to the hornets, but it also refers to “revenge and doubt.” The singer plans to use smoke to drive the hornets from their nest, in the same way that he hopes to drive revenge and doubt from himself, in an attempt to return to an earlier time when he lived free of these emotions.

Chorus:

The chorus is six words – “You are ahead by a century” – repeated three times. The singer is addressing his partner, who is perhaps the same person he climbed trees with as a child. Yet the two are now far apart. He is thinking of the past and struggling in the present. She is living 100 years into the future. She has broken free of at least some of what thwarts and binds us now.

She is already thinking and behaving in ways that will eventually gain broad political and cultural acceptance, but that are currently deemed unacceptable.

I think part of the reason Gord chose to make the woman “ahead by the century” had to do with what The Hip was experiencing when playing in front of a largely male audience. In No Dress Rehearsal, Paul remembered, “The testosterone levels up there (in the front rows) are pretty high. We had a period of time when it was very male aggressive, really on the edge of violence.” Gord Downie: “At our shows it was mostly dudes doing this stuff.” Rob: “And it could get rough out there. And then, you start seeing people get taken out on stretchers after gigs.” Gord felt the need to admonish the males in concerts: “You all be good to each other down here. Hip shows are for men and women. None of you boys keep muscling out the girls.” Due to long-standing cultural norms, men like the character in the story tend to respond to an attack by attacking back in the form of seeking revenge . . . just like Voldemort and Putin.

Verse 2: 

Stare in the morning shroud and then the day began
I tilted your cloud, you tilted my hand
Rain falls in real time and rain fell through the night
No dress rehearsal, this is our life

In the second verse, the singer continues to draw together the despair of adulthood (“Stare in the morning shroud”) with the exuberance of childhood (“I tilted your cloud”), before anchoring himself in the present (“Rain falls in real time”), and insisting again on the importance of using our time meaningfully: “No dress rehearsal / This is our life.”

Bridge 2:

That’s when the hornet stung me and I had a serious dream
With revenge and doubt tonight, we smoked them out

The second bridge runs revealing variations on the first, and deepens the themes already in place: This time it is not “where” but “when the hornet stung me,” and the dream is not “feverish” but “serious.” Then, as the band and the singer build toward the close, the chorus is repeated twice, emphasizing with more and more urgency the distance between the singer and his partner.

Chorus and Fade:

You are ahead by a century (6)
And disappointing you’s gettin’ me down

The song might have ended with the repetition of the chorus, but the singer has one final thing to say: “And disappointing you is getting me down.” It is his acknowledgement that he wishes he was as far ahead as she is, and perhaps too it hints at her disappointment that he is unable to close the ground between them.

But thinking and feeling as he does, regarding the past as he does, misspending his time as he does, seeing a “morning shroud” instead of a morning sun as he does, he seems trapped while she moves into a far more expansive future.

“Ahead By A Century” was released as the lead single and stayed at #1 for four weeks. The record company loved it, but more importantly, it struck a chord with the Canadian audience. Actor/Director Bruce McCulloch observed that “‘Ahead By A Century’ brought Canada to their knees in a different way, and I saw that this band had more going for it than being a big rock concert band.” Technical director Dave Koster said, “I think there’s no question that it’s pretty much the second Canadian anthem.” “Ahead By A Century” was the song that closed their final performance, and it seemed from the crowd shots that everyone in the audience had memorized the lyrics as they sang through smiles and tears.

I strongly encourage readers to read Professor Morrison’s essay in full, as he explores the history of human progress to provide a broader context for the song.

“Don’t Wake Daddy”: I found it very convenient that my least favorite song on the album followed my favorite song, because after spending a lot of time listening to “Ahead By A Century” over and over, I really had to take a piss. I listened to the first minute of “Don’t Wake Daddy,” didn’t like what I heard, then just let the song run as I rushed to the bathroom to empty my bladder. I then came back to listen to the song for the requisite three times and wound up liking it even less. The song goes on way too long, the melody is weak, and Gord’s metaphors mask the simple truth that the subject of the song is Kurt Cobain, who is portrayed as a hungry sled dog. The story behind the song in The Hip Museum is much more interesting:

“As The Hip were establishing themselves on the US club scene in the early 1990’s, a three-piece out of Seattle was about to re-establish rock as both the dominant form of pop-music and the discerning choice of rebels across middle classes everywhere. Nirvana’s new movement, dubbed “grunge” and led by their moody and screeching messiah Kurt Cobain, kicked Michael Jackson off the charts for good while handing contemporary music its ass in a plaid hand basket.

Shortly before Cobain achieved his Lennonesque status, The Hip and Nirvana were double booked at the same American venue. This lead to a unique double bill featuring Canada’s band and the world’s next big thing. Gord Downie approached the band to introduce himself, only to find Cobain passed out on a pool table in the rear of the club. Far from a brush with greatness, Gord related his Cobain encounter as a surreal experience.”

One correction: Kurt Cobain was not a screecher but one of the best gravel-voiced singers in rock. Harrumph!

“Flamenco”: In a piece from The Globe and Mail (it took a helluva lot of effort to get past the paywall), Gord explained that the song was “an encouragement to face life boldly—summarized by the line ‘Walk like a matador, don’t be chicken-shit.’ It’s about not letting fear turn minor obstacles (“breezes”) into overwhelming crises (“rivulets”).” “Flamenco” can therefore be considered a companion to “Ahead By A Century” and its message to live life to the fullest because you have no dress rehearsal and only one shot to get it right (says the atheist).

The narrative finds Gord trying to break through a friend’s habitual defensiveness with little success. Apparently the chicken-shit message fell flat, so Gord tried what he thought might be a more positive message (“Flamenco-sweep the air and weave the sun/and stamp your feet for everyone.) That approach lands with a thud as well, forcing Gord to ask, “Does it exhibit your natural tendency to hate?” In the end, his buddy essentially tells him to piss off:

Maybe I’ll go to New York,
I’ll drag you there
You said, “no one drags me anywhere”
Does it diminish your super-capacity to love?

Of course it does, but his pal couldn’t care less.

Rather than taking the obvious path and imbuing the song with flamenco influences, the music is mellow and decidedly melancholy, marked by contrasting counterpoints from the two guitarists and a steady, lightly thumping bass from Gord Sinclair. While it’s one of those sad-but-true stories, the arrangement is ironically soothing.

“700 Ft. Ceiling”: According to The Walrus, “Downie described “700 Ft. Ceiling” as the classic story of a Canadian kid with nothing to do. It’s a song about teenagers killing time—heading out to the local hockey rink or watching porn on TV.” Naughty boys and girls! Well, I guess you have to find something to do in the dark days of winter, or you might catch a bad case of cabin fever. Never having lived in a place with a serious winter, I find the “ain’t gonna let winter stop us from having fun” orientation fascinating and the idea of creating an impromptu hockey rink in the city park or one’s backyard quite ingenious. And hey, when you have access to cigarettes and satellite dish porn, life is good, isn’t it?

Lets go to the park, lets go watch ’em floodin’
Out there after dark, don’t have to think of nothin’
And I love that for, for the way I’m feeling
700 foot, 700 foot Ceiling

Lets take it to the top of the tobacco nation
We can aim the dish for hardcore invitations
And I hate that for, for the things I’m thinking
When the clouds are low, 700 and sinking

The song is a solid rocker that expresses impatience with winter’s limitations, a mood also captured in Gord’s slightly irritated tone. Good job, guys!

“Butts Wigglin'”: This song makes no sense at all unless you consider it context. From thesilverpoets96: “This song was featured in the Canadian comedy sketch troupe Kids in the Hall movie called Brain Candy. The movie was about the making of a new antidepressant called GLeeMONEX, and I feel like this song is specifically about pharmaceuticals.”

I used to watch Kids in the Hall after a boring day in high school when in desperate need of a good laugh, but I never heard of the movie. I also thought “Butts Wigglin'” was a reference to the funky beat, but Reddit user DeenzGrabber corrected my misconception: “The title Butts Wigglin’ to me was Gord referring to cigarette butts being pushed or ‘wiggled’ out in the ashtrays at some big boardroom table like in the movie.” The most chilling line in the song is repeated several times: “In my opinion the drug is ready.” Uh, excuse me, sir, but is that opinion based on science or the quarterly stock reports?

Mr. Downie plays the role of an executive, delivering his vocals in a flat, conversational style. The other odd aspect of the song is the appearance of Kingston musician Greg Runions on the vibraphone, giving the song a funk-jazz feel. I have no problems with his musicianship (it’s actually quite good), but the sound feels totally un-Hip.

“Apartment Song”: I’m not sure what Gord was aiming at in this song about a woman who takes anal behavior to new heights, but the story doesn’t fit the soft-loud treatment. So, she’s a “horrible esthete” because she wants everything in her apartment and on her body to look nice? What’s wrong with that? I do imagine that hanging out with her might be a drag due to her high standards and subtle hints that everyone should follow her lead, but I doubt very much that “The walls stand a little more at ease” when she’s out of the apartment. I would have thought Gord would have admired her as an artist in the field of interior decoration. Guess not!

“Coconut Cream”: Hmm. This song certainly didn’t belong on their A-list, and I wouldn’t have even put it on the B-list. The F-list is more like it. I’m beginning to think that The Hip should have avoided front-loading all the really good stuff.

“Let’s Stay Engaged“: I hate to say this, but this song puts me to sleep. Other than Rob Baker’s solos and Gord Sinclair’s always marvelous bass, I find little in the song to write home about. Sigh.

“Sherpa”: See “Let’s Stay Engaged” and add Paul Langlois to the upside. I appreciate the fact that The Hip was experimenting with different sounds on this album, but this song doesn’t work for me. Sorry!

“Put it Off”: Far more thematic than the previous five songs, “Put it Off” presents us with a timeless paradox. From the CBC: “‘Put It Off’ is both quiet and incredibly loud and has Downie pondering if he can create art worthy of his newborn child on the day they were born.” Gord was such a beautiful soul that he needn’t have worried about it, and the simple fact that he chose to engage in deep self-reflection regarding the balance between art and parenthood was a testament to his sense of responsibility to self and others.

I wrote unfriendly things, truly cruel, on the day that you were born
To prove that words cannot touch beauty but I was torn
I put it off, I put it off, I put it off again

I made degenerate art for the religious right on the day that you were born
I had a passion to experiment but I was torn
I put it off, I put it off, I put it off again

I played Love Tara by Eric’s Trip the day that you were born
I had to find the cuteness in the unadorned but I was torn
I put it off, I put if off, I put it off again (I put it off, I put if off, I put it off again)

Artists are explorers who prefer to explore without limitations (but I doubt Gord wrote for the religious right), but what he would learn through parenting is that children are naturally creative until parents and lousy teachers screw them up, and he spent as much effort on encouraging his children’s creativity as he did as a songwriter and musician. His success at parenting was best expressed by his daughter Willo in a piece on Canada Billboard:

To live is to create, and what a gift that is.

The greatest gift we can give in thanks for our life is creation.

I know and feel this deeply. My dad taught me.

Six years after his death, I still grapple with the public’s perception of who my dad was. It often feels surreal and overwhelming to reconcile. To me, for so long, he was “just” my dad. King of my heart, as a young girl.

But Gord Downie threw himself earnestly into each of the roles he filled — and they were many, beyond that of being a truly amazing father.

I think it’s best to stop right here.