I wasn’t a hockey fan in 1995, so why did I ask my parents for a Bill Barilko Maple Leafs jersey for my birthday? I’ve been digesting the answer to that, and my greater relationship with their music since they announced Gord Downie’s terminal cancer diagnosis. Nobody would outright declare that the Hip were solely responsible for their understanding of Canadian geography, history or politics. Likewise, no one would say the Hip were the only ones exposing them to other important Canadian artists. But the Hip were the only ones who brought all of that into one package you could digest at 12, 16, 20 and 40. They grew up while I did. They learned life lessons while I did. They were kindred spirits. They were ours.

As a body of work, but also as a cultural experience, the Tragically Hip represent a series of life lessons that the passage of time, nor the agony of their loss cannot erode.

Be a Weirdo

I spent the ridiculously overhyped 1999 new year’s eve with the Hip at the Air Canada Centre. We all did the countdown at 11:59 and then thousands of balloons fell from the ceiling, all over the crowd, all over the stage. When the Hip came back on to complete their set (starting with “Ahead by a Century” – natch), Gord absolutely went to town on the balloons. And by went to town, I mean he flopped all over them, humped them, belly-flopped onto them. It was just so weird – even for Gord.

Every time I saw them, I lived vicariously through Gord’s confidence. In all that smoke and feedback, I paid no mind to the people paying me mind. I flailed and I flopped, and I didn’t care. “Dance like nobody’s watching”? No. Dance like 20,000 people are watching.

It’s OK to love your Country

Let’s get this out of the way: Canada isn’t boring. It’s muted, but glorious all the same. The thing is, it takes a lot to appeal on its behalf to an angry, dumb teenager like I was. At 12, I heard “Little Bones” for the first time on some classic rock station. Even then, with all the knowledge I was missing, I understood the song’s context as a national anthem, if rewritten by the cynical guys at a small town dive bar. Nobody has a love for this country the way our American pals do, but they love it for what it is. “Nothing’s dead round here/just a little tired” is the healthiest form of patriotism I’ve ever heard.

But it’s also OK to acknowledge its warts

Despite the weird brand of patriotism the Hip wove, they were fully aware of this country’s darker side. “Wheat Kings” has become the Hip’s Freebird; the biggest singalong on Fully Completely – an album full of them. but it also decried the commonly dispensed mob rule that sent David Milgaard – an innocent man – to prison for the murder of Gail Miller. It illustrates such a stunning image of “the Paris of the Prairies”, and juxtaposes the corrupt police and hysterical town that took 27 years of this man’s life away. The same goes for “Looking for a Place to Happen”, a song that sends up the European annexation of indigenous lands, and subsequent disregard for indigenous people (“I’ll paint a scene, from memory/so I know who murdered me”). It pulls no punches, and neither should any of us. We live in a great country, but it’s far from perfect. We need to say that out loud, and often.

It’s normal to seek out validation

Around 1995, the Hip had become the biggest band in a generation – but only at home. They sold out every venue they played, in any part of Canada, but things changed when they crossed the border. The Hip had a following in the U.S., but it was tiny by comparison. Six months after the release of Day for Night, the Hip appeared as the musical guest on Saturday Night Live. Intro’d by fellow Kingstonite Dan Ackroyd, Gord and co did their best to put the furious energy of their live show into two songs (“Grace Too” and “Nautical Disaster” – in front of tens of millions of people. But they were nervous, and the context of what made them so beloved was not there. It was a thrill to see them on such an enormous platform, and no one could blame them for wanting the approval of the much-larger US audience, or the resulting album/ticket sales – even if it never came. They were the friend who was great at basketball, or guitar, or computer programming. They were the small town friend whose staggering promise was their ticket out of here – make it or not.

And if that validation never comes, don’t sweat it

In the Hip’s various attempts to gain stateside notoriety, their Canadian tours took precedence. In 1993, 1995 and 1997 they hit the road with their Another Roadside Attraction tour – and only in Canada. These were festival tours (all the rage at the time) with huge names like Blues Traveller, Wilco, Sheryl Crow and Ziggy Marley, and they were specially curated for Canadian audiences. Any manager at the time would have told them to remove the Canadiana from their songs. Nobody in Minnesota knows what Bobcaygeon is. Nobody in Texas knows (or cares) about the 1972 Summit Series, but the band’s entire career remained a tribute to the place they grew up in, and the people who love them.

Love what you do, and never stop getting better

The “fake it till you make it” mantra works because the entertainment industry is full of focus groups that demand unrealistic personas and on-stage characters from people who’ve spent their lives honing a craft and being told that’s not good enough. And it’s not as if that’s anything new, but it is why each generation looks back at their youth, and harkens back to its simplicity. In the late eighties, the Hip put blues standards like “Boots or Hearts” up against a backdrop of Tin Machine-era Bowie. They wore their everyday clothes  in an era of Flock of Seagulls haircuts, acid washed jeans and (actual) leopard skin, button-up shirts, and they took absolutely no interest in changing anything about themselves. They stayed the course through Guns n Roses, Grunge and Goth and they evolved their own way because they were very good at what they did, and they loved doing it. They made it in a sea of fakes.

Growing older isn’t something to fear

In the last decade, Canada’s relationship with the Hip has changed. The Hip still sold out (pretty much) every Canadian venue they booked, but they were something of an elder statesman. To say we took them for granted sounds harsh, but we absolutely did. Here was a band who (as far as we knew) never went through the spiral of addiction so many rock stars do. Here was a band who reliably released an album every 2-3 years and toured it extensively – all at reasonable prices. Here was a band that never really went away. As I got older myself, it gave me enough comfort to believe they’d be around forever, and that it would probably be a long time before I’d have to think or write the way I am right now. It must have given them comfort to know that we were all in it together. To the end.

Neither is death

On Friday, I will walk into the Air Canada Centre to watch the Hip for the final time. If anything, I’ve put off saying that for as long as humanly possible. Denial. But to put things into perspective, the worst part of this pre-grieving process was was the first day. Since then, writers and musicians and fans all alike have written their missives about Gord and the boys. They covered their geographical importance, their political importance, the lyrics that swelled their hearts, and the ones the broke them. We all came to terms with this together, as they say “not to mourn, but to celebrate”.

These sorts of things are rare. We so rarely get to say such a long goodbye, but that’s not even what this is. This tour. These retrospectives. These streamed events. They’re a cultural event befitting a long-running cultural pillar. We always knew what we have, and we are all lucky to do it, as we remember it, one more time. We do not fear their end, although we understand its weight. We do not gnash our teeth in the face of all of this, however sobering it may be.

We don’t do this for just anybody. We do this for the Tragically Hip. Because they haven’t just altered our identity; they are our identity. 

Pictures lovingly taken from thehip.com