Hip fans share memories

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This article was published 22/08/2016 (3515 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

It’s hard to adequately encapsulate all of the memories that were conjured up and emotions that coursed through me Saturday night as The Tragically Hip played a nation’s soundtrack from their hometown of Kingston, Ont.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve read countless recollections from journalists, celebrities and ordinary Canadians that in some way or another touched on how the band — our band — spoke to so many people on one level or another.

On Friday, in anticipation of penning this piece, I put a call out to fans to share their most treasured memories of The Hip.

The first person to respond was Stacey Shule Krueger, who lives in Winnipeg.

Her story seems to be a microcosm of the relationship we, as Canadians, have with The Hip.

Five years ago at a concert in Winnipeg, possibly during one of Gord Downie’s epic on-stage rants, Krueger bumped into an old high school friend.

The two bantered while The Hip played songs such as “Drip Drip,” “Gift Shop” and “Ahead by a Century” — I checked as the set lists from all their shows are available at TheHip.com.

Following the final song, the two made a plan to meet up after and go for coffee. Fast forward to today, and Krueger is married to that same man while the couple never miss a concert that it is within driving distance of Winnipeg.

“I always say The Hip brought us together,” Shule said. “We haven’t missed a concert together since reuniting.”

It’s those moments — moments we all seem to have — that set The Hip apart. While all great bands have an ability to connect with their fans, The Hip seemed to have an inherent knack of connecting all of us to each other.

Sara Hanson, formerly of Brandon, said the first time she saw the Kingston quintet during the Another Roadside Attraction tour in Winnipeg, she was “mesmerized.”

Hanson said her favourite song is “Wheat Kings,” the story of David Milgaard, who was wrongly convicted of the rape and murder of a Saskatchewan nurse.

“Even though I know it’s about David Milgaard, and not our local WHL team, it always reminds me that no matter where I live in the country, I have a connection with the prairies that’ll last a lifetime.”

Hanson, who also lived in Kingston, said the song “38 Years Old” resonates with her because she used to drive past the Millhaven Institution.

That song, which starts with the lyrics: “Twelve men broke loose in ’73; From Millhaven maximum security,” is just one of the lyrical landmarks in the band’s Canadian road map repertoire.

Better than anyone else, The Hip told our stories.

Deloraine’s Trevor Dickie has seen the band several times, but one concert that stood out is seeing them play in a small venue in Las Vegas.

“(There were) 1,500 Canadians huddled in this hole-in-the-wall place, screaming our lungs out with Gord and the boys, while the rest of the city was oblivious to the greatness they were missing,” Dickie said.

Despite their iconic status in Canada, The Hip never really swam in the mainstream. While other bands covet the spotlight like an alcoholic to drink, The Hip relished their sometime anonymity, which provided them far more freedom to push their sound and lyrics. Success can often shackle musicians, but not Gord and the boys.

Even in my workplace, The Hip had the power to galvanize.

Jillian Austin’s fiancé, Erik, is huge fan of the band and the soon-to-be wed couple was gutted when they heard the final concert in Winnipeg sold out in minutes.

When more tickets were released a few weeks before the show, Austin pounced.

“I surprised Erik with this for his 30th birthday and he was floored,” she said. “Needless to say, it’s a concert we will never forget. The atmosphere was electric in the MTS Centre, and we were blown away by Gord Downie’s performance — most of the concert had everyone in our section on their feet. Seeing his passion and talent come through while facing such adversity was so inspiring.”

In May, Downie revealed that he has terminal brain cancer. This tour is widely believed to be the band’s swan song, although they said it’s not the end.

“At times we couldn’t help but shed a few tears when we thought about the significance of this tour, and the heart-breaking reality,” Austin said. “Gord and The Hip are Canadian legends and it meant a lot to us to see one final show.”

My journey with our band started in 1999 when I, along with my friend Mark Magwood, convinced our parents that we were going to Rome, N.Y., for Woodstock ’99.

On the second-last day of the festival, I remember being swept up in a sea of red and white as every Canadian in the 200,000-plus fans in attendance sashayed to the main stage for an afternoon performance.

En route, Americans asked us why we were all going to see "The Tragically Hip." We even managed to convince a few of them to tag along.

What I hold onto from that concert the most isn’t the music, but a feeling. It was, in many ways, a weird jingoism — us against the world, and, whatever it was we were fighting for, we were right. I felt connected to thousands of Canadians that I had never met before as Gord shifted awkwardly on stage, like he always does, singing his songs like you’ve never quite heard them before.

On Saturday, those awkward shuffles were a little more pronounced. I can’t say for sure what it was, but maybe the drugs designed to combat his awful disease were affecting him.

At times, he lost his way. I’ve seen him lose his spot in songs before or launch into a seemingly crazy yet subtly nuanced diatribe, but not like this. The cancer was clearly affecting him, but it didn’t change the feeling.

The performance was raw, emotional and powerful.

An entire nation paused.

The songs really have become a soundtrack for so many.

I’ve driven through the Assiniboine Valley listening to “Blow at High Dough.”

I’ve laid on the streets in Vienna listening to “Springtime in Vienna.”

In some of my darkest times, “Fiddler’s Green” impacted me in a way that is indescribable.

The whole time, however, as I listened to the music I thought about the people who were with me in those moments.

Partway through the concert, I found myself getting emotional. I told the friends I was watching the concert with that this is one of those “Where were you when moments?” And I was glad to be sharing it with them.

At the same time, an old friend — one that I don’t see nearly enough — sent me a message.

It read: “During the show I watched the last 20 years go by. Everything that we knew was right when we were young, everything we forgot. Our friendships. How time is precious. It is haunting how all of his songs took on a deeper meaning. It’s like it was all wrote for this. And I was thinking the only man that could write a song, and do justice to a man like Gord is Gord.”

I wrote back that the lyrics hit me hard that night.

He said: “Yup. Love you.”

It might be the first time a friend has ever said those words to me without half-joking.

It’s those moments, not the songs, but the moments that screamed by while the songs were playing in the background that I’ll remember forever.

I thank The Hip for that.

At times I think we pervert Canadiana.

As the punchy little country from the north, we’re often the first to jump up and take ownership of celebrities, making sure to claim that he or she is one of ours.

I never felt that way about The Hip, or Gord, I always just felt like they were one of us.

When the end does come, as it does for all of us, we’ll be sure to get Ry Cooder to sing Gord’s eulogy — as were his wishes.

» Twitter: @CharlesTweed