The Tragically Hip Way in Kingston, Ontario
Hinto, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons

Tragically Late

To describe myself as a latecomer to the party would be an understatement, but I kinda sorta have an alibi: I grew up in the United States. Allow me to explain.

During my time in the USA, I lived in three major music centers: San Francisco, Los Angeles (metro), and Seattle. When I wasn’t studying or fucking, I often had headphones wrapped around my head, scanning the radio for new and interesting music.

Fact: In those hundreds of hours I spent hooked up to the radio, I never heard a single song by The Tragically Hip.

I had no idea such a band existed until 2012, after I had moved to Seattle. One of my work colleagues told me she was planning to see The Tragically Hip at the Showbox SoDo and invited me to go with her. “The Tragically who?” I asked. She explained that they were a Canadian rock band with a large following in their homeland and knew how to put on a great show. “I bet the place will be packed with people coming down from Vancouver—kinda like when the Blue Jays play the Mariners.” With the genre falling out of favor and leaving me rock-starved, I usually jumped at the chance attend a rock concert, but the thought of traipsing down to SoDo to hear a band I never heard of in a crowded, standing-room-only venue didn’t appeal to me, so I politely declined the invitation.

HUGE mistake. Regrettably, I have to admit it was one fuck-up in a series of fuck-ups. I looked up their concert history and realized that I could have seen the Hip five times: twice in San Francisco, once in L.A., and twice in Seattle. I don’t know how I missed them at the Bottom of the Hill in San Francisco in 1998, as that venue was my #1 go-to place at the time.

Hmm. Maybe there is something to that dumb blonde thing.

I stayed in touch with my colleague after I moved to Europe, and when I announced my permanent boycott of American music last year, she sent me an email with the subject line “Time to Get Into the Tragically Hip!” The message was short and sweet: a link to the documentary The Tragically Hip: No Dress Rehearsal on Amazon Prime. I assumed I would run into the “NOT AVAILABLE IN YOUR COUNTRY” bullshit, but much to my surprise, Amazon.ie came through.

The Tragically Hip: No Dress Rehearsal turned out to be one of the best rock documentaries ever made, an informative, engaging, and deeply moving tribute to “the band that for many has come closest to defining Canada’s cultural identity” (New York Times via The Canadian Encyclopedia). Soon thereafter, I downloaded every bit of The Tragically Hip available on Apple Music, and over the next few months, I listened to their entire discography. I was so impressed that I decided to review all thirteen of their studio albums in chronological order at a rate of one every six weeks, beginning in early 2026. I’d like to believe that my delayed interest in the Hip was “meant to be” because it allows me to tell the full story of their recording history in the form of a continuous narrative, but the truth is that my failure to get on onboard with the Hip while they were an active musical entity had more to do with American indifference to the band (and me having my head up my ass).

As far as the few Americans who knew of their existence were concerned, the Tragically Hip was a niche band that played in small and mid-sized venues all over the States, but largely in cities close to the border, allowing Canadian fans to pop over and help fill the house. None of their albums made it into the Billboard 100, and only two of their singles climbed into the Billboard Top 30. Compare those figures to their performance on the Canadian charts, and you get the sense that the belief shared by many yanks that Canadians are just nicer versions of Americans is utter rubbish. The Hip scored nine #1 albums in Canada, and all their albums crashed into the Canadian Billboard Top 10.

Sounds like a cultural divide to me!

There are many theories regarding the Hip’s failure to break through in the States. Grunge was the big thing in American rock in the early to mid-90s, and the Hip never embraced that angst-filled genre. Unlike Joni and Neil, the Hip chose to sign with a Canadian label (MCA Canada) and hoped that the American arm would hype their music. Unfortunately, the yanks apparently considered the Hip “low priority” and failed to deliver—MCA stopped American promotion of one of their best albums (Fully Completely) after two weeks, and eventually outsourced distribution to Atlantic, Sire, and Zoë Records, a strategy destined to fail. Fellow Canadian Dan Aykroyd secured them a spot on Saturday Night Live in 1995, but even that much sought-after exposure failed to move the needle.

The most common excuse for the Hip’s inability to charm American music fans was that they were “too Canadian.” I would reverse that assertion and argue that many Americans are “too xenophobic,” too hung up on the “we’re the greatest country on earth” bullshit, and have little interest in the music of other cultures unless they can get drunk and dance to it (think “Macarena”). One might think that a common language would facilitate a connection, but the xenophobes have their internal radar screens set to identify un-American invaders who refuse to adapt their act to suit American tastes. The yanks never cottoned to Blur because Damon Albarn chose to sing with his obvious British accent instead of following the lead of many of his predecessors and adopting American pronunciation. As for the Hip, the CBC noted that “When the Tragically Hip played the horrible 1999 Woodstock Festival, they sang the Canadian national anthem. Fans responded by shouting them down with ‘The Star Spangled Banner,’ and allegedly threw rocks and bottles at them.”

The Hip’s most unforgivable sin (as far as Americans were concerned) was that many of their lyrics were rooted in Canadian culture, geography, and history. One of the surest bits of advice given to budding poets and authors is “write what you know,” and Gord Downie did just that, losing the befuddled American audience in the process (though they did make some headway via college radio). So, yes, they were too Canadian for American pea-brains to handle, but the tepid support from American distributors made it more unlikely that the more perceptive and culturally-aware yanks would ever hear them.

While I admit I am tragically late to the party and deeply regret never having seen them in action, the tightness of the band and Gord Downie’s poetic talent combined to create a musical experience that qualifies as timeless. It’s never too late to get into the Tragically Hip.

Introducing the Tragically Hip to the Uninitiated

• Gord Downie: Lead singer, occasional guitarist, and lyricist for all songs beginning with their second album (more about that later)
• Rob Baker: Lead guitar
• Paul Langlois: Rhythm guitar and backing vocals
• Gord Sinclair: Bass and backing vocals
• Johnny Fay: Drums and percussion

The Tragically Hip were an extremely tight band—in more ways than one.

Gord Sinclair (bass guitar) and Rob Baker (lead guitar) grew up across the street from each other and have been friends since they were infants. They met Gord Downie (vocals) and Johnny Fay (drums) in high school in Kingston, Ontario. Downie, Sinclair and Baker all attended Queen’s University at the same time in the mid-1980s and formed the band with Fay and saxophonist Davis Manning. This early version of the band first performed together in a room at the Kingston Artists’ Association in November 1984. Paul Langlois (who knew Gord Downie from high school) replaced Manning in 1986, the same year that Downie, Sinclair and Baker graduated from Queen’s.

Lifelong friendships aren’t unheard of in rock, but after Paul Langlois joined the group in ’86, there would be no lineup changes until the Hip disbanded in 2017—a period of thirty-one years. They operated as a democracy, and as is true of all democracies, the voters did not always agree, but they always worked out their differences and moved on. In the documentary (directed by Gord Downie’s brother Mike, by the way), Paul explained what that cohesiveness meant for the band members. “If any of us were in another band, I don’t think we’d be able to do it because we wouldn’t be in another band with their friends. We’d be kinda with the guys that we work with. It makes it more special that we know each other really well, so a really good gig becomes even better and a really bad one isn’t quite as bad because there were four other guys looking at the floor with you.” They were also fortunate to have great parents who encouraged them to follow their dream of a life devoted to making music.

The Hip began life as a cover band, but instead of covering what was popular at the time, much of their material came from the R&B-oriented rock bands of the 60’s: B-sides and deep tracks from the Yardbirds, Animals, Stones, and Doors. There is also one scene in the film when you hear them covering the Monkees’ “Mary Mary.” I mention this because the inspiration for the band’s name came from the man who wrote that song: Mike Nesmith. “When it came time to pick a name for the newfound band, Downie and Co. looked to Elephant Parts, a video compilation by former Monkee Mike Nesmith. ‘There’s one skit in there that is sort of like a TV plea: ‘Send some money to the Foundation for the Tragically Hip.’ And that phrase has also appeared in an Elvis Costello song. It crops up every now and again, and it’s just a name that we like.'”

After developing a loyal fanbase in their hometown of Kingston, the Hip toured throughout Ontario, picking up thousands of new fans along the way as the band got tighter and Gord Downie developed into a dynamic, mesmerizing frontman. After receiving a tape of a Hip song, pollster and pundit Allen Gregg forwarded it to music manager Jake Gold, and both men agreed they had to catch one of their live performances. In the documentary, Jake recalled the experience of hearing the Hip in action for the first time: “They walked on stage, Gord said ‘I can only give you everything,’ grabbed the mike and did that jacknife thing that he does, and every hair of my body and neck, everywhere, just stood up.” Gregg remembered, “It took us about a song and a half to look at each other and just say, ‘this frontman is off the charts.'” Jake noted that “The way they played as a unit, they were a machine, and I looked at Allan and said, ‘We’re signing these guys tonight.'” With Gregg providing the funding, the Hip went into the studio to record their eponymous EP while Jake worked to extend their reach beyond Ontario.

By this time in the late 80s, music videos were all the rage and a must-do for any band attempting a breakthrough. The song they chose to display their talents to a wider audience was “Small Town Bringdown,” the opening track on the EP, written by Gord Sinclair. Though the video was obviously not directed by Scorsese and a long way from HD, it still manages to display the Hip’s serious potential at this early stage in their career:

I should note that when asked if the song was about Kingston, Gord Downie deferred to the lyricist but added, “It doesn’t reflect how we feel about Kingston because quite frankly, we love it here.” The Hip never lost sight of where they came from.

The marketing plan worked like a charm, opening the doors for the Hip to play all across Canada (not an easy feat, she noted understatedly) and in larger venues. Things started getting serious when MCA head Bruce Dickinson, who became interested in the band after hearing “Small Town Bringdown,” caught their two-song set at the Toronto Music Awards in Massey Hall, a performance that would become a cherished moment in Tragically Hip lore:

“I guess it was during the first song,” Dickinson told the National Post in 2016. “Gord drops the mic on the floor inadvertently. It comes unattached from the cord, and the top of the mic comes off. I remember distinctly, Bobby Baker and Gord Sinclair just looked at each other like, ‘Oh, crap. What are we going to do?’ Downie, as you know, is a great improviser. He just picks up the mic, puts it back together and tells a whole story in the middle of the song that involves the mic. I thought that was really cool.”

Dickinson was ready to sign the band after seeing that performance, but the Hip’s manager wanted him to catch a full show the next evening at Toronto’s legendary Horseshoe Tavern. That second show only strengthened Dickinson’s commitment to signing The Tragically Hip to MCA, which remained the band’s Canadian label for the rest of their nearly 30-year run.

Rob Baker recalled what the offer meant to the Hip: “We met Bruce after the show, and he said, ‘I’d like to sign you to a seven-record deal.’ So when that happened and Bruce made that offer, that put us firmly on the track that we always dreamed of being on.” They had worked their asses off playing gig after gig, and all that hard work would finally give them what they always wanted—a life devoted to creating and playing music.

We’ll begin our journey next week with my review of the Hip’s debut album Up to Here.