(photo courtesy of The Tragically Hip)
The Nerve Magazine
REVIEW: The Tragically Hip @ GM Place
VANCOUVER 8.12.07 - I swear on the ghost of Pierre Trudeau - there is actually a dude in the arena parking lot washing back a box of Timbits with a Molson Canadian. 20 minutes later, as the Hip launch into their one millionth performance of “New Orleans is Sinking”, he will be the most Canadian he has ever been.
Up on stage, Gord Downie, the veteran captain of Team Canada rock, is still throwing hard elbows in the corners. Skating through new tracks like “The Lonely End of the Rink" and “The Kids Don't Get It”, Downie plays like a fresh-legged rookie. But with the rest of the Hip’s dog-eared catalog of hits, he seems to have to work extra hard to keep his head in the game.
Mime seems to help. “Long Time Running” features some expert skeet shooting. “Fully Completely” sees him scouring pockets for missing things (i.e. his mind). There’s a lot of patting and smoothing animals in “Ahead By a Century”. (I like to imagine it's a beaver and/or Mr Dress-up’s Finnigan.) And by the time they get to Canada's backup national anthem “Courage”, he's smoked at least two packs of imaginary Player’s Lights.
At some points the show feels so rehearsed, it must be a spoof - Tragically Hip: The Musical. As the near-capacity crowd handle the lyrics, Downie (looking appropriately Oliver Twisty in a cap, white dress shirt and tweed pants) high-kicks his way through “Springtime in Vienna”, and rises from the dead during a jam-bandy “At the Hundredth Meridian”.
At times he seems angry that the crowd is still scrambling for these old sonic pucks he’s firing over the glass.
Maybe it's an act. Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter. The floor is all fists and lighters; the upper rows squirm with delight. Nobody cares that he purposely fucks up the intro to “Blow at High Dough”. And during a surreal encore of “Grace, Too”, Downie even mimics an ape - a sarcastic performing monkey, dragging his knuckles and peeling a microphonic banana - before yelling and screaming and dying in a hail of suicidal mime bullets.
Spent, he throws a sweaty towel into front row, “For the ladies...” he says gracefully, and retires to the dressing room.
The Tragically Hip win - again. And it’s all as comforting and patriotic as a fresh honey-dipped and a double-double.