03-09-2007, 02:12 PM
ONE TO REMEMBER
Fresh off the U.S. release of ‘World Container,’ the Tragically Hip comes to Buffalo with the mantra ‘don’t forget’ “
BY JEFF MIERS News Pop Music Critic
Updated: 03/09/07 6:51 AM
All songs are one song/and that song is ‘Don’t Forget.’ ” So sings Gordon Downie at the emotional apex of the Tragically Hip’s new album, “World Container.”
Those lyrics are delivered during the title track, an eloquent ballad full of abstract images and heart-rending melodic movements that add up to a cathartic moment, one of the strongest during the Hip’s 20 years of record-making. Like so many of the band’s greatest musical events, “World Container” is a tune that avoids the obvious — or at least dresses the familiar in breathtaking new clothes. And it does so in service of a literate lyric that raises the art of oblique suggestion to new heights.
“Don’t forget,” sings Downie, and you can’t miss the tidal wave of emotion behind his singing. You get it, instantly. But try to put it into words, and it will likely vanish into smoke.
The power of memory
“If you look at the ‘Hipeponymous’ box set, the handwriting throughout the booklet is mostly that song, ‘World Container,’ ” recalled Downie, speaking by phone from Toronto last week, ahead of the Hip’s pair of Buffalo shows this weekend — as well as westward jaunt to join the Who for a handful of dates in California.
At the time of the release of “Hipeponymous,” Downie was forced into a reflective mood. The group was about to be inducted into Canada’s Juno Hall of Fame, and the inevitable call “speech, speech!” had resounded. Downie, averse to the self-aggrandizing nature of speeches common to such events, responded by penning a poem that “sort of said, ‘Thank you, but look the (expletive) out,’ with the sort of faux-bravado that us Canadians try for,” as a way of saying the band did not consider itself to be at all past its peak.
The poem eventually ended up providing the text for the book accompanying “Hipeponymous,” where it changed a bit. The piece would morph further as Downie began turning it into a song.
“When I started setting those ideas to the music, it became not so much something you’d address a crowd of people with, but more like something you’d say to your child. Bedside, as they’re drifting off to sleep, and they’re not hearing most of it. I don’t want to call it a cautionary tale, but generally, it’s someone saying: ‘Go, do all of these things; this will happen, that will happen. How do I know? Because I’ve done these things. I’ve gone where the water is drying, I’ve gone past the “No Attractions Past This Point” sign and, as far as I can gather, it’s all one song. And that song is saying “don’t forget” — whatever that is. What came before you, what made you what you are. Memory is really all we’ve got. And all art seems to be saying that, in some way.’”
“Not forgetting” seems to have given Downie and the Hip a new lease on life. Of course, it wasn’t like the band was limping along prior to the release of this new album, certainly one of the three finest of its 12-album career. But the “Hipeponymous” box set released in 2005 seemed to suggest a closing of chapters for the group, a time to take stock. The Hip could’ve gotten away with treading water from here on out, superstar status at home and sizable cult hero status the world over already in the bag. The group was halfway through its third decade. Most bands have hit a rut by that point, and surely the Hip would be forgiven for doing the same.
“World Container,” released Tuesday in the United States, arrived to blast such cobweb-encrusted notions aside. It is a remarkably fresh, vibrant, poetic, muscular, melodic, varied and consistently exciting collection of songs. In producer Bob Rock — on the surface, a seemingly incongruous choice, given his past work with Metallica, et al. — Downie, Rob Baker, Gord Sinclair, Paul Langlois and Johnny Fay had found someone whose vision melded perfectly with their own.
A door opens
Turning that vision into a body of work that somehow broke new ground and simultaneously held appeal for the Hip’s vast, loyal audience became the rabbit Downie and Co. sought to pull from the hat. With Rock’s help, they did exactly that. But how?
“Who can know if this is the ‘best’ record we’ve ever made?” Downie says. “Certainly not us. But definitely, a door opened. Working with Bob was a chance to learn. Just being with him gave us the opportunity to succeed. I feel it was either the opening of a door, or the end of a long tutorial, you know? I feel like we finally figured it out — with Bob’s help and his generosity and enthusiasm. Without being pedantic or moralistic about it, but just reminding us by his actions and his words just how awesome it is to be in a rock band, and to be in the studio, to make records!
“I’m not saying we’d forgotten that, necessarily, but in the course of your life, you can lose track a little bit. That was something that really rubbed off on us, and continues to this day, even outside of the studio.”
Transformative space
“Outside of the studio” has always been where the Hip works most of its magic, at that point where the hard work in the recording trenches yields to the existential possibilities of the stage, the crowded club, the hockey arena. In this magical space, the Hip shines, as the twin guitars of Langlois and Baker perform the ancient art of weaving, Sinclair and Fay lock horns with both force and subtlety, and Downie is left to be, well, Downie, the possessed, charismatic medium between the abstract ethos of poetry and the concrete nature of rock.
Of late, according to posts at <!-- w --><a class="postlink" href="http://www.hipbase.com">www.hipbase.com</a><!-- w -->, the Hip seems to have turned a corner as a performing entity. “I wish it was something magical or mystical, but I think it’s actually technical and mundane,” says Downie, by way of explaining what he admits is a leaner, more agile concert-stage Hip. “Compared to the mystical or spiritual, most people find the technical mundane, which I don’t really agree with. You know, I spent years — I’m not really a praying man, mind you — sort of praying to the ‘gods of rock’ that we’d have a great show. I put all my faith in that kind of feeling. Something has to happen to make a show something. Maybe it’s just a well-timed flinging of a brassiere, or something like that. And a door opens, and you think, ‘Well, I can do a few more songs now.’
“But generally, while waiting for that bus to arrive, it’s always good to occupy yourself with those technical things. I’ll illuminate it by saying that, I’ve learned some little things over the years — for example: Sing first, dance second. And: Sing, breathe, sing, breathe. This might seem obvious, but as someone with no real formal training, it wasn’t obvious to me. Picking these ideas up has really helped me enjoy singing.
“But it’s not a picture, it’s an event every night, right? That’s what the kids are after. After years of sitting at computer terminals, this is the actual authentic event. The thing we’re all after. And then the T-shirt, to boot!
“I want to get close to that thing, too. I think what I’m discovering at this stage of the game is, it’s the technical things — trying to be a better singer, for example — that are providing me the gateway to getting really close to whatever it is about the experience that makes it special.”
Feeling grateful
Few bands this side of the Grateful Dead have ever managed to kindle a relationship as lasting, intimate and mutually rewarding as the one that continues to exist between Hip fans and their band. After all this time, does Downie have a clear image of just what it is both audience and musicians are after during the communal concert experience?
“Something authentic,” he says, without a hint of equivocation. “At the very least, paying tribute to those that came before you — the greats, your ancestors, the sort of heroes you look up to the rafters to see each night. The ones that you’re grateful to, and you’re grateful to be in some very distant proximity to.
“For example, we played New Year’s Eve in Chicago, at the House of Blues, and it was the stage that James Brown had played on 10 years earlier. He’d just died a few days prior to our show. And that night, I couldn’t escape, and I didn’t want to escape, that feeling of being very grateful to be on stage, and to do what I do.”
Both performances in Town Ballroom this
weekend are sold out, but the band will also perform a short acoustic set at 2 p.m. Saturday in the FYE store at 3701 McKinley Parkway, Hamburg.
Fresh off the U.S. release of ‘World Container,’ the Tragically Hip comes to Buffalo with the mantra ‘don’t forget’ “
BY JEFF MIERS News Pop Music Critic
Updated: 03/09/07 6:51 AM
All songs are one song/and that song is ‘Don’t Forget.’ ” So sings Gordon Downie at the emotional apex of the Tragically Hip’s new album, “World Container.”
Those lyrics are delivered during the title track, an eloquent ballad full of abstract images and heart-rending melodic movements that add up to a cathartic moment, one of the strongest during the Hip’s 20 years of record-making. Like so many of the band’s greatest musical events, “World Container” is a tune that avoids the obvious — or at least dresses the familiar in breathtaking new clothes. And it does so in service of a literate lyric that raises the art of oblique suggestion to new heights.
“Don’t forget,” sings Downie, and you can’t miss the tidal wave of emotion behind his singing. You get it, instantly. But try to put it into words, and it will likely vanish into smoke.
The power of memory
“If you look at the ‘Hipeponymous’ box set, the handwriting throughout the booklet is mostly that song, ‘World Container,’ ” recalled Downie, speaking by phone from Toronto last week, ahead of the Hip’s pair of Buffalo shows this weekend — as well as westward jaunt to join the Who for a handful of dates in California.
At the time of the release of “Hipeponymous,” Downie was forced into a reflective mood. The group was about to be inducted into Canada’s Juno Hall of Fame, and the inevitable call “speech, speech!” had resounded. Downie, averse to the self-aggrandizing nature of speeches common to such events, responded by penning a poem that “sort of said, ‘Thank you, but look the (expletive) out,’ with the sort of faux-bravado that us Canadians try for,” as a way of saying the band did not consider itself to be at all past its peak.
The poem eventually ended up providing the text for the book accompanying “Hipeponymous,” where it changed a bit. The piece would morph further as Downie began turning it into a song.
“When I started setting those ideas to the music, it became not so much something you’d address a crowd of people with, but more like something you’d say to your child. Bedside, as they’re drifting off to sleep, and they’re not hearing most of it. I don’t want to call it a cautionary tale, but generally, it’s someone saying: ‘Go, do all of these things; this will happen, that will happen. How do I know? Because I’ve done these things. I’ve gone where the water is drying, I’ve gone past the “No Attractions Past This Point” sign and, as far as I can gather, it’s all one song. And that song is saying “don’t forget” — whatever that is. What came before you, what made you what you are. Memory is really all we’ve got. And all art seems to be saying that, in some way.’”
“Not forgetting” seems to have given Downie and the Hip a new lease on life. Of course, it wasn’t like the band was limping along prior to the release of this new album, certainly one of the three finest of its 12-album career. But the “Hipeponymous” box set released in 2005 seemed to suggest a closing of chapters for the group, a time to take stock. The Hip could’ve gotten away with treading water from here on out, superstar status at home and sizable cult hero status the world over already in the bag. The group was halfway through its third decade. Most bands have hit a rut by that point, and surely the Hip would be forgiven for doing the same.
“World Container,” released Tuesday in the United States, arrived to blast such cobweb-encrusted notions aside. It is a remarkably fresh, vibrant, poetic, muscular, melodic, varied and consistently exciting collection of songs. In producer Bob Rock — on the surface, a seemingly incongruous choice, given his past work with Metallica, et al. — Downie, Rob Baker, Gord Sinclair, Paul Langlois and Johnny Fay had found someone whose vision melded perfectly with their own.
A door opens
Turning that vision into a body of work that somehow broke new ground and simultaneously held appeal for the Hip’s vast, loyal audience became the rabbit Downie and Co. sought to pull from the hat. With Rock’s help, they did exactly that. But how?
“Who can know if this is the ‘best’ record we’ve ever made?” Downie says. “Certainly not us. But definitely, a door opened. Working with Bob was a chance to learn. Just being with him gave us the opportunity to succeed. I feel it was either the opening of a door, or the end of a long tutorial, you know? I feel like we finally figured it out — with Bob’s help and his generosity and enthusiasm. Without being pedantic or moralistic about it, but just reminding us by his actions and his words just how awesome it is to be in a rock band, and to be in the studio, to make records!
“I’m not saying we’d forgotten that, necessarily, but in the course of your life, you can lose track a little bit. That was something that really rubbed off on us, and continues to this day, even outside of the studio.”
Transformative space
“Outside of the studio” has always been where the Hip works most of its magic, at that point where the hard work in the recording trenches yields to the existential possibilities of the stage, the crowded club, the hockey arena. In this magical space, the Hip shines, as the twin guitars of Langlois and Baker perform the ancient art of weaving, Sinclair and Fay lock horns with both force and subtlety, and Downie is left to be, well, Downie, the possessed, charismatic medium between the abstract ethos of poetry and the concrete nature of rock.
Of late, according to posts at <!-- w --><a class="postlink" href="http://www.hipbase.com">www.hipbase.com</a><!-- w -->, the Hip seems to have turned a corner as a performing entity. “I wish it was something magical or mystical, but I think it’s actually technical and mundane,” says Downie, by way of explaining what he admits is a leaner, more agile concert-stage Hip. “Compared to the mystical or spiritual, most people find the technical mundane, which I don’t really agree with. You know, I spent years — I’m not really a praying man, mind you — sort of praying to the ‘gods of rock’ that we’d have a great show. I put all my faith in that kind of feeling. Something has to happen to make a show something. Maybe it’s just a well-timed flinging of a brassiere, or something like that. And a door opens, and you think, ‘Well, I can do a few more songs now.’
“But generally, while waiting for that bus to arrive, it’s always good to occupy yourself with those technical things. I’ll illuminate it by saying that, I’ve learned some little things over the years — for example: Sing first, dance second. And: Sing, breathe, sing, breathe. This might seem obvious, but as someone with no real formal training, it wasn’t obvious to me. Picking these ideas up has really helped me enjoy singing.
“But it’s not a picture, it’s an event every night, right? That’s what the kids are after. After years of sitting at computer terminals, this is the actual authentic event. The thing we’re all after. And then the T-shirt, to boot!
“I want to get close to that thing, too. I think what I’m discovering at this stage of the game is, it’s the technical things — trying to be a better singer, for example — that are providing me the gateway to getting really close to whatever it is about the experience that makes it special.”
Feeling grateful
Few bands this side of the Grateful Dead have ever managed to kindle a relationship as lasting, intimate and mutually rewarding as the one that continues to exist between Hip fans and their band. After all this time, does Downie have a clear image of just what it is both audience and musicians are after during the communal concert experience?
“Something authentic,” he says, without a hint of equivocation. “At the very least, paying tribute to those that came before you — the greats, your ancestors, the sort of heroes you look up to the rafters to see each night. The ones that you’re grateful to, and you’re grateful to be in some very distant proximity to.
“For example, we played New Year’s Eve in Chicago, at the House of Blues, and it was the stage that James Brown had played on 10 years earlier. He’d just died a few days prior to our show. And that night, I couldn’t escape, and I didn’t want to escape, that feeling of being very grateful to be on stage, and to do what I do.”
Both performances in Town Ballroom this
weekend are sold out, but the band will also perform a short acoustic set at 2 p.m. Saturday in the FYE store at 3701 McKinley Parkway, Hamburg.