You heard about this band, The Tragically Hip? Apparently they’re all the rage. The next Doodletown Pipers if you believe the hype.
Never knew of ’em myself, not before this summer. This summer, though, boy howdy, I haven’t heard of nothin’ else!
And now they’re bustin’ up, just like the Beatles, but on account of the singer havin’ a touch of the brain cancer rather than a Japanese girlfriend.
That’s progress, some would say.
Now I don’t wish the Capital C on nobody. Not jokers or smokers or midnight tokers.
It’s a tragedy and a damn shame, even when it strikes a musician whose music sounds like 30k of road repair to my ear holes.
But a Canadian institution? That’s a bit rich for six lads that ain’t a hockey team or even a donut chain.
Have our standards really fallen so far since the Liberals came back in? Looks like it, my friend.
Maybe I’m a little p.o’d because Tommy Hunter never had this kinda send off. Stompin’ Tom neither, and there was a fella what knew the meaning of the word parochial.
That’s not to disparage Mr. Downie.
I gather he once wrote a song about the Leafs, and I hazard to guess that’s more than most of us can say.
And while it’s not honest labour, writin’ a catchy tune is hard work, especially when you paint yourself into a corner and need to find a rhyme for “Barilko.”
But isn’t that the bare minimum of what we should expect from our more talented pot heads, given all the grants and funding and payday loans we’ve dole out to ’em over the years?
We need return on our investment, with interest or we’re no better than the apes.
If Canadian Content wasn’t the law of the land this band would have never left Kingston.
And why should they? It’s pleasant enough, and Queen’s must have the odd sock hop.