It was last August that I wrote a post on Gord Downie of the Tragically Hip and his final concert (here). In it I argued that the extremely talented Downie, the ultimate Canadian in the liberal's view of Canada, did not require platitudes as he endured his final battle with cancer, but rather grace (too). Well the giant of Canadiana culture, who oddly enough had Tom Petty as his favourite musician growing up, has died. And if you believe our drama teacher turned prime minister, we are now less of a country because of it. The legendary poet-rocker Gord Downie, the one of who's music I and countless others admire, has died. No poetry about it. Just death, which comes for us all.

What has struck me most is the typical way a death such as his is portrayed. That is, a seemingly happy death. Surrounded by family. The Canadian dream to the non-bitter end. He lived and died a hero.

The highlight of my summer: driving past a Bobcaygeon sign.

Tonight my son Joseph and I were at Mass. In what can surely be attributed to my worldly distractedness, or maybe just a moment of grace too, at the elevation of the chalice I was prompted to pray for Downie's soul. In death he still does not need platitudes, but prayers. There is only one who has conquered death. The one roundly mocked and hated by many of our Canadian liberals, Jesus, is the one hope for Downie.

Later at Mass: "but only say the word and my soul shall be healed." No greater poetry. No greater depth. No greater love. While many rush to canonize a musician into Canadian heaven, shall we not forget about the real heaven? Downie was so hip to so many. So hip he could do not wrong. So hip that he is already jamming in some mysterious other world with Tom Petty and all other worthy icons. So hip. So perfectly hip. With an intense void in his life. So tragically hip.

- - -

As Joseph and I got home from Mass the sky was lit up with stars. They were breathlessly arrayed in forms which we admired for their beauty and grandeur. Yes, those constellations. And again I thought of Downie. His mythical "constellations" of Bobcaygeon, revealing themselves one star at a time. Another star has joined the constellations. One made by God. Whether he knew it or not.

He knows now.

And yes Gord, this life was just a dress rehearsal, for true life.

Music Mondays: In the Middle of that Riot...

The other day someone asked John Paul to sing Bobcaygeon by the Tragically Hip (1998). He was far too shy, and acted as if he'd never heard the song before. Of course, as soon as he got in the vehicle it was lights out singing: "Dat night in Towonto, on duh checkedbowed floow!"

Months prior the boys did a rendition you may remember:

Just what is this thing with Bobcaygeon? It's not just us. Many describe it as the ultimate dose of Canadiana. The setting of the story takes place in both Toronto and Bobcaygeon. Bobcaygeon is a sleepy lake town North West of Peterborough which apparently was named by explorer Samuel de Champlain around 1615 (beau bocage - beautiful hedged farmland).

In the song Gord Downie takes us through a love story about a cop who is quite dulled by his job (or life?). The song features many historical references, such as to a 1933 Toronto Nazi/Jew riot, a 1993 neo-Nazi uprising, and even a band, "The Men they Couldn't Hang," who used to play on checkerboard floors back in 1986, possibly alongside the Hip. One also wonders about the reference of Constellations as both a band in the music video, a reference to Jews (think Number the Stars), and the stars which shine over Bobcaygeon.

Downie's imagery is perhaps too puzzling to attempt to arrange. What the song is known for is possibly one of the cheesiest love-song lines ever written. The police officer, after waiting on his horse and observing a riot take place, drives back to Bobcaygeon the next morning to see his girl. And then:

I got to your house this morning

Just a little after nine

In the middle of that riot

Couldn't get you off my mind.

Here then is Bobcaygeon, by the Tragically Hip:

Even Poets Need Grace Too

Don't tell me what the poets are doing
Those Himalayas of the mind
Don't tell me what the poet's been doing
In the long grasses over time

 
An emotional love fest on CBC. The Tragically Hip played most likely their last concert on Saturday night in their home town of Kingston, Ontario. The CBC broadcast it live, and also set up several viewing areas (i.e. parties) across the country. The concert was hyped like no other, especially during their Olympic coverage. Why not? When an average audience of 3 million Canadians are tuning in, you may as well take advantage of it. And thus the concert. A great moment for Canada. Right?

Hip front man Gord Downie of course has terminal brain cancer. Downie is a Canadian rock music icon. Who doesn't love Bobcaygeon, Gift Shop, Nautical Disaster, and of course, Poets? Yet Downie has a persona that transcends his music. I remember watching him team up with Dallas Green of City and Colour during the 2009 Juno awards. Downie just stood there and sang his part of the song. He didn't move. He didn't show much emotion. He just stared ahead with steely eyes... and stole the show. His mere presence, teamed with his trademark voice, was beyond impressive. I had to give him great respect for that.


A 52 year old rocker with brain cancer, quite frankly, can no longer perform well. What I saw of Saturday's concert was evidence of that. The body, and voice, were done. The harder he tried, the less his body responded. Yet Downie performed for a national audience, nonetheless. That showed, pardon the pun, courage. Again, I have to give him great respect for that. Yet not all courage comes at a good time. The concert was not all about the music. 30 minutes before the show the CBC started showing Prime Minister Justin Trudeau, Tragically Hip T-shirt and all, walking to the concert amid throngs of enthusiastic admirers. During the concert Downie spoke up in typical celebrity-liberal fashion, calling on action for social change, especially indigenous people. I'm sure the irony of the poet, Downie, telling us what we should be doing was not lost on him. Then he spoke on how Trudeau was the man for the job. CBC glowed. CBC ran with the story. CBC tied the story in with the Olympics. Everything it means to be Canadian, in the eyes of the CBC, was present. It was a great day for the CBC. For Canada. Courage. Olympics. Trudeau. Emotion. The Hip. Liberalism.


There is an untold tale, however. A sad and tragically unhip story. That is, a man is dying of cancer. Despite a courageous, though liberal, defiance, this man truly is entering a period of desolation. We all die. Despite the best attempts at managing life by the CBC, Trudeau, Olympiad, and even Gord Downie, the reality of death cannot be avoided. Our best face cannot substitute for facing our own mortality. Many have glowed at how Downie has stared straight ahead at death with his steely eyes, as though death were just the next ballad to sing. But death will not succumb to our own melody. It cannot be conquered, except through the One alone who conquered it.

Going back to the Olympics, if there's one thing we've learned as Catholics it's that even celebrities need our prayers. Not everything is awesome. I speak of Michael Phelps, the man who has more gold medals than most nations, yet contemplated suicide. Until he met Christ. Olympic bravado cannot last. A gold medal is but a small consolation when coinciding with the Christ-less life. A final concert is but a small defiance when facing one's final phase of life. Even Gord Downie needs our prayers.

During the concert Downie sang Grace Too. A deliberately emotional song which, perhaps in a deliberately dramatic fashion ended up in tears for Downie. Scroll down this page if you wish to see it. It was not some awesome moment, as many are describing it. A national audience will not be with Downie on his death bed. Nor Trudeau, nor the CBC. Just him alone meeting our Lord. As will happen with all of us. Irony again: we need grace too. The grace of final persevering. And so as we say goodbye to the band The Tragically Hip, and Downie moves to a new stage in his life. we pray for him, and all those preparing for death. It is never too late while we still breath. There is no tragically lived life Christ cannot overcome.

One last irony, or rather paradox I should say: for Christians, death is life.