The Never-Ending Tour: East Coast 2018

October 12: Sackville, N.B., Thunder and Lightning

Outside Thunder and Lightning

I fly from Toronto to Moncton, rent a car at the airport, and head to Sackville.

I’d only ever been to Sackville once before. It was March 1997, and Black Cabbage was on our one and only eastern tour. After a gig in Quebec City, we decided to drive a straight shot overnight to Sackville. Whiteout conditions ensued, at which point we discovered the accelerator in our van was stuck—which is bad at the best of times, never mind on an icy road where you can barely see five metres in front of the windshield. Our guitarist and sound tech figured out a way to reach into the engine from between the two front seats, and were able to jiggle the accelerator into place when need be. Still: harrowing. We pulled into Sackville just a couple of hours before the gig; it had taken about 18 hours to do what should be a 7.5-hour drive. The entire town was shut down—except the bar where we were playing. That night, we played the best gig of our lives, high on adrenalin, thankful to be alive. We made many friends that night, some of whom I still talk to regularly.

One of them, Chris Eaton, opened the show that fateful night. He went on to have a lot of success with his band Rock Plaza Central, and has published several acclaimed novels. I asked him to host the evening—and to put me up on his couch. He gracefully obliged.

I fly to Moncton, rent a car, pick up boxes of books from a warehouse, and drive to Sackville. Pull up outside the Bridge Street Café for lunch. The guy behind the counter greets me knowingly. Friendly town, I think. As we get to talking, it turns out he’s Julie Doiron’s ex, used to live in Toronto, and we have many, many mutual friends. Canada: small country.

The venue has booked four local songwriters to perform some Hip and/or Downie songs to flesh out the evening: Klarka Weinwurm, Steve Haley, Jon Mckiel—and Julie Doiron.

The most Eric's Trippy photo I could take of Julie

Julie, of course, was in Gord’s Country of Miracles, as well as Eric’s Trip, and is a prolific solo artist. We have many mutual friends, and she’s always been incredibly lovely and generous: she played the book launch for Have Not Been the Same in 2001, sat on a panel with Shadowy Men’s Don Pyle and Rebecca West’s Alison Outhit that helped launch that book’s reissue in 2011, and was very generous with her time during an interview for Never-Ending Present.

Still, I knew that asking her to play Gord songs, only a year after his death, was a tall request, emotionally. I’d reached out in the summer and didn’t hear back; not surprising, as she’s an incredibly busy, globetrotting musician with a family at home. Chris Eaton offered to ask her to come out. So did the venue. I thought, Jesus, Sackville is a small town, I hope she’ll be able to go grocery shopping without running into someone asking her if she wants to do this incredibly emotional thing. But she said yes. I’m eternally grateful.

Because both she and Constantine Steve Lambke are in the crowd, I read an excerpt from the chapter about the Hip’s relationship to opening acts. The ensuing on-stage conversation with Chris runs almost an hour, if not more. At one natural conclusion, Chris says, “Well, we should probably stop there.” There are groans and calls of “keep going!” So we do. Some great audience questions follow. One guy claims that, in the DVD release of the Hip’s final show, Downie’s address to the prime minister was edited out. I keep meaning to fact-check that.

Jon McKiel, Chris Eaton, Steve Haley,
Klarka Weinwurm, Julie Doiron

The performances are all stunning. Julie does two Country of Miracles songs: “The Drowning Machine” and “Figment.” As always with Downie’s songs, new lines leap out at me when heard in a new context. Klarka Weinwurm tells a story about being a teenager the week when Coke Machine Glow came out in 2001, and she found a copy at Value Village for $1.99, still in the shrink wrap, and what a profound effect the music had on her. She plays “Vancouver Divorce” and “Thompson Girl.” Steve Haley plays a moving “Seven Matches” and a slightly countrified take on “Fireworks.” Jon Mckiel does a CMG double-shot, with “Chancellor” and “Trick Rider,” the latter featuring Julie singing her signature harmony part. Chilling.

Owen Corrigan

After the show I met Owen Corrigan and his wife; our mutual friend Mark Mattson told him to come to my reading. Back in 1985, Owen worked with Mark Mattson on a Wolfe Island newspaper called the General. Mark asked him to design some tickets for a loft party in Kingston featuring his friends' band, the Tragically Hip. Owen misheard and designed and printed 250 tickets that read 'the Magical Ship.' Mark had to cross out each one and write in the actual name.

Thirty years later, Owen and his family lived briefly at the former Irving mansion that is now the National Water Centre, where I was about to spend a few nights while I was in Saint John. He tells me that yes, that place is a bit like the Overlook Hotel. He isn’t wrong.

October 13: Halifax, the Carleton 

Meeting of the legends in Springhill, N.S.

Chris Eaton’s wife, Laura Reinsborough, helps me figure out the USB connection in the rental car, which was completely mystifying. This lifesaving event meant that I could spend part of my tour listening to my very first audiobook: Tanya Tagaq’s Split Teeth. En route to Halifax, I pull off the highway into Springhill, N.S., hoping to find the Anne Murray visitor centre open. It’s not, so I take a pic of my book in front of the sign. Canadian legends converge.

I pull into town and head to the house of my host, Hanita Koblents, an old university friend who is now a city planner. We don’t have much time to catch up before I’m due at the venue.

The Carleton is run by Mike Campbell, best known as the host of MuchEast in the ’90s. When setting up the gig, he suggested I do it with the Fabulously Rich, a Hip tribute band from P.E.I. fronted by Dennis Ellsworth. Oddly enough, I’d just heard Ellsworth for the first time; his 2018 album Things Change, produced by Joel Plaskett, was in non-stop rotation in my car during the spring tour. Now I find out my favourite new singer/songwriter fronts a Hip tribute? Sign me up. Great move, as it turns out, and the show is sold out.

I meet an old high school friend for dinner: Pat Mora, whose brother Paul can be credited/blamed for introducing me to the accordion. We had a polka band together in high school; not a common teenage pursuit. We played covers of Depeche Mode, U2, George Michael; I learned valuable lessons about the malleability of pop music and the pointlessness of snobbery. Pat and Paul were also two of my most valuable high school concert companions: the Hip, Midnight Oil, 54.40, Grapes of Wrath, R.E.M., Pogues, Violent Femmes, Crash Vegas, etc. After dinner, we stroll through the Maud Lewis exhibit at the art gallery. I happen to be in town for Halifax’s equivalent of Nuit Blanche; the whole town is hopping.

Ryan McNutt

The host is Ryan McNutt, a fellow Polaris Prize juror who I once met by chance at a Merge Records’ festival in North Carolina four years ago. He wrote an essay about my book for the Literary Review of Canada, not an outlet I would expect to cover a rock’n’roll book, and I was grateful he did.

Once again, I read an excerpt about opening bands, partially because it worked well in Sackville, and it would give me an excuse to talk about Joel Plaskett in Halifax. Of course, Ryan and I are the opening band tonight, going on before the Fabulously Rich. The front half of the bar are attentive and responsive listeners, but the back is a bit talky; it’s obvious some people here for the band have no idea there was a reading beforehand. My excerpt talks about opening bands being “Hipped” off the stage, something that Ryan asks me about in our talk. After we take a couple of questions at the end, we ask if there are any more. A chant can be heard from the back: “Hip! Hip! Hip!” Laughing, we say goodnight and get off stage. Yes, I got “Hipped” off the stage. Just like some of my heroes. It was oddly validating.

Business is brisk as I sell books at the back of the room during the band’s set.

I meet a fortysomething divorcée who tells me she went on a date recently with a man who said, “You might not like me for saying this, but I like the Tragically Hip.” She told him, “Only intelligent men like the Tragically Hip.”

The man known only as Grant

I meet a guy named Grant, who proffered me his theory that Johnny Fay’s drumming style is to the Trans-Canada Highway what the motorik beat of German bands like Kraftwerk and Neu was to the Autobahn. Grant is a taper and a super nerd. I feel like he’s testing my knowledge of the band before he decides to buy a book; this happens quite a bit on this tour.

I meet a couple (Nicole and Jeff, maybe?) in their early thirties who first got into the Hip in 2002-04. It’s my least favourite period of the band, and so we have a pleasantly heated discussion about it (so Canadian). They tell me they watched the final concert in Halifax’s public square; apparently they’re visible in the supercut to “Ahead by a Century” that Maclean’s put together of people watching all across the country. Standing beside in the video them is a woman they claimed had started crying fake tears as soon as she saw any news camera pointed toward her, which outraged these two diehard fans.

Nicole and Jeff, maybe?

I meet a very drunk local CBC Radio host who tells me he dreams of writing a book some day.

I meet an old hippie Boomer, a regular at the club who just happened to pop in, who’s not really a Hip fan but is very interested in my writing process and proceeds to regale me with stories about his time as a young songwriter hanging about with David Crosby and the guy who put on Woodstock.

At the very end of the night, Mike Campbell invites me back to his place for some drinks with the band. I’m very tempted, but I also know I have to high-tail it out of town by no later than 10am the next day. I make the right decision.

October 14: Halifax / Fredericton, Grimross Brewery / Saint John

Hanita Koblents

After a late night and a rough sleep, I rise early to spend quality time with Hanita and her lovely family. This involves a lot of catching up, and watching her kids rap along with their favourite Classified video—I must still be in Halifax. I’d wanted to be up and out the door by 9 a.m., but of course that was impossible—and would have been downright rude. Instead, I hightail it out of there at 10.30 and start speeding toward Fredericton: a 4.5-hour drive that should put me there exactly in time for my 3 p.m. event, with no time to spare. Lunch is baby carrots and beef jerky. Rheostatics’ Double Live is the soundtrack, along with Tanya Tagaq’s audiobook of Split Tooth. Entering the land of the Irvings and the McCains and Moosehead beer, the province that established this country’s reputation as hewers of wood and drawers of water.

Grimross Brewery is located on the outskirts of Fredericton. Close to the university, I’m told, but essentially in a strip mall on the other side of a highway that no pedestrian would want to cross. I arrive just in the nick of time, with barely a moment to sneak into the bathroom before the event begins.

My host is Bob Mersereau, a former CBC Radio journalist who’s best known for polling Canadian music critics ten years ago to create two books, The Top 100 Canadian Albums and The Top 100 Canadian Songs. The musical guest is Colin Fowlie, a local recommended by the booker, Eddie Young, who also assembles killer lineups for the Harvest Jazz and Blues Festival every September. Fowlie is fighting off a mean cold, but is a real trooper, singing, among other things, "The Stranger."

Colin Fowlie

The crowd is—well, sparse. I’d been warned that Fredericton was dead on Sundays, and I guess a brewery on the outskirts is even more so.

I take Bob out to dinner, at what is likely the only Persian restaurant in Fredericton. He regales me with lots of great stories about the legends he’s encountered over the years. He's currently working on a project about the mysterious Maritime songwriter Gene MacLellan—who was a mystery to his own family, it turns out. 

I drive to Saint John. I’m staying—by invitation of Mark Mattson and the Waterkeepers—at an abandoned Irving mansion on the outskirts of town. I’ve been given directions to try and find a gravel driveway just off a country road with no streetlights. This proves to be very difficult. About an hour after I intended, I finally find it. There’s a bottle of red wine in the cupboard. For one of the only times on this tour, I indulge in a glass. Or two.

Weeks later, I get an email from Darin Quinn, a neurologist who fronts a Hip cover band in Fredericton. They played the brewery the night before, a benefit for the Gord Downie Foundation for Brain Cancer Research at Sunnybrook. It reads, in part:

“I have played and sang in a number of small bands over the years doing mostly covers with a few originals. What I found so different with these Hip shows is that it didn’t feel like I was performing for the audience, but that I was performing WITH the audience—that we were all together, sharing these tunes as close friends with a few beers after a big exam.  Like the feeling of leading a singsong around the campfire when everyone is into a song, or when you choose the song perfect song to play on your stereo and everyone perks up and starts singing along.  Really interesting and amazing experience.

“I wanted to share a great Hip story that I heard years ago while at a friend’s wedding in, of all places, Bobcaygeon (I’m from the east coast but lived in Barrie for years before moving back). In Violet Light had just been released and a friend of ours told us that he worked with a guy who grew up in Kingston and went to school with the Hip.  The guy had not stayed in touch, and so was so surprised and elated to hear his name in the song “Silver Jet” off the new album. Understandably, he came to work the next day all excited and told everyone he knew to check it out.  His name was Greg Reebeck.

“I remember letting out a big laugh as soon as he said his name. I knew the lyrics well.  The line, of course, is, “The radio dopplering, for all you Gregory Peck fans,” which poor Greg heard as “… for all you Greg Reebeck fans.” I chuckle every time I hear this song and there is a part of me that hopes that Greg never did figure out his error. If he ever did get a hold of the band thank them, as I understand he was trying to do at the time, my guess is that Gord would have gone along with it, especially after reading how much of a good guy he truly was, in your book.”

October 15: Saint John, Picaroon’s General Store

I immediately regret that late-night wine when I rise for a 7.35 a.m. interview with CBC Saint John. The rest of my day is fairly open, other than a Charlottetown CBC interview and a Skype with Alan Cross for his podcast, for an episode that will air on the anniversary of Downie’s death. Cross’s co-host asks me about what Downie had told me about the final tour; I have to politely point out that Downie didn’t talk to me, or anyone in the media other than Peter Mansbridge, in the last two years of his life. The guy has clearly not read my book. They edited that part out of the aired interview.

When in Rome...

I spend the afternoon exploring Saint John. I love it. It’s 300 years old, with a bit of an Old Montreal vibe in one part of the downtown core. It’s gritty and working-class. It’s incredibly easy to get out of the city and into nature. The people are super friendly. For lunch, I have my first-ever fresh lobster. I don't doubt there are a lot of problems in this economically depressed area. But if I was an artist looking for a place to incubate after being priced out of Ontario and Montreal, I'd look to Saint John. 

The view from the Irving mansion

As I pull up to Picaroon’s, the weather is incredibly shitty, rainy and windy. It’s a Monday night. Who’s going to come? I don’t feel any better when I find there’s no PA system and no posters anywhere, despite the fact I sent some in advance. I feel incredibly awkward just standing around, waiting for the appointed time. I finally begin to orate. About a dozen people are interested. The others leave gradually. A couple of guys there are super excited to chat afterwards, including a local pediatrician, and make the evening worthwhile. A regular at the bar, a charming older guy who tells me he’s a survivor of sexual abuse and who now counsels others, finds himself oddly fascinated with my speech, and proceeds to give me speaking tips. 

I retire to the Irving mansion. (I love saying that.)

October 16: Saint John, Saint John Free Library / Moncton, Chapters / Charlottetown

Three cities in one day: here we go.

Saint John Harbour

Courtney Pyrke of the Saint John Free Library contacted me just before the tour began to see if I wanted to do a lunchtime event while I was in town. Seeing how my gig here was on a Monday night, I was more than happy to double dip while I’m here. Good idea, too: though there’s only about 20 people here, that’s twice as many as were listening to me the night before. By this point, I’m doing my reading on autopilot—which is good. Just as playing gigs every night makes you a better musician, I finally feel like I’m getting in the zone as a spoken-word performer. I know the beats in my text; I know when to anticipate laughter; I know when to make dramatic pauses. Unexpected bonus, on top of the honorarium libraries give to speakers: they buy three copies of Have Not Been the Same for the New Brunswick library system. Which is great, coz those things are heavy, and I’m starting to get worried about how much I’m going to have to haul back to Ontario with only two gigs left.

On to Moncton. I’m sure there’s lots to do here, but I don’t know anyone (still) in town and so I drive around aimlessly for a while. My gig is in a Chapter’s located in big-box land; not my ideal choice, because I’m a snob, but this is where the folks at the Northrop Frye literary festival have booked me. My skepticism is entirely misguided. The staff are lovely and excited, and, unlike at the Kingston Chapters, there’s an attractive display to make it obvious Something Is Happening.

Scenic Moncton

I’ve asked Chris Eaton to once again do the Q&A; he hooked me up with the Frye Festival (note: NOT the Fyre Festival). He does another great job, and there are some good audience questions. Not a huge crowd, maybe 15—which I’m beginning to perceive as a huge crowd. One guy played in a recently retired Hip cover band, one interviewed me for the Times-Transcript, and one nurse told me that she'd only ever read two books in her adult life—a Pat Conroy novel and the memoir by hockey player Manon Rheaume—but that she was definitely going to read mine. Can’t imagine any higher praise than that.

The exceedingly generous Chris Eaton

After the gig I hop in the car and drive two hours to Charlottetown, a town so small that they don’t feel the need to put up road signs on major arteries, which is incredibly frustrating when arriving late at night. That’s quickly forgotten when I arrive at the house of my old friend Cynthia Dennis, and we stay up for hours catching up.

Cynthia Dennis

I met Cynthia when we both worked at a crazy-making straight job, at a point when I was ready to give up on writing in general. The job involved a lot of self-important rich people and a colossal drain on public money that put me off the post-secondary industrial complex. There were some great people there, some of whom are still friends, and then there was the demanding boss, who drank all afternoon and then drove to her farm near Kingston. Cynthia was one of the people there who could see how batshit crazy it all was. Sometimes you find the good people in the strangest places.

During our talk, the chorus of my favourite Dennis Ellsworth song kept coming back to me: "Life is cruel but it's beautiful."

October 17: Charlottetown, Charlottetown Beer Garden

Legends meet at Back Alley Records in Charlottetown

It’s the one-year anniversary of Gord Downie’s death, which is not something I ever wanted to exploit. But I felt good about this gig with the Fabulously Rich. The band was born when Ellsworth’s old high school band decided to get back together, only to realize that they weren’t really interested in playing their old material and no one probably wanted to hear it anyway. It was the year of Downie’s diagnosis, so they decided to put on a benefit night with proceeds to the Sunnybrook brain cancer unit. That led to more gigs throughout the Maritimes; they donate half of all profits to various related charities, raising thousands of dollars.

I'd never been to the Island before, despite my teenage Anne of Green Gables obsession. Let’s just say it doesn’t take long to see the parts of Charlottetown worth seeing on an overcast fall day. Weirdest C-town moment: walking into a live music attic for dinner with Cynthia, and the bartender points at me and says, “Hey, you're that guy!” “Uh, sure.” “The guy who wrote that book!” How the hell did he recognize me? From my morning interview on local CBC Radio? Fame is weird on the Island. 

The show in the cradle of Confederation is quite full. Not only is it the anniversary of Downie’s death, but it’s Legalization Day in Canada. The mood is… festive. Which means very few in the room are remotely interested in hearing some come-from-away get on stage and start talking before the rock show. For the first time, I have to speak over an audible din, saved only by a microphone. (Thankfully, this is also the worst it ever will ever be on this tour, getting it out of the way.) I gain new respect for solo musicians, but at least music has the conceit of being background ambience. A speaker doesn’t have that luxury. At least I have stage lights on me so I can’t see the chatterers; the people gathered at the front are definitely listening and curious, so I can see I’m not obviously wasting my time.

Dennis Ellsworth

Then the Fabulously Rich take the stage, and once again they’re fantastic. Ellsworth doesn’t sound like Downie and doesn’t try to act like Downie; he just sings the shit out of this material, and does it exceptionally well. The band is whip-tight. The set is deep. Any remaining snobbery I had about cover bands is completely extinguished. I wish I’d talked about these guys in the book. Gentleman Ellsworth also takes time to admonish the crowd’s rudeness to me earlier. No matter. At least I didn’t get Hipped.

As I work the merch table, it’s clear that a lot of people were listening and are happy I’m there. I meet a guy who used to go out with Rob Baker’s older sister, Vicki, and they’d babysit young Bobby together. I meet a guy from northwestern Ontario who knows the Wenjack family. I meet a guy who went to McGill in 2001, where he and his roommates listened to Coke Machine Glow constantly “until it became part of the furniture.” Canada: small country.

October 18: Charlottetown / Moncton / Toronto 

I meet Ellsworth for coffee before I leave town. He tells me the story of how the title poem from Downie’s Coke Machine Glow book helped him get through a writer’s block a few years ago, and how his producer Josh Finlayson helped convince Downie to let Ellsworth set the poem to music. He also saves me much physical pain on my flight later that day by agreeing to take a box of books to sell on consignment at Back Alley Records, where he works.

Sir John A., meet Mr. Downie

Before I leave town, I stop by a large John A. Macdonald mural. Can’t help but think about the protagonist of the book—the man people considered to be Captain Canada, who grew up in Macdonald’s hometown surrounded by his likeness, whose final chapter was devoted to acknowledging the legacy of residential schools—and what kind of conversations the two might have today.

I sleep in my own bed. A rare treat this month. Just for one night.

October 19: Chatham, Ten-Seven Café and Lounge

Chatham's Retro Suites Hotel

This was an invitation; it would never occur to me to go to Chatham. Brent deNure operates a jewellery store with an event space in the back, where he regularly brings in guest speakers as diverse as the actor who played Black Caesar to the fire chief in Lac Megantic. He’s a huge Hip fan: he saw them 30 times. He also clearly has an odd thing for Canadiana, as evidenced by the actual Avro Arrow engine he has stored in his garage—not something you see every day.

DeNure is a fantastic host: he put me up in the beautiful art hotel Retro Suites, which is worth the trip to Chatham alone, took me out for a French dinner, got local lawyer Steve Pickard to conduct the interview, hired a band to play after my talk, and bought a box of books. I’m always amazed at people who go to such lengths to put on cultural events in smaller centres, and my heart goes out to him.

Art Deco Chatham

Too bad only about five people showed up for the gig. I’m sure DeNure lost his shirt. But it’s clear he’s doing this for the love of it. God bless him.

October 20: Windsor, BookFest

This was also an invitation, and so unlike almost every other gig on this tour, I didn’t feel the need to personally try and drum up any media for it. That was a mistake. I’ve been booked as the sole attraction at the soft-seat Capitol Theatre, being interviewed by Dan Macdonald, a DJ at the local rock station, where the Hip can still be heard several times a day. Should be some people there, right? Maybe 30, max. About the same number as Toronto’s Word on the Street and a bit fewer than the Kingston Writers Festival. I’m not really complaining. But why was I booked in such a large, lovely space if it wasn’t going to be promoted? Awkward.

The funniest moment comes when Macdonald is praising my book with a list of adjectives: “thorough, funny, moving, tedious…” “Wait, what? Did you just say my book is tedious?” A slip of the tongue, he swears.

The legendary Jan Wong

The festival provides not only hotel accommodation, fancy dinner and an after-party, but the chance to meet one of my heroes, Jan Wong, former Globe and Mail writer, whose Tiananmen Square coverage gripped me in high school. Earlier in the day, I caught her panel with Randy Boyagoda. I happen to sit across from her at dinner and she’s full of smart, curious questions about my project—because of course she is. I also learn that she’s a flautist in a marching band in Fredericton, where she now teaches. She recommends a community orchestra in Toronto that she joined a few years ago, after a particularly dark time, to reconnect with her love of music. I buy her workplace depression memoir, Out of the Blue, and tear into the first few chapters before bed. It’s excellent. 

Next: Western Canada

Also in this series: Spring; Summer; Encores

FINAL NOTE: All photos here are by me or someone standing next to me. I have some great video that I hope to have ready by the book's third anniversary. Apologies for any/all copy editing mistakes, especially when I stray in and out of never-ending present tense.

The Never-Ending Tour: Summer/September 2018

June 21: Burlington, private event

A musical acquaintance from 25 years ago wrote to me out of the blue. He’s now a financial advisor, and every year he hosts a client appreciation party of some kind. Sometimes it’s a Jays game, sometimes it’s a guest speaker. He invites me to come and give a talk and be interviewed by Moe Berg of the Pursuit of Happiness, who once produced my friend’s band. Unlike every other event I’m doing, he offers to pay me; he has a budget, and he doesn’t want to skimp a friend. After emails to other writers asking what they charge for this kind of thing, we agree on a fee and the date is on.

Moe Berg lives somewhat close to me, so we agree to carpool. We’ve never met before, and I didn’t interview him for the book; instead, I interviewed his guitarist, Kris Abbott, because she played in cover bands in Kingston at the same time the Hip was coming up. Because I was doing so many interviews, I figured I only had time to talk to one person in TPOH, so she was it. Which means hanging out with Moe leads to lots of other stories, one of which involves Gord Downie’s unique packing style for business trips (ask Moe).

When TPOH went on hiatus in the late ’90s, Moe started writing book reviews and published a collection of short stories (The Green Room, unrelated to the excellent punk horror film). At one point he thought the Hip deserved to have a book written about them; this was back when they were still at the top of their game, before the radio hits started dwindling. Moe approached Jake Gold about the idea. “No, this is how it’s going to work,” Jake apparently responded. “You’re not going to get a book deal. We’re going to get a book deal, take the money, and then hire you to write it. But we’re not doing that.” Needless to say, I found this particularly fascinating.

July 16: Guelph, Hillside Festival 

Lewis Melville, Jenny Mitchell

I’d resolved to take the summer off, with this one exception. I’ve been going to this festival for 28 years; I’ve only missed about three in that time. I’ve played in bands here, and for the last 20 years I’ve been an MC. They have a spoken-word stage, and it didn’t occur to me until almost too late to pitch them. I was squeezed in, and gratefully so. It’s a bit of an odd gig, reading in front of a field where people are scattered to find shade and may be listening or may be sleeping. Having been away from this tour for a month—which included a trip to the Czech Republic—I feel a bit off my game. But it goes well enough. I’m more thrilled to introduce Jeremy Dutcher, Cadence Weapon and Iskwé on stage, and to be blown away by Cecilia Doo-Kingué. And U.S. Girls gives one of the most thrilling performances I’ve ever seen at this festival—and I’ve seen hundreds.

Aug. 24: Goderich, Huron County Museum 

Nick Craine

Another afterthought gig. My old friend and bandmate Nick Craine has a cottage nearby, and invited my family. I asked if there was a bookstore in Goderich. There is: Fincher’s, where Nick held his own book launch recently for either the reissue of his Hard Core Logo graphic novel or his works-for-hire, 5-Minute Hockey Stories and 5-Minute Stories for Fearless Girls (I can’t remember which).

The guy at Fincher’s sets up an event at the Huron County Museum. It’s for 6.30pm on a Friday night in cottage country—which to me doesn’t seem ideal, but why not trust the local? It turns out my gut was right: five people show up. Which is really too bad, because though I was worried about having such a close friend interview me, Nick does an excellent job on par with Lana Gay or Will McGuirk or any other professional. The event is a bust, but I don’t really care coz I’m just there for a cottage weekend anyway.

Sept 23: Toronto, Word on the Street

Richard Crouse, Nicholas Jennings

After a spring and summer of mostly putting on events myself, this is my first experience feeling like an actual author who is part of a community. This long-running lit fest usually attracts every book nerd in town, and so I’m tickled to be at a discussion with my friend Nick Jennings, who, among other things, wrote the inspirational history of ’60s Toronto rock’n’roll, Before the Gold Rush. His latest book is Lightfoot, which leads to lots of Gord jokes on our panel (Nick claims his next book will be about Gordon Jump).

Nick Jennings, my hype man, no customers

The moderator is Vish Khanna, with whom I used to play in a band called the Neutron Stars. The three of us have about half an hour to converse on stage, which is weird considering that Nick and I spent twice that amount of time together on the air while promoting this event on Richard Crouse’s CFRB show earlier in the week. The discussion is good fun, if whirlwind, and about 30 people come out to see what we’re up to: not the best attendance, not the worst—though the festival itself seems to be devoid of the crowds I’ve usually seen here. Nick and I sit at a signing table afterwards. Nick gets most of the action. I do run into a guy I knew more than 20 years ago, with whom I worked at a magazine with fewer than 10 employees. He was fired, from both that gig and the next place we both happened to work. The conversation is awkward but pleasant enough. He doesn’t buy a book. Neither does anyone else.

Sept 26: Peterborough, The Garnet

Melanie Buddle

I arrive at the venue to find no poster outside, and the bartender seems to have no idea there’s any kind of event happening tonight. It’s not on the calendar. What the hell?! Is anyone going to come to this thing? I did do an interview on the morning drive show at The Wolf FM, and a piece ran in the Peterborough Examiner. I have two close friends in town, my roommates in second- and third-year university, who spread the word. One of them, Melanie Buddle, is principal of Trent University’s Gzowski College; she’ll be doing the on-stage interview tonight. We go out for dinner next door with Sandra Patrick, our other ex-roomie, who put on an event for me at her bike store in Lindsay in April.

Back at the Garnet, a tiny venue with limited seating, there are two tables of what appear to be rounders. They’re boisterous, clearly enjoying their beer, and I’m not entirely certain they’re here for a literary reading. Shortly before I’m scheduled to begin, I take the mic and make it clear just what is going to happen tonight, just as a heads up. To my pleasant surprise, both tables cheer loudly.

The room is quite full by the time I start—and by full, I mean there’s about 25 people there. The reading goes well, Melanie is great, and there are a couple of good audience questions. The bartender is the only person all year who correctly guesses ZZ Top as one of the three million-selling bands, other than the Hip, who stayed together for more than 30 years. (U2 and Radiohead are the others.)

No one, however, has any questions about Secret Path—which I thought would definitely be a topic in this town, located in between two reservations; Trent had the first Indigenous studies degree program in Canada in the 1970s, and a theatre on campus was named after Chanie Wenjack long before Gord Downie knew that name. I do, however, meet an Indigenous lady who tells me about her family’s struggle with cancer, and a guy who runs a program at the Nogojiwanong Friendship Centre; he invites me out to karaoke afterward, and I have to decline because I’m catching a train to Montreal first thing in the morning.

Also in the audience is someone from the Tragically Hits of Bobcaygeon, Ontario. He tells me about a surreal gig in the last year at which one of the Downie children showed up and (understandably) got very emotional. He brought the copy he was reading from the town’s library; I signed it before selling him one of his own.

I stay over with Melanie’s family; she generously drives me almost an hour away to the Cobourg train station in the morning. Old friends are the best friends.

Sept 27: Montreal, Librairie Drawn + Quarterly

Out of the blue, I get a text from my old friend Viv Taylor, who I hadn’t seen in 15 years; she now lives in rural Vermont, and is in Montreal for the weekend. We meet for dinner, at a gentrified diner closer to the venue, on the recommendation of Li’l Andy. Andy is an urban cowboy, a singer-songwriter, bon vivant, kind of the King of Kensington of the Plateau. He can’t make it to my gig, of course; there’s too much going on in this town tonight. Turns out that will be a common story.

Sean Michaels at the children's bookstore

Alas, turnout is not great. Maybe 10 people. I didn’t have super-high expectations: this is Quebec, after all, and I’m talking about an English-Canadian rock band. My friend Sean Michaels, the award-winning novelist who started out as (and continues to be) a prolific music blogger, is the host for the evening. He introduces me with a speech that’s way too flattering, even for my inflated ego. Our conversation is, naturally, delightful and curious. It also gets a bit inside baseball when he starts asking me about whether I used Word, Google Docs or Scrivener (answer: all three).

In the audience is a banker in a suit, who asks some good questions. We chat afterwards; he tells me he went to school with the band, and his family was close to Johnny Fay’s. He buys several copies of the book, and is dismayed when I can’t provide him with a shopping bag. As a workaround, he then proceeds to produce several elastic bands from up his sleeve; he always keeps several strapped to his wrist, “because you never know.” This VP at the Bank of Montreal then tells me he’s going to bike home, with the book wrapped around his handlebars.

Parc du Portugal, across from Leonard Cohen's house

The night is young, so Sean and I head out to see Wolf Parade at La Sala Rossa, where they’re playing four nights in a row during the festival. Wolf Parade, like Arcade Fire, were just breaking out when I lived in Montreal from 2003-06. I’ve seen them many, many times: in Montreal, in New York City, in Guelph, on Wolfe Island. I always liked them more than I loved them; though there was some undeniably great chemistry, the live shows were usually drunk and ramshackle. I thought the two principal songwriters worked better alone, in Handsome Furs and Sunset Rubdown. But here we all are, at least 12 years later, at a different point in our lives, a time when there’s no time to waste and you have to put up or shut up. Which is why it was so gratifying to see Wolf Parade exceed any expectations I ever had: they absolutely slay. The best I’ve ever seen them. Judging by the looks on their faces, they know it, too. And their gratitude is also obvious: for each other, for this audience, for the venue that gave them their first breaks. Whole lotta love in that room. These hearts: still on fire.

At the gig is one of my favourite writers (and filmmaker), Chandler Levack, who invites me to join her at the late-night King Khan gig up the street. The crowd is rockin’, the band is hoppin’, Chandler is delightful company, but even all that is not enough to justify this old man being up past 2 a.m.

I Bixi back to the tiny, perfect apartment that belongs to Lauren Sprengelmeyer of Little Scream, who graciously loaned it to me for the night. Earlier that night she’d played with her partner, Richard Reed Parry of Arcade Fire, at the debut of his new album, Quiet River of Dust. I took a pass on the gig, because knew I was going to the Toronto show in a few weeks’ time (and I ended up seeing the multimedia 360° spectacle at the SATosphere back here in Montreal in November). I’m looking forward to a deep slumber in a slightly claustrophobic loft bed; instead, I wake up to 6 a.m. construction. What they say is true: This city really doesn’t sleep.

Sept 28-29: Sault Ste. Marie

I meet Viv for breakfast at Chez José on Duluth, hands-down my favourite Montreal eatery back when I used to live on Bullion. I cab it out to the airport—I once missed a flight out of here once because I took public transportation—where I meet old friend Erin O’Connell for coffee before I head out of town. In 2002, when I came to Montreal to work at Brave New Waves for the second time, I called Erin and asked if I could crash on her couch—for a full month. Miraculously, she agreed; I still don’t know why. I ended up getting the job, indirectly because of her generosity. At the airport we talk a lot about family. She’s always had a lot of drama in hers. As I get older, I’m learning how much drama there is in mine.

I’m flying to the Soo for the funeral of my uncle, the man after whom I’m named, my mother’s youngest brother. I’ll spare you the messy details, but he died by suicide. Very few, other than my aunt, saw it coming. The Soo is not a big town, and his occupation was such that he touched a lot of people. I have very fond memories of him, his family and this town; when I was an adolescent, my family drove up here every Christmas, from dry and barren Toronto, to this winter wonderland.

Sheila Gruner at the Westside Café

At the airport, I’m met by Sheila Gruner, with whom I used to play in a band called Black Cabbage, from 1993-99. She’s a prof at Algoma University, but she’s also a killer violinist and one of the most insanely, naturally gifted musicians I’ve ever met—never mind had the privilege of playing with. I can probably count on two hands the number of times I’ve seen her since the band broke up 20 years ago, but she’s one of my favourite people. She takes me to the Westside Café, a frozen-in-time diner that feels like the perfect northern Ontario experience. She tells me that she worked with Edmund Metatawabin to put on the Great Moon Gathering in Fort Albany, where the Tragically Hip played a high school gym in the remote community. There were several local opening acts; she accompanied one of her Algoma students.

Sheila drives me to my aunt’s house, where I’m introduced to several extended family members I’ve never met before, and old friends of my uncle. Two guys drove up from Kitchener, where my mom and her brothers lived when they were teenagers. One of them tells me about how my uncle used to borrow my grandmother’s car and drive all his friends to Catholic Youth Dances in Waterloo—and then head to Toronto around 11 p.m. to hang out in Yorkville folk clubs, where they saw Joni Mitchell, Gordon Lightfoot, etc. They’d arrive back in Kitchener around 4 a.m., and my grandmother was none the wiser. This was even news to my 78-year-old mother.

Then the guy telling me this story asks me what I do. “I’m a writer.” He presses for details. I tell him I just put out a book about the Tragically Hip. “Oh really?” he says. “I’m Paul Langlois’s uncle.” He’s the brother of Paul’s mother. Canada: it’s a small country.

Dangerous and tasty Soo airport logo

At the funeral, I hang out with my cousins’ cousins (my uncle’s nephews by marriage), who both had music careers at one point. One asks me if I know a Toronto band called Public Animal. Do I? They were the house band at my book launch (which featured Tony Dekker of Great Lake Swimmers, who played in the Soo the night before). Turns out my cousin once played in a band with Public Animal drummer Ryan Gassi, who is also from the Soo. Canada: it’s a small country.

Shortly after making an emotional speech at the funeral, I have to split before it’s over to make my flight to Kingston. At the airport, by far the douchiest Toronto thing I do all tour is to ask my relative if he's sure he's dropping me off at the right terminal.

Sept 30: Kingston, Kingston Writers Festival

I arrive in Kingston the night before, too late to catch anything at the festival. I look forward to a good night’s sleep in the hotel, paid for by the festival. Except that the fire alarm goes off at 6 a.m., and everyone evacuates to the street. Restful! My event is at 11 a.m. After breakfast I take a walk, and stop at the gift shop by the water to buy a postcard; I plan to mail one from every tour stop to my son. The store is playing the Hip’s “At Transformation,” which seems just a bit too on-brand to be a coincidence while the biographer is there.

"Does the Kingston tourism board require you to play this?" I ask the teenage clerk. "Oh, no, this is my playlist; I'm a big fan," she said. "My mom grew up with Gord Downie."

Right before my talk, I catch the panel with Naben Ruthnum, author of Curry, and Ann Hui, author of the upcoming Chop Suey Nation; I was a big fan of her series in the Globe that forms the premise of the book, where she visited Chinese restaurateurs in small-town Canada and learned their stories. Both writers are fascinating and have lots to say; listening to them sharpens my mind before I have to get on a stage myself.

Mr. Show

My host is a local DJ at K-Rock known to the world only as Sideshow. He never does tell me his real name, so I insist on calling him “Mr. Show.” I read an excerpt about the band’s early days in Kingston. There are many knowing chuckles. I’m slightly terrified of how many people in the room probably know the band and their families. Mr. Show asks me about the infamous Rob Baker tweet that questioned the factual accuracy of the book. Against my better judgment, I repeat what I told the Montreal Gazette a week before: “I just wrote a book about what great guys they are and Rob Baker thinks it’s factually inaccurate.” Surprisingly, I am not mobbed.

In the signing lineup afterwards, a large fiftysomething man approaches and says, “You know, my friends and I were worried that someone not from Kingston was writing this book. But I gotta say, you got it right.” Whew!

Next: East Coast

Also in this series: Spring; Western Canada; Encores

FINAL NOTE: All photos here are by me or someone standing next to me. Apologies for any/all copy editing mistakes, especially when I stray in and out of never-ending present tense.

The Never-Ending Tour: Spring 2018

In April 2018, I published The Never-Ending Present, my biography of Gord Downie and the Tragically Hip. I knew this story had resonance across Canada, and I wanted to talk about it as far and wide as I could. I didn’t know what that would involve.

Most books are launched with a little wine and cheese party in the author’s hometown. I wanted a lot more than that.

Tanis Rideout

So I did what any self-respecting rock’n’roller / DIY punk / hip-hop hustler would do: I booked it myself. This is how the journey turned out.

Most of this, certainly not all, appeared on the book's Instagram account: @theneverendingpresent. 

Part one: Spring 2018

April 5: Toronto, Horseshoe Tavern

Nirmala Basnayake

This is it. The book is done. It’s one year and four days since I signed the contract and started work. Now it’s a real thing.

I’m incredibly proud of it. I have no desire to be modest: this deserves a big launch. And yet I’m still nervous about bringing it into the world.

Gord Downie died only six months ago. It still seems too soon to be celebrating anything. There are fans who openly resent the fact that I wrote this book at all. There’s at least one member of the Tragically Hip who feels the same way. But it’s a story worth celebrating, both on the page and in real life. And it’s worth celebrating now.

Helen Spitzer, Chief Support Officer

I’ve booked the Horseshoe—obviously. It was the Hip’s primary home in Toronto. It’s where they got signed. It’s where Downie had his wedding reception. It’s where Chris Tsangarides came to see them right before they recorded Fully Completely together. It was the site of secret shows through the years. It’s the checkerboard floors.

I need a band. I cast out a few feelers to assemble a band and guest singers. My immensely talented friend Terra Lightfoot instantly agrees to be one of the singers, and then I get the idea of hiring her band instead of assembling one myself, piecemeal. A few weeks before the show, when she gets nominated for a Juno, Terra has to back out and attend the ceremonies in Vancouver. She writes me the most unbelievably unnecessary apology, because she's the best.

But now I start having minor panic attacks.

Ian Blurton

I ask Ian Blurton, a hero of mine who is completely approachable and down-to-earth and yet I’ve always been intimidated by him. He agrees: most of his band Public Animal can do it, as can guest guitar wiz Aaron Goldstein, but he needs to find a bass player. We also need to agree on a fee—Blurton doesn’t work for free, and nor should he. The man’s a legend. Before he finally finds Sean Dean of the Sadies, I continue to have panic attacks.

Tony Dekker (Great Lake Swimmers)

I now have a great band: I have to pay them. The publisher agrees to cough up some dough. My parents were going to fly back from Florida for the launch; my mom gets ill and they cancel, but as a present they send me the money they would have spent on airline tickets. All great, but I’m still short cash to cover the band and the rehearsal spot and an honorarium for each singer plus some dinner money for them. With help from the Horseshoe, I get a sponsorship from Ace Hill, a local brewery I happen to actually enjoy. So far, so good. (Attention, readers: drink some Ace Hill!)

Michelle McAdorey (Crash Vegas)

Then there’s the singers. I don’t want a bunch of old guys who once knew the Hip—though one or two would be nice. I purposely invite a bunch of women and acts you wouldn’t expect to do a Hip song. The Strombo Show’s Hip 30 was inspiring: I reach out to Tanika Charles, Weaves, Iskwé and a few others to see if they want to repeat what they did for Strombo on my stage. Most have to send their regrets, for various reasons. To my delight, Sate accepts. 

The rest are people I know personally: Owen Pallett, Michelle McAdorey (Crash Vegas), Mike O’Neill (Inbreds), Tony Dekker (Great Lake Swimmers), Nirmala Basnayake (Controller Controller). I ask José Contreras, who I only really got to know after interviewing him for the book. I ask Tom Wilson, to whom I’ve never spoken to at all. I have lots of great names and some of my all-time favourites, but not a lot of “stars.” The week before the gig, I run into Serena Ryder at a Beth Ditto show. She’s into it.

Nirmala Basnayake (Controller Controller)

We now have a band and 10 singers. A week before the show, Tom Wilson tells me he wants to read something rather than sing. At rehearsals with Blurton’s band, I decide that I’m going to sing “Blow at High Dough” in lieu of Wilson. Hubris, yes. Nerve-racking. But it has to be done. Owen changes his song from “Escape is at Hand” to “Ahead by a Century.” The band has already learned the former and are excited to play it; Tony Dekker happily takes it over, as he’s covered it before.

Mike O'Neill (Inbreds, Tuns)

The night before the show, I get the idea of doing a “Subterranean Homesick Blues” thing with cue cards and having the entire crowd sing “Blow at High Dough” with the band. Turns out to be the best $15 I’ve ever spent at Dollarama; my partner, Helen Spitzer, writes all the lyrics on about 30 cards. She does many things in life much better than I ever could, including penmanship.

The day of the show I spend most of the afternoon at the CBC studios doing regional drive shows asking me the same five questions from a script. 

Owen Pallett

I try to tailor my responses regionally as best I can. Some bring up the fact that Rob Baker recently tweeted, when asked about the book, to “not believe everything you read,” claiming to have almost “spit out my coffee” after reading a few pages. Naturally, this has a lot of traction in the fan community, as well as with former MuchMusic VJ and noted intellectual Bill Welychka. 

My stock answers: the band had the opportunity to fact-check, and they turned it down. The only error I’m aware of is the release date of a Willie Dunn record; perhaps Baker is a huge Willie Dunn fan? One day the Hip will tell their own story; this is their story as told by those who worked with them.

José Contreras (By Divine Right)

As I’m leaving, Serena’s manager calls and tells me she has to cancel because she threw out her back. I arrive during sound check and do my best to stage manage and make everyone feel comfortable. One of the performers tells me they almost cancelled because they were exhausted from spending most of that week caring for a parent with glioblastoma.

Tom Wilson (Lee Harvey Osmond, Junkhouse, BARK)

The evening begins with Wilson reading a story about the first time he met Gord Downie. It’s a perfect tribute, and Wilson’s delivery is captivating and hilarious. Then I do a reading from the book: probably too long, especially in front of a crowd without chairs, but it goes very well.

Lana Gay (mensch)

I’ve asked the lovely Lana Gay, of Indie 88, to be my on-stage interlocutor. She asks if any topic if off-limits. Of course not, I say, but oh, wait: no questions about the Baker tweets tonight. I know I’m going to be talking about that for the rest of the book tour, and given the choice I’d rather not talk about that tonight. Her thoughtful questions and her overall presence are everything I could ever ask for. She’s a gem.

The band is amazing, one ecstatic epiphany after another. Here’s the set:

Blurton's set list

Owen Pallett: Ahead by a Century

Ian Blurton: Last of the Unplucked Gems

Michelle McAdorey: Flamenco

Nirmala Basnayake: Nautical Disaster

Aaron Goldstein: It's a Good Life If You Don't Weaken

José Contreras: The Never-Ending Present

Tony Dekker: Trick Rider, Escape is At Hand For the Travelling Man

Mike O'Neill: Fireworks

Me and crowd: Blow at High Dough

Sate: New Orleans is Sinking

Ian Blurton, Sate

The venue is about 75% full, which is perfect, because I don’t like the Horseshoe when it’s rammed—or desolate, obviously. I was worried about it being either empty or too full and turning people away. I charged $5 at the door, with proceeds to one of Downie’s pet causes, Lake Ontario Waterkeeper. All expenses are covered by a combination of the publisher, the beer sponsor (which, again, was ACE HILL), my parents’ gift, and my own pocket.

It was easy to spot the superfans

The crowd contains many “this-is-your-life” moments for me: high school, university, various workplaces, including a large Maclean’s contingent. There are also several diehard Hip fans there, who stand in front of the stage in Hip gear all night. One tells me they were a bit apprehensive about coming, considering the acrimony among some fans about the book, but that they were really glad they did. (Hip acolytes the Arkells and City and Colour were playing a free show at Yonge-Dundas Square that night, which pulled some fans away.) 

Signs, signs, everywhere the signs

Many take one of the “Blow at High Dough” cue cards.

Rock'n'roll fantasy

It’s a beautiful evening. I sleep well for the first time since signing off on the final edits. 

WANT TO SEE SOME VIDEO? My friend Ian Daffern edited this little snippet for me. There's a lot more where that came from, whenever I get it together. 

(Note: all Horseshoe photos by Bob Ciofli, with some by David Leyes) 

April 6: Oshawa: Robert McLaughlin Gallery

I went from the most glamorous gig to… well, whatever this is. I’d been looking for a gig in the area between Toronto and Kingston—where a gig this weekend was booked months ago—and somehow slid in to this museum’s First Friday event, with the help of local arts impresario Will McGuirk. They let me make a quick five-minute presentation before some local amateur songwriters, backed up by some guy who was in an ’80s version of the Guess Who. The rest of the night I can sell my books in the lobby. It goes well enough, and gets better when I’m surprised by an old high school friend I haven’t seen in 20 years.

I drive to Peterborough afterwards to stay with the host of tomorrow’s event.

April 7: Lindsay, Down to Earth / Kingston, Chapters

I asked my university roommate Sandra Patrick if I could do something in Peterborough, and she suggested I just do it at the Lindsay bike store she runs with her husband. And why not?

I had no idea what to expect or what I would do. Nor did the people who started awkwardly milling around at the appointed time, so I just loudly introduced myself to the room and started talking about how and why I wrote the book. That led to a wonderful freeform, 40-minute discussion with about 20 people or so, which I would come to learn is often better than a staged event.

Fans in Kingston, ON

On to Kingston. I didn’t have high hopes for this: it’s in a corporate book store whose management didn’t want to hear any of my ideas about live music or giving a talk or having a live interviewer: there was no P.A. in the store and they just wanted me to sit at a table for a few hours. There’d been a great full-page article in the Whig-Standard by Peter Hendra, so at least I was unlikely to face a Spinal Tap situation. I have dinner at old Hip haunt the Copper Penny beforehand.

I meet a lot of parents of Hip fans. I meet a Queen's prof I quote in the book. Meet the guy who designed the Phantom Power cover. Meet a lady who booked me for the Kingston Writers Festival in the fall. And I meet two uberfans who did not know each other, but both seemed to come to suss me out to see if I knew my shit before buying a copy, which they did just as the store was closing, after we'd gabbed for about 30 minutes. 

I drive back to Toronto. 

April 13: Buffalo, Tralf Music Hall

Amber Healey, Jeremy Hoyle backstage at Tralf

Jeremy Hoyle of the Strictly Hip has invited me to “open” for them at their somewhat regular house gig. The world of Hip cover bands was new to me when I wrote the book, and Jeremy’s story in particular fascinated me. He’s a Niagara guy who moved his band to Buffalo and became one of the most popular bands in the city, preaching the gospel of the Hip on a weekly basis. I’d had this idea that I didn’t want to pair up with Hip cover bands on this book tour, but made an exception this time. I’m very glad I did.

From the moment I arrive, everyone is exceedingly generous and excited. I’m to be interviewed on stage by Amber Healy, a local journo and Canuckophile who regularly writes for Alan Cross’s site. She lost her voice that morning and is incredibly apologetic, but does a great job on stage, after I read a short excerpt that focuses primarily on the American chapter of the book.

The band’s show is great, although I don’t hear too much of it because I’m busy selling books. I sold way more than I ever expected—70!—second only to the Toronto launch.

Most important: fan after fan thanked me for coming, and for reading from the chapter about the myth of the Hip's American failure. They feel negated by the prevailing narrative of "Canada's band." They feel a deep sense of ownership over this band as well. "Music isn't stopped at customs," Downie once said. You most definitely do not need a Canadian passport to love this band. 

I meet one older guy who tells me he came to the band late, but saw them a couple of dozen times.

“Oh, really?” I ask. “When did you first hear them?”

“In 2014.”

“Wait, you’re telling me you saw them at least 24 times in the last two years of the band’s career?!”

“Yep.”

I retire to the hotel room (courtesy of Jeremy) with a leftover pound of, yes, Buffalo wings from backstage. I feel obliged to eat them all. When in Rome and all that, but… this is a colossal mistake.

April 14: London, London Brewing Co-op

London is a huge Hip town. I’m expecting big things here, even though I got no press and only one radio hit two weeks earlier. Suspicion on the official fan FB page means I’m still wary of self-promotion there. But the biggest hindrance to attendance at this gig is the raging ice storm that descends on southwestern Ontario while I’m en route from Buffalo. If I didn’t have to be somewhere, there’s no way I would have left my house. Turns out others felt the same.

Michael James Brown, Michael Peter Barclay

News of the Humboldt bus crash is on the radio, and visions of tragic highway accidents are on my mind. The local classic rock station plays Tom Cochrane’s “Big League,” an odd choice on a day like this, especially sandwiched in a set with no context provided. Great job, automated playlist robot!

My interviewer today is Michael James Brown, who's been involved at CHRW for decades and is now corrupting the minds of youth in the public school system. It's his voice you hear at the beginning of the firsttrack on the first Constantines album, dedicating a song to "the death of... that great gospel jest called rock and roll." Yet here we are. 

ECW Press editor Jen Hale

The crowd is predictably sparse. But it includes Jen Hale, one of the two ECW editors who shepherded Have Not Been the Same into being. It also includes my cousin, his girlfriend and my aunt; my dad grew up in London, and he met my mom here at Western.

It's one thing when people in my age bracket enjoy the book. It's another when my 80-year-old aunt shows up having read half the book already and is ready with insightful, enthusiastic questions, despite never having heard the Hip’s music. Then again, Aunt Elaine is full of surprises, especially after our conversation topics included her enthusiasm for Art Bell, Tom Clancy, Brandi Carlile and Amy Winehouse, followed by her out-of-nowhere declaration of love for the Velvet Underground "I'm Waiting For My Man." Did not see that coming. 

Aunt Elaine and cousin Jim at Tony's Famous

After we go out for pizza at Tony’s Famous, I turn down an invitation to stay at their house of 20 cats, and splurge on a hotel. The wind howls, the streets are empty. I go see the film A Quiet Place at a desolate downtown mall; it’s highly original, suspenseful and great. Kept awake at night by hockey players down the hall.

April 15: Brantford, The Duke on Park 

Heather Valley, Mike Tutt

Why didn’t I cancel this event? The ice storm continues to be brutal. In order to even get into the parking lot of this pub, my car has to take several runs at the snowdrift blocking the driveway. I got a full-page story in the BrantfordExpositor earlier this week, but my hopes are not high for attendance. Rightfully so: that 10 people turn up is a minor miracle. Three of them are there half an hour before I’m scheduled to start. They tell me they actually stayed up all night drinking, they were so excited for the event. It’s pretty clear the drinking is going to continue.

This gig is put on by Mike Tutt, a guy determined to make things happen in this town, against many odds. He invited local singer/songwriter Heather Valley to perform a couple of Hip songs; she does a stunning job on “It’s a Good Life.” The inebriated fans get up and sway to “Bobcaygeon,” and their off-key warbling threatens to throw off the unshakeable singer, a young woman who recently ditched her law career to focus on music. She’s wonderful.

Fans in Brantford, ON

I keep my reading short, sell a few books and chat with the people there. The all-nighters want me to sign a Hip jersey. “You know I’m not in the band, right?” Before they leave, there’s some kerfuffle about one of them trying to steal a baby seat from the bar.

Hands down the weirdest gig of this tour. Next stop: the classiest!

April 20: Ottawa, National Arts Centre

Never thought I'd have a book event here. My friend Rolf Klausener, who co-runs the Arboretum Fest, recently started working here, which was a big help. Plus, my former Maclean’s colleague Paul Wells instantly agreed to host the event; he has close connections to the theatre and regularly interviews cabinet ministers and other Ottawa luminaries in the NAC’s lobby, where my event is held.

Jamieson McKay (Shadowhand), Claude Munson at NAC

My excitement is tempered somewhat when, upon arriving by train, I instantly lose a bag with my iPod, an advance copy of a Paul Simon bio I’m supposed to review, and a copy of my speech. But this turns out to be one of the best gigs. Captive audience of about 100 people, and I sell a lot of books with the help of the lovely and mighty Stéfanie Power.

Jamieson McKay, from one of my new favourite bands, Shadowhand, performs, as does Claude Munson. Paul Wells is predictably wonderful, and I’m more than honoured that he agreed to do this. Lots of great conversations afterwards. 

Rolf Klausener, Stef Power, Jon Bartlett at the Manx

Rolf and Stef then take me on the town for dinner and then drinks at the Manx Pub, where we’re served by poet David O’Meara, whom I interviewed in the book. Other friends drop by, including music impresario Jon Bartlett, who’s been moving and shaking since I first met him 20 years ago and he asked me to play organ on his Steaming Toolie album. I crash at Rolf’s place. A beautiful night. 

April 21: Port Hope, Port Hope Public Library

Ian Jack, Jeff Harris

This was set up by my Have Not Been the Same co-author Ian Jack, who brings his game to the on-stage interview: music clips, a slide show, and more geeky questions than we have time to get to during our allotted hour. Nice turnout here, although we are competing with the town's biggest annual event: FloatYour Fanny Down the Ganny, in which the entire town rides homemade ersatz rafts down the freezing Ganaraska River. Frankly, I’m amazed anyone showed up at all considering competition like that. 

Candace Ablaza, Sue File, in Port Hope

Pleasant surprise: two old high school friends who live nowhere near the area decide to show up. 

April 24: Hamilton, Mills Hardware

Wayne Petti, Stuart Berman, Dylan Hudecki,
Lisa Savard-Quong, Tyler Kyte

After Toronto, I didn’t have the stomach to put on another live music event. But after I asked old friend and Eye Weekly colleague Stuart Berman—one of my favourite music writers ever, anywhere—to host this event, he conspired with local bon vivant Dylan “the Dill” Hudecki and Cuff the Duke’s Wayne Petti to put on an actual revue. They invited a few friends from Elliott Brood, Dwayne Gretzky, and Hidden Cameras, while I added Heather Valley to the bill as thanks for playing that horrible ice-storm gig in Brantford.

This manages to pull a decent crowd, and the set list looks like this:

Matias Rozenberg (a.k.a. just Matias): Into the Night (performed on Casio-esque keyboard)

Lisa Savard-Quong: Pretend (from World Container, odd choice! Later covered by Dwayne Gretzky on their debut album)
 
Tyler Kyte (Dwayne Gretzky): Wheat Kings
 
Wayne Petti and the Dill: Chancellor

Mark Sasso (Elliott Brood): Trick Rider
 
Heather Valley: It's a Good Life

Attendance is good, but I lose money because I had to rent the venue—which I’m happy to do, but the slight sting of overall loss overshadows what is otherwise a great night. I have yet to view these events as loss leaders, which I really should. Because they're also a lot of fun.

April 26: Toronto, Toronto Reference Library 

Esi Edugyan and the
luckiest guy at the Bibliobash

Every year the Toronto Public Library Foundation throws a ritzy gala called the Biblio Bash, in which rich people buy a table where they will be joined for dinner by a writer. Fiction, non-fiction, poetry, doesn’t matter. Some writers are famous, others not so much. One table got stuck with me. This makes me incredibly nervous: these people collectively paid more than $1,000 to sit with me! Thankfully, I’m seated next to an interesting tech VC and his even more interesting wife, a photographer who works for Human Rights Watch. This meant we didn’t have to talk about me the whole night.

Much more fun is meeting my old Eye Weekly colleague Kamal Al-Solaylee for the first time; his book Intolerable is one of my all-time favourites. My former Maclean’s colleague, the incredible Jessica Allen, is now a TV star on The Social, and shows up with gossip queen Lainey Liu. Most thrilling, however, is meeting Esi Edugyan, whose Half-Blood Blues is one of the best fiction books about music, and art during wartime, that I’ve ever read. I ask this gorgeous and charming woman if her next book is about music; she smiles and says no and I act disappointed. Months later, she will release the incredible Washington Black and I wish I could replay this entire incident. An official photographer snaps a photo of the two of us, and it runs in the Toronto Star. This boosts my ego for the next calendar year, and it gets worse when Washington Black wins the Giller.  

April 29: Sarnia, the Bookkeeper

My lady, Helen Spitzer, went to high school in Sarnia, so we make this one a family vacation in order to show off her roots to our child. Unfortunately, our tour of the town takes a total of 30 minutes. Sarnia: even less interesting than you remember it being.

Thankfully, the event itself goes very well. This is a lovely bookstore run by real enthusiasts; just check out their inventive Instagram account. From what I can tell of the municipal environs, this cultural space is a local beacon of light. Even if it’s in a strip mall, its signage invisible from the adjacent highway. Our child delights in sitting at the signing table with me and appearing important. Which he is, of course.

May 5: Wellington, Midtown Brewing Company

Stew Jones, Trevor Norris

This one is another family road trip, just for an excuse to go to Prince Edward County. I was invited here by Stew Jones, one of the biggest CanRock fans I know, a passion he's put into his painting and just about everything he does. The Kingston native and lifelong Hip fan lived in Toronto for years, where we have many mutual friends. He’s now a partner at this brewery, where he lined up local author Ken Murray to do the Q&A and added to the bill himself and musical partner Trevor Norris (who, I learned, is executor of the Nash the Slash estate). Decent crowd, though Stew thought we’d draw more. A childhood family friend shows up; I haven’t seen her since high school. She’s one of many locals who are recent converts to the county. At Stew’s house that night, a bonfire attracts several neighbours, almost all of them Toronto refugees with evangelical stories about their new life outside of the big, bad city.

Al Purdy's A-frame

The next day we visit Tim Falconer, a non-fiction writer I consulted for advice before beginning the book. Tim wrote Bad Singer, about the concept of being tone deaf; it’s a mix of memoir and popular neuroscience. He showed up in Wellington and told us he’s doing a residency at Al Purdy’s A-frame in nearby Ameliasburgh. The building is as charming as you’d imagine, so much of it restored and/or intact almost 20 years after his death. We take lots of pictures. Purdy has been on my mind a lot in the last year, not just because he was one of Downie’s favourite poets, but because my former Maclean’s colleague Brian D. Johnson directed the excellent doc Al Purdy Was Here. 

May 14: Waterloo, the Jane Bond

David McPherson

This is tough: Monday night, not ideal. Despite advance articles in two local newspapers—one of which has run my album-review column for 18 years—only about 10 people showed up. One of them is Wesley Crawford, an uberfan I quote in the very first line of the book. Another is my second cousin (my mom grew up here); another is an ex-co-worker. The on-stage chat is with David McPherson, biographer of The Legendary Horseshoe Tavern. It’s a lovely venue, one with many fond memories for me, and this is a really great night—other than the fact that practically nobody is there. 

May 15: Guelph, Bookshelf

This is home turf. I lived in Guelph for 12 years and still have many friends here: almost all of them make it out, so it’s a packed house: roommates, bandmates, many of whom I’ve known for 25 years or more.

Mystery Machine denizens

My friend Douglas Davey, a librarian and YA author, is the interviewer. I know he’s not a Hip fan, which leads to some tangents that make this uniquely different from every other on-stage conversation I have on the tour. To close, he pulls out a drawing of headless Scooby-Doo characters and pics of the disembodied heads of Hip members, and asks me to mix and match. This is harder than you’d think. We go with: Downie as Scooby, Rob Baker as Shaggy, Johnny Fay as Daphne, Paul Langlois as Velma, and Sinclair as Fred.

I invite Heather Valley to perform again, as well as Jessy Bell-Smith, who sings with the Skydiggers but whom I’ve known since she was a teenager, and is one of the most breathtaking singers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with (we briefly played in a wedding band together). Needless to say, she totally kills it here.

Tristan O'Malley (Black Cabbage), Jenny Mitchell (Bird City)

I know almost everyone in this room, although there is a large table at the front with about half a dozen elderly ladies. As I’m signing books afterwards, I ask one of them what brought them out. Turns out they’re a sorority who get together once a month for an outing, and figured that my event was the most intriguing option. A few friends and I retire to a nearby pub, and after breaking my normal sobriety pledge during this tour, I stumble back to Douglas’s.  

June 10: London, London Music Hall, RockCon

A couple of weeks earlier, I had lunch with Danko Jones. He was about to put out his first book, a collection of columns, and a mutual friend set us up to talk shop. Lovely guy. He told me he was doing this thing in London similar to ComicCon but for rock geeks, and that I could probably get a slot and a table. Since my actual event in London was such a bust due to the ice storm, I figure this couldn’t hurt.

Martin Popoff

Turns out it could. At an event where Dee Snider, Lita Ford and Peter Criss are the main draws, a grand total of two people come to hear my talk. Unsurprisingly, I don’t sell any books. I do, however, get to meet Martin Popoff, one of the most prolific music writers in the country, who is there with about 40 of his titles for sale. We do a book trade; I take his Max Webster bio. I also stand at a urinal next to the singer of Twisted Sister; it’s a “pee Snider” experience, I joke later. 

June 11: Toronto, Toronto Reference Library

This was one of the most heavily promoted events, as part of the TPL’s Eh List series. And yet only about 20 people show up, including my parents, who come into town for the occasion. Most of the crowd is of a similar demographic: retirees. I guess that’s just the normal library crowd? By this point the book is a national bestseller, but events like this keep my ego in check.

Tabassum Siddiqui

I’d asked my friend and peer Tabassum Siddiqui to host the event, which ruffles a few feathers at the library because—even though she’s as prolific and widely published as I am—they don’t consider her enough of a star draw. Their alternate suggestions are white men older than me. That’s telling. I hold my ground, and of course Tab does a great job, which I didn’t doubt for a second. She and I go way back to the pages of Eye Weekly and Exclaim in the early 2000s, and we served together on the Polaris Prize grand jury in 2013, when Feist won. She’s one of the most passionate fans of Canadian music I know. After the event is over, I have to split quickly—to go see Depeche Mode with Helen, who is finally seeing her favourite teenage band 30 years after her parents wouldn’t let her. 

June 14: Uxbridge, Second Wedge Brewing Company

Will McGuirk

Oshawa’s cultural ambassador Will McGuirk told me the best book store in his town was actually in Uxbridge, and hooked me up with Blue Heron Books. They were very excited and put on a bonafide event at this brewery: $20 ticket, includes a pint and $10 off any book in the store (ideally mine, which of course is for sale at the event). I was wary at first but came to realize this is genius. Do you drink beer and buy books? If so, then coming to this thing really only costs you $5, and you’re more likely to come if you’ve bought a ticket in advance. And lots of people do show up in this small exurb: at least twice as many as came to the Reference Library, anyway.

McGuirk is a great interviewer—and a big fan. He carts around his worn copy of Have Not Been the Same to gigs and festivals and gets artists mentioned to sign the text where they appear. He tells me he’s already read the Hip book twice. So he obviously has some smart and informed questions. So does the audience.

After a brief set by local musicians doing Hip songs, I head to another bar for dinner (because rush hour traffic meant the trip here took twice as long as it should, and I raced in at the nick of time). There, I meet two uberfans who met on the Facebook fan page, one of whom asks me the single oddest question I receive all year: “What should we do to defend your honour?”

Hold up, what?

McGuirk at Hillside 2019

Apparently this Facebook thing has spiraled out of control, with people arguing viciously about my book’s right to exist without the band’s consent. Before the book came out, I was following the discussion with masochistic fascination. The fan site was a great resource for rare clips and random info, but it is mostly a group of pen pals posting photos of the various ways in which they love the Hip. This was my first real glimpse into fan culture of any kind; there is a lot that’s beautiful about it (i.e. shared cancer stories) and a lot that’s obsessive and just plain weird. One of the weird things is that the loudest voices there don’t seem to understand how non-fiction or history works. The Baker tweets certainly didn’t help matters any.

The moderator of the site apparently posted photos of a series of pages where she circled, crossed-out and highlighted what she thought were errors and/or publicly available information that she believed rendered my research irrelevant. As a result, I was accused of being an ambulance-chaser, a grifter, a charlatan, etc. The tone of some comments put me on par with someone who writes Paul Bernardo fan fiction.

So what should these lovely women in Uxbridge do to “defend my honour”? Nothing, I told them. Just tell people to read the book or don’t!

I know what I wrote. I know it’s a good book, respectfully done. I’ll happily accept fair criticism of the book itself, but not the book’s right to exist. 

Side note: I went to a lot of microbreweries on this tour, and though I didn't taste them all, Second Wedge was definitely the best that I brought home with me. The lemongrass/ginger beer was shockingly good. 



NEXT: Summer

Also in this series: East Coast; Western Canada; Encores

FINAL NOTE: Most Horseshoe shots are by Bob Ciolfi, some by David Leyes. BiblioBash shot by the event photographer. All other photos here are by me or someone standing next to me, sometimes Helen Spitzer. I have some great video that I hope to have ready by the book's third anniversary. Apologies for any/all copy editing mistakes, especially when I stray in and out of never-ending present tense.