Well, it’s been quite a week for Canada, with the nation celebrating its 159th birthday and three days later our World Cup men’s team putting up a gutsy, physical effort against the powerhouse Moroccan side.
With our elbows still firmly up as tensions with the United States appear unlikely to ease any time soon, it seems like the perfect time to reminisce about my first Tragically Hip concert.
The Hip will be celebrated next month when the CBC re-airs the band’s final concert on the 10th anniversary of that show. The ultimate concert on the Man Machine Poem National Tour, played in their hometown of Kingston, Ont., was viewed by almost 12 million Canadians, or about a third of our country’s population at the time.
That monumental event was only eclipsed by the men’s gold medal hockey game at the Vancouver Olympics in 2010, and we all know how that turned out. Approximately 16.6 million Canadians watched the game, which is still the record.
While we’re on the subject of anniversaries, Dec. 7 of this year will mark 30 years since I witnessed the group’s musical magic for the first time. Although I envy those who can conjure up memories of the Hip’s shows at the legendary Misty Moon in Halifax in the late 80s and early 90s, that concert at the Metro Centre produced enough memories to last me the rest of my life.
The band had played the arena the previous year, but I was unable to get tickets. When their return to the city was announced little more than a year later, I was determined to be in the building, even if I had to settle for nosebleed seats.
Well, as luck would have it, we did manage to swing tickets for the 1996 show, albeit barely. If you know anything about the layout of the Metro Centre (now Scotiabank Centre), you’ll know that the top row of section 36 is as far from the stage as one can get, but we were just happy to be in attendance.
The Rheostatics opened all the shows for the Hip on the Trouble at the Henhouse Tour, which promoted the band’s album of the same name, so while the vast majority of concert goers seemed uninterested in the opener, we happily made the long climb to our seats.
What I hadn’t realized that night was that the show was also a benefit for local food banks. By simply bringing along a non-perishable food item, people could get their name in a draw for tickets to watch the show from “the henhouse” which was an area just off the corner of the stage.
I’m guessing most people were clueless about the promotion, because before the Hip even took the stage, staff were sent into the upper reaches of the arena to try and fill up the henhouse. My wife was still needling me about not being aware of the promotion, when a smiling young lady asked us if we’d like to watch the show from the henhouse. We must have had to show our tickets to at least a dozen security folks as we wound our way along a rather circuitous route before arriving at the corner of the stage.
When we finally arrived at the henhouse, we took our seats beside these two young gentlemen who had also made their way from the nosebleeds. As they high fived each other, they explained to me that because the upper bowl was virtually empty during the opening act, they had ventured up there to discreetly have an illicit smoke before the show started. Who says crime doesn’t pay?
As our new friends celebrated their luck, I noticed that none other than Rick Mercer also had a seat in the henhouse no more than 15 feet away.
As a huge fan of the CBC legend, I was struck dumb. As I watched a show that included a six-song encore, I couldn’t help but gaze over at my comedic idol as he rocked out to his favourite band. Mercer famously used the Hip’s song “Below at High Dough” as the theme for his hit CBC TV show Made in Canada and was also a close friend of the band’s legendary frontman Gord Downie, who succumbed to brain cancer in 2017.
And just when I thought life couldn’t get any better, Downie wrapped up a typically manic rendition of “Locked in the Trunk of a Car” by throwing his guitar pick at the crowd as the band left the stage following their main set. As luck would have it, the pick caromed off a metal barrier in front of the stage and landed squarely at my feet!
I still have the pick (of course I do!), along with the unopened ear plugs I was handed upon our arrival at the henhouse that night. There’s nothing terribly remarkable about the pick. It’s not autographed and only includes the name and phone number for a music store in Mount Pearl, Newfoundland, likely purchased there a few days earlier when Downie and his bandmates brought the tour to St. John’s for two shows.
By the way, that store is still open 30 years later and their phone number is still the same.
I take the pick out from time to time, especially when I’m feeling the kind of national pride our country celebrated this week.
Oh Canada!