My love of the Tragically Hip, and my review of the new album Man Machine Poem
This has been a Tragically Hip-centric blog for the last few weeks, and will remain so for at least one more post--because on June 17 the Hip released their 13th album, Man Machine Poem. Naturally, I feel compelled to write about it.
I don't know if I've ever adequately explained how much I love this band, or how baffled I am that they never made a dent outside of Canada. It's a subject for another blog post to theorize as to why the Hip have never penetrated the States or the rest of the world--but frankly it's a subject that most fans of the band, and the band themselves, are tired of discussing.
Though I'd heard of the Hip going as far back as the late '80s/early '90s, and was completely enraptured by Sarah Polley's gorgeous cover of "Courage" on the Sweet Hereafter soundtrack in 1997. (I liked it so much, in fact, that I bought the CD). It wasn't until early 2006, when I borrowed their hits collection Yer Favourites from the library, that I was irrevocably hooked to the band. (I checked out Wilco's A Ghost is Born at the same time and was fully prepared to love that album and not be moved by the Hip. The complete opposite happened).
I distinctly remember the moment when the Hip clicked with me. I was driving from my (then) house in Portland, Michigan to my job at the Mason library. I had Yer Favourites playing on the car CD player--I think at this point I was on day two of my item checkout period--and the song "At the Hundredth Meridian" came on. "Hundredth Meridian" is a pile-driving rocker wherein Gord Downie paints a picture of the raw, untamed, sometimes bleak landscape of the Canadian prairie. After describing "the hundredth meridian/where the Great Plains begin," Downie pleads to an unnamed person or figure, "If I die of vanity, promise me, promise me/If they bury me someplace I don't want to be/You'll dig me up and transport me, unceremoniously/Away from the swollen city breeze, garbage bag trees/Whispers of disease and acts of enormity/And lower me slowly and sadly and properly/Get Ry Cooder to sing my eulogy." Where do I start with this lyric? I envision the narrator as an urban dweller who has a love and respect for the wide open grandeur of the Great Plains, and simply wants to be returned to nature when he dies, not trapped in polluted, confined artificiality of the city with its "garbage bag trees." Of course, the real kicker for me is Ry Cooder as eulogist.
It wasn't just the lyrics that grabbed me, it was "Hundredth Meridian"'s raw and aggressive music that perfectly matched the words that Gord Downie was singing/shouting/pleading/intoning. So maybe it was a matter of being the right song at the right moment in time that convinced me then and there that I'd just heard what might be one of the greatest rock bands in the world--and why the hell did it take me so long to discover these guys, and why the hell didn't everybody else in the world understand this fundamental truth?
Fast forward ten years. I own essentially every recorded product the Tragically Hip have commercially released, have seen them live twice, and regard them with even more esteem now than I did in 2006.
And now on to the new album Man Machine Poem:
First impressions are always pretty much worthless when it comes to Tragically Hip albums. But with the knowledge that, due to Gord Downie's terminal brain cancer diagnosis, this is likely the Hip's swan song, the album has built-in poignancy that may immediately color impressions.
Still, as any Hip fan will tell you, one's relationship with any of the band's records evolves over time. One of the reasons the Hip have never reached a wider audience is that, generally speaking, their music isn't always immediately accessible.
Man Machine Poem takes its name from a song by the same name from the Hip's previous album, Now For Plan A. I'm still trying to understand the significance of this, and I'm not sure if I ever will.
In any case, the album is book ended by the songs "Man" and "Machine." Both songs are companion pieces with similar, equally impenetrable lyrics. "Man" opens with a garbled, squiggly blast of sound that could be the haywire voice of a "machine" more than a "man." Or is it an interstellar transmission? Perhaps Gord Downie is commenting on how "the singularity is near" and it is becoming increasingly difficult to determine the difference between man and machine? Who knows?
On the first few listens, Man Machine Poem strikes me as both the most subdued record of the Hip's career and their most musically adventurous since at least 2000's Music @ Work. "Man" in particular would not be out of place on a Radiohead album. For a band like the Hip, which has never been excessively experimental in the past, this is saying something.
"In a World Possessed By the Human Mind," the first single off the album, is the closest to "classic Hip" with its alternatingly jangly, melodic, and slashing guitar work along with Downie's uniquely off-kilter vocal phrasing.
By and large, Man Machine Poem is meditative, exemplified by songs such as "In Sarnia," "What Blue," and the dark, moody Day For Night-ish "Hot Mic."
As a mid-Michiganian, the gateway to Canada for me is Sarnia. Whenever we drive to Canada, we cross the Blue Water Bridge and enter this city across the St. Clair River from Port Huron. Naturally, when I saw the Hip had a song with Sarnia in the title, I was intrigued. Like almost every song Gord Downie has ever written, the lyrics defy easy interpretation. But the key line of "In Sarnia" is "Sarnia, you're on my mind." I choose to view the song as a tribute to the city...or is it? But with a mercurial lyricist like Gord Downie, it's impossible to tell for sure. Sarnia could easily be a metaphor for a woman or some other elusive love interest.
Drummer Johnny Fay's playing on this album is as inventive and intricate as I've ever heard, and shines on the rollicking "Here in the Dark" and the album closer "Machine."
If I have one major criticism of the album thus far, it's that Gord Downie's vocals are buried in the mix. This is disappointing because Man Machine Poem is most likely his final musical testament. I'd like to more clearly hear what he has to say.
Besides the idiosyncratic vocals of Downie, the Hip's most distinguishable feature is the duo of rhythm guitarist Paul Langlois and lead guitarist Rob Baker. Befitting the quieter nature of the record, there are no guitar pyrotechnics here. Instead, Langlois and Baker color the songs with more subtlety, from the finger-picking and gentle strumming on the elegiac "Ocean Next" to the fore mentioned melodic licks of "In a World Possessed By the Human Mind."
Those are my initial impressions of the album. I'm certainly not the most unbiased reviewer, so read my commentary with that in mind. I like Man Machine Poem, and I'm sure my feelings for the album will evolve over time. The days of fiery rockers like "Blow at High Dough" and "Little Bones" are long gone. This is the work of a veteran band reaching the finish line with a little extra spring in its step and its head held high.
Still, as any Hip fan will tell you, one's relationship with any of the band's records evolves over time. One of the reasons the Hip have never reached a wider audience is that, generally speaking, their music isn't always immediately accessible.
Man Machine Poem takes its name from a song by the same name from the Hip's previous album, Now For Plan A. I'm still trying to understand the significance of this, and I'm not sure if I ever will.
In any case, the album is book ended by the songs "Man" and "Machine." Both songs are companion pieces with similar, equally impenetrable lyrics. "Man" opens with a garbled, squiggly blast of sound that could be the haywire voice of a "machine" more than a "man." Or is it an interstellar transmission? Perhaps Gord Downie is commenting on how "the singularity is near" and it is becoming increasingly difficult to determine the difference between man and machine? Who knows?
On the first few listens, Man Machine Poem strikes me as both the most subdued record of the Hip's career and their most musically adventurous since at least 2000's Music @ Work. "Man" in particular would not be out of place on a Radiohead album. For a band like the Hip, which has never been excessively experimental in the past, this is saying something.
"In a World Possessed By the Human Mind," the first single off the album, is the closest to "classic Hip" with its alternatingly jangly, melodic, and slashing guitar work along with Downie's uniquely off-kilter vocal phrasing.
By and large, Man Machine Poem is meditative, exemplified by songs such as "In Sarnia," "What Blue," and the dark, moody Day For Night-ish "Hot Mic."
As a mid-Michiganian, the gateway to Canada for me is Sarnia. Whenever we drive to Canada, we cross the Blue Water Bridge and enter this city across the St. Clair River from Port Huron. Naturally, when I saw the Hip had a song with Sarnia in the title, I was intrigued. Like almost every song Gord Downie has ever written, the lyrics defy easy interpretation. But the key line of "In Sarnia" is "Sarnia, you're on my mind." I choose to view the song as a tribute to the city...or is it? But with a mercurial lyricist like Gord Downie, it's impossible to tell for sure. Sarnia could easily be a metaphor for a woman or some other elusive love interest.
Drummer Johnny Fay's playing on this album is as inventive and intricate as I've ever heard, and shines on the rollicking "Here in the Dark" and the album closer "Machine."
If I have one major criticism of the album thus far, it's that Gord Downie's vocals are buried in the mix. This is disappointing because Man Machine Poem is most likely his final musical testament. I'd like to more clearly hear what he has to say.
Besides the idiosyncratic vocals of Downie, the Hip's most distinguishable feature is the duo of rhythm guitarist Paul Langlois and lead guitarist Rob Baker. Befitting the quieter nature of the record, there are no guitar pyrotechnics here. Instead, Langlois and Baker color the songs with more subtlety, from the finger-picking and gentle strumming on the elegiac "Ocean Next" to the fore mentioned melodic licks of "In a World Possessed By the Human Mind."
Those are my initial impressions of the album. I'm certainly not the most unbiased reviewer, so read my commentary with that in mind. I like Man Machine Poem, and I'm sure my feelings for the album will evolve over time. The days of fiery rockers like "Blow at High Dough" and "Little Bones" are long gone. This is the work of a veteran band reaching the finish line with a little extra spring in its step and its head held high.
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