SoundSalvationArmy

I don’t even know what’s going on here.

When this record first came on my iTunes without my knowledge (after sitting there since April without a single spin) I had to check and see who it was. I had no idea it was arguably Canada’s most iconic, instantly-recognizable rock band. Normally we likely wouldn’t be writing about the Tragically Hip on this website, but the fact that someone has been able to take a band with a signature sound that is ingrained in the very fabric of an entire nation and render them alien is a feat worth noting.

To Americans: I honestly don’t think there is a band that hews as closely for you as the Hip do to we Canadians. Its like AC/DC is to Australia, only not as meat-headed, generally less offensive to the senses and more polite. The very essence of Canadian. They’ve been around more than twenty years, issuing a series of albums that are generally hard to find fault in. A few of them achieve greatness, the majority are at the very least good. Their singles are staples of rock radio across the nation, but they’re rarely as annoying a Can/Con presence as Avril Lavigne, Celine Dion, or Bryan Adams. One might say they were innocuous if they weren’t so widely adored: they are members of the Canadian Music Hall of Fame and have the record for most number one debuts on the Canadian Albums Chart.

But on this album things are different. Their constant double-guitar, meat and potatoes rock has never been as universally muted across a set of songs; singer Gord Downie’s outpatient-off-his-meds wailing has never been so missing-in-action; the mood has never been so gently self-reflective.

It all starts with the deliciously understated “Morning Moon,” an alt-country tinged number soaked in harmonies and backing vocals, an equally harmonious mix of slide guitar leads and acoustic rhythm, and a vocal performance that pulls back hard on the reigns. Downie sounds like he’s staring off into a sunrise, gently relating a tale of days gone by. One of my favourite tracks follows: “Honey, Please” has a bit of adult-contempo sheen to the production, but some light piano and organ serves as a reminder that things are a little different here. The vocal melody soars into a delightful falsetto I didn’t even know Downie possessed. “The Last Recluse” uses the Canada Goose as a lyrical touch-point, and the marvelous “Coffee Girl” is a revelatory number that almost sounds like an old Beck number (he and Cat Power are referenced in the song). It sounds a little odd to hear dudes that must be approaching their late 40’s (at least) sing about making mix tapes for baristas, but the shuffling beat and muted trumpet solo in the bridge should make you swoon long enough to forget the source. Early on in “Now The Struggle Has A Name” you’ll swear someone entirely different is singing.

The sequencing of the album really serves to push the difference in sound. The further in you get the more familiar the elements and songs become. Downie really doesn’t even sound that much like Downie until the nine-minute “The Depression Suite,” where he reaches the full heights of his tenor in the pleading tone we’ve grown so accustomed to over the decades. From there “Queen of the Furrows” sees the Big Rock Guitars making their first real return, but they sound lower, almost dull in comparison to other Hip records. Its hard not to think producer Bob Rock is intentionally cutting the band’s machismo a bit (Metallica fans are already familiar with that procedure). Single “Love Is A First” has Downie returning to some of his more clipped, bombastic vocal tones as the electric guitars continue to try and reassert themselves. In the old days this song likely would’ve lead-off the album, waving the anthemic rock flag as proudly as in decades past. “Country Day” plays the band out with an amalgamation of the disparate halves, with processed strings and nearly-choral backing vocals swelling beneath a perfectly Hip-ish mid-tempo rock tune.

This will no doubt be a divisive release. On one side, Coke Machine Glow and its band of merry Hip-sters. They eschew anything so corporate and mainstream as a Bob Rock-produced album and are calling this the only truly awful Hip album ever, lamenting the fact that guitars are muted while cheesy strings are pushed to the top of the mix on a handful of songs. On the other, old people who are aging right alongside the band members and are really enjoying the softer take. They first heard of Feist in a Starbucks or an iPod commercial and they insist this is the bold new direction of a band reinventing themselves (though they still think the rock songs are back-loaded on the album and really, there should probably be more of them).

The Bob Rock angle is intriguing. I think I can genuinely say this album would be very different if it wasn’t for his influence, but I’m not sure how far from their comfort zone the band would’ve strayed with someone else behind the board. Its clear they went into the recording session with a strong focus on approaching the songs from a different direction, but I wonder what might have happened if, say, We Are The Same had been self-produced.

Listening to this album without prejudice is nearly impossible for any good Canadian, but for one that hasn’t listened to a Hip album all the way through since 1998’s Phantom Power its a welcome and intriguing break from the storied/staid idea of the Hip as Canuck Rock Gods. This is a band I would listen to on a Sunday morning while cleaning up from the night before, the soundtrack to contemplative moments of isolation and self-reflection.

 

 the Tragically Hip - Honey, Please: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

 

 the Tragically Hip - Coffee Girl: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

The Hip have a ludicrous amount of merchandise available through the Maple Music site, including hockey jerseys. iTunes can also help.

Pat entries Bob Rock, Canadian content, mainstream, pop, rock, the Tragically Hip