Tragically Hip fans gather in Winnipeg's Assiniboine Park to view the last Hip concert from Kingston on video screen on Aug. 20, 2016.John Woods/The Canadian Press
I first heard the Tragically Hip in 1992, when my uncle played me a copy of Fully Completely, and went to my first Hip gig on New Year's Day, 2000, at the Air Canada Centre. Since then, I have seen almost 50 Tragically Hip shows across Canada, the United States and Europe and have written a book about that intense fandom. I've been called "The biggest Tragically Hip fan I know" to the point that I've begun to feel ashamed of that title, and on Wednesday, after Gord Downie died, I was asked repeatedly: Why did you go to all those shows?
The answer remains the same: I just had to go. If I didn't go, I'd miss out on both the predictable and the unpredictable, the familiar and the outlandish. It was that blend that made Tragically Hip shows my church. It was a place I could go for affirmation of who I was as a devoted fan, share my experience with others with the same strange affliction and, hopefully, learn a little more about the world around me.
Take my third Hip show, for example. If you've been to a Tragically Hip gig in Toronto, you know the drill: Come that verse in Bobcaygeon, Downie leads the crowd through a rousing line about a night in Toronto. The lights come up, and the crowd cries out in a mix of civic pride and euphoria. As an evergreen 17-year-old, I too raised my hands, because that's what you're supposed to do. But as I tried to deliver that line, I felt a warm liquid coat my back. I'd been hit – some overzealous fan had decided to toss his beer from a few rows back, and that Tragically Hip hockey jersey I was wearing now stunk of overpriced beer.
And I never washed that jersey again.
It was, after all, a baptism. Three shows in, I had a Hip moment of my own. Something I loved had been sacrificed in the name of a live show. Downie himself was fond of saying that for a show to be great, "something has to happen."
I looked to my good friend beside me, who I had insisted come to his first Tragically Hip show with me, despite the costly tickets for 17-year olds. I'll never forget his grin. We still talk about that moment to this day.
The feeling fans get at Tragically Hip shows is a contagious one. My favourite part of any show was always the same: Downie would walk onstage, raise one open hand to the air and welcome the crowd with a simple "Hello." Every time.
It was an old friend welcoming us for another gathering. Tragically Hip shows never started slow and built. They hit the ground running with a chugging force with songs such as Grace, Too, Use It Up or, as at their last show in Kingston, 50 Mission Cap. You were forced to get dialled in to their brawling, barroom rock immediately. I was that fan – the one who insisted to whomever I was with that we be in our seats or have a good spot up front well before the show out of fear I'd miss that full-throttle start.
And I wasn't alone. Because Tragically Hip songs can hit fans on such an intensely personal level, it is imperative that you sing as loud as possible, right away. Fans like me considered it necessary that we announce our presence to Downie. The band's fans got a bad rap in the nineties as thick-necked, beer-swilling dudes. But as Downie's lyrics and songwriting evolved to include a more tender side, every single person could sing along. I noticed how much more diverse the crowds at Hip shows eventually became. Throughout the past year, with Downie speaking about his vision for Canada, I thought about how you could look down your row and see people of all walks of life swooning to Downie's lyrics. And that's important.
If you sang, Downie would reward you in kind. A true badge of honour for a Hip fan is having locked eyes with him at a show. Fans won't hesitate in telling you it happened, either. It happens enough for it to be common. That was the kind of performer Downie was. He would make large arena shows feel personal and deliver fans that connection they craved. As CBC meteorologist Johanna Wagstaffe said to me when she locked eyes with Downie at a show we saw together in 2004, "He's staring into our souls."
But that personal connection can come in many ways. In Amsterdam in 2006, Downie sat on his monitor with his back turned to me in the front row. I waited patiently for him to turn and acknowledge me and my camera. It was only when I stopped singing, put my camera down and looked around at his band of brothers that he turned back, looked at me and raised his eyelids in appreciation.
That was Downie onstage. He knew he had to give fans what they desired, be it flailing about, mimicking a monkey, typing on a typewriter or wiping the sweat off his bandmates brows with his handkerchief.
Downie knew he had to play the hits. But as many times as I've heard Poets, I'd never leave. I just had to know: Would he add the line "Bring out yer dead" during the song, a chance for the hard-core fans who knew it was coming to sing even louder and flex their obsessive muscle?
Every single show, I just had to find out what would come next.
As a fan, my devotion to the band was strong enough that I just had to share it. You don't just want to be at the venue with the stage in front of you. Tragically Hip fans want to be around other Hip fans who get off on that very same drug. The outpouring of emotion evident on Wednesday is not just because we've lost a tremendously talented musician. It's born of the intensely personal connection that Tragically Hip fans feel with Downie and his lyrics. We, as fans, want to share the stories about being covered in beer or falling in love at a Hip show, or what changed in our life after we first heard Day for Night.
The Tragically Hip were born in the middle of the second-biggest country on the planet. A young, vast country with citizens who so desperately want to feel united in some way. It is reassuring to know that I can step foot anywhere between Victoria and St. John's and share a drink with a stranger by using the Tragically Hip as a common bond. And I hope fans everywhere will continue to do so for years to come.