steve saulsbury

THE BRAND NEW RENAISSANCE

For 30 years, I have loved “Three Pistols,” by The Tragically Hip. While not a mainstream hit in the United States, the song is full of barbed hooks and cryptic lyrics. Its depth eluded me, lurking below the surface.

Like the ghost of Tom Thomson.

In 1991, I pulled off the coastal highway. Hot sand, as fine as dirt, blew across the parking lot. The strip shopping center was built to appear rustic, like a set on a western movie.

Or an old lakeside lodge in Algonquin Park.

Tom Thomson territory.

A plank walkway fronted the shops; one, a music store. Ocean air breezed in the open door. A cassette in the sale bin caught my eye. The cover was Sweet Tango red. The title: Road Apples by The Tragically Hip, a group out of Canada. They were among a number bands splashing around in the pre-Nevermind wilderness. Superimposed on the red was a photograph of a horse and a group of RVs.

I was immediately captivated by the stinging guitars and singer Gord Downie’s deep growl. An old, but timeless voice. As old as the rangers talking at Algonquin Park.

“Three Pistols” opens with an intriguing reference to a “Tom Thomson” paddling. Unusual, but I didn’t give it a lot of thought. I was mildly amused that I knew an auto mechanic named Tommy Thompson.

The guitar breaks into a classic chicka chicka refrain, with Downie’s alright, alright, alright, alright, alright plunging the listener in deeper and deeper. I was hooked.

*

Several years ago, I heard that Gord Downie had died. I was reminded of the pull that old song had on me. Sadly, my copy of Road Apples went missing at some point. Maybe it would turn up.

Like Tom Thomson’s overturned canoe.

During a music discussion on social media, The Tragically Hip were mentioned. With Google at my fingertips, I revisited “Three Pistols.” I’d never forgotten that explosive opening, about Tom Thomson.

Thomson, I discovered, was an important landscape artist, who painted scenes from the Ontario wilderness. He used a lot of paint, with broad brush strokes. Self-taught, his technique is curious at first glance. Then stunning details emerge. Like the song.

Clues appear. Are the “steady” hands the artist’s? Thomson often painted outside, pausing to warm his freezing hands. He was also a skilled outdoorsman and canoeist. In 1917, the young painter went missing on a calm July afternoon. Not unlike the one when I breezed into an oceanside music store. His body was recovered some days later. The mysterious circumstances of Thomson’s death have never been fully explained. A ripple. The start of a myth.

Listening to “Three Pistols” now, my obsession has only deepened. Downie’s lyrical strokes, like contemporaries R.E.M., are open to the interpretation. There is a possible reference to Thomson’s lover, Winnifred Trainor, a Canoe Lake resident. As with much of Thomson’s final days, questions remain, left to mystery. Downie dragged the lake, offering a glimpse, a paint smudge that never went away.

Following a diagnosis of incurable brain cancer, Downie toured with The Hip until the last year of his life. Their final concert on August 20, 2016, broadcast throughout Canada, was seen by nearly 12 million fans. Downie’s importance in Canada is well-documented, his impact still resonating to this day.

Go back 30 years, and listen. Or 100, and wonder.

The ripples have never stopped.

Drown in them.

Steve Saulsbury writes from Maryland’s Eastern Shore. In addition to writing, he is a fitness enthusiast and music aficionado. His award-winning piece, “Driftwood Days,” is currently featured in Beach Secrets, an anthology by Cat and Mouse Press. The journey continues!