Courage and Grace Too: Remembering The Hip's Final Show
An Anniversary Look Back at Gord Downie's Last Performance with The Tragically Hip
Like a wounded hockey legend, he played through gut-check time and brought pained beauty to his efforts. And then he won it in overtime. The never-before-performed third encore, to be precise.
Eight years ago, on a warm August night, Canada stood still. It was a night that brought us together as a nation, with over a third of the country glued to our screens, watching the final performance of The Tragically Hip. This was not just any show; it was the last stand of a band that had become the soundtrack to our lives, the voice of our shared experiences, and the embodiment of our identity.
The morning after that unforgettable night, fueled by raw emotion and the impact of what we'd all witnessed, I wrote a piece that resonated far beyond my expectations. With roughly 5,000 shares, half a million views, and countless comments and virtual hugs, it captured the collective grief, admiration, and love the nation felt for Gord Downie and The Hip.
As we mark another anniversary of that night, I want to share that piece with you once again. Let us remember the courage, the grace, and the passion of a band that gave us everything they had, right until the very end.
Courage and Grace Too: Gord Downie and The Hip's Final Show
You could tell that he was struggling.
You could tell that he was off his game.
From the first blown lyric of "Fifty Mission Cap" to a heavy reliance on the strategically hidden teleprompters across the stage, it was clear Gord Downie was playing hurt.
But as captain of Team Canada — the man who made the Prime Minister the second most important person in the room — he dug deep.
It wasn't always pretty. Gone were the concert-long poetic rants that once showed nimbleness of mind. He probably walked, danced, and strutted a few kilometers less than he used to. His body lacked that familiar fluidity.
But Gord poured every ounce of himself into that last show — into that last tour.
And he didn’t take the easy way out. He and his bandmates, Rob Baker, Johnny Fay, Paul Langlois, and Gord Sinclair, treated the night like any other. They didn’t pad the final performance with special guests. They played several cuts from their new — and for most of the audience, unheard — final album, along with a handful of selections that had seen very little radio play. They went out on their own terms.
One of the most gut-wrenching moments was watching Gord be helped offstage. After the second intermission, Johnny Fay took him by the hand, then by the elbow, guiding him down the stage stairs. But Gordie toughed it out. He returned for one last set, offering the last of his legendary artistic energy.
No, it wasn’t always pretty. But watching Gord Downie gut it out was nonetheless beautiful. The passion was still there. The words still united us all in one voice. Most of all, though, his performance was honest. It was hard-working. And it was humble.
That, I think, is one of the keys to the great Canadian success of The Tragically Hip: they mirror the way we see ourselves, both as individuals and as a nation. Honest. Hard-working. Humble.
But also caring.
In his own inimitable way, Gord put pressure on Justin Trudeau to take action on the plight of First Nations people in the North. Hidden in what seemed like praise was a warning — a million Hip fans are now watching. It's time for action. And for care. For the country to care.
He also spoke of the need for inclusivity. He joked that he wasn't sure who had finally brought women back to the Hip audience, but that it was oh-so-welcome. It’s 2016. Bros need not apply.
Here’s the thing about The Hip: they gave and gave and gave. They spurned global financial success by sticking to their roots — and to the roots of the nation they eventually came to represent. They played countless benefits, lending their music and Gord’s voice to countless causes. They took so many artists, bands, and musicians under their wings, offering mentorship, advice, and perhaps most importantly, gigs.
That night, The Tragically Hip gave and gave and gave some more. Gord Downie, in particular, gave until it hurt — until he ached, both physically and emotionally.
By the time they reached the encores, they were The Tragically Hip of old. Gord’s voice refound those familiar melodies. He hit the notes he couldn’t hit earlier in the evening. He looked less like he was fighting the performance and more like he was truly enjoying it. Like a wounded hockey legend, he played through gut-check time and brought pained beauty to his efforts. And then he won it in overtime — the never-before-performed third encore, to be precise.
During those last songs, Gord and his bandmates became what they had always been: the house band for a generation. Damned good rock and rollers.
It was a tough show to watch. It was a glorious show to watch. It was a show we all had to watch.
The likes of which we will never see again.
It was Courage. And Grace Too.
Thank you, Gord Downie. Thank you for being a hero and a national treasure. Thank you for one last night.
It is obvious that you love and are loved.
And that you will be missed.