The Tragically Hip, "In Between Evolution"
An offering from our neighbors to the North

By Tom Johnson, Delicious Media Contributor

Canada's other big musical offering (besides Rush, not to mention Neil Young), the Tragically Hip, have been turning out high-quality rock for nearly two decades now. A staple in their homeland, the Hip is hardly known in the US. Their latest effort, In Between Evolution, seems to be a concerted effort to break through to a little more exposure in the states. Unfortunately, as with most efforts to break through, it suffers from a few flaws. Minor as they may be, it's unfortunate to see a band struggling to get attention. Explaining that the Hip deserve the attention should be unnecessary - but as with all things truly good, it generally misses the attention of the public at large who seem to need things more watered down and generalized.

The problem with In Between Evolution is that it sounds, in a way, like two separate pieces - a short section of "different" material (for the Tragically Hip, at least) followed up by a too-short album of traditional Hip material. The album kicks off in high gear with the raw, almost-punk energy of "Heaven Is A Better Place Today," singer Gord Downie straining to reach the upper echelons of his vocal range. In some respects, it's as if the Hip made a conscious effort to resurrect a bit of the "hard rock" sound they shed after their first couple of albums Up To Here and Road Apples - with mixed results. It's not as if these first three songs are bad songs - they just seem to lack some of the heart this band pours into their music. There's an odd transition between "Gus The Polar Bear From Central Park" and "Vaccination Scar" that illustrates the change that happened in the band between the classic Day For Night and the follow-up Trouble At The Henhouse - from a rock band with thoughtful lyrics to a thoughtful band that happens to rock. Between tracks three and four, the tempos change, the attitude changes, the song structures change, and that's a good thing - I don't think I would have gotten that much out of an entire album filled with that many out-and-out rockers, to be honest. What I've come to love with the Hip is an ability to straddle folk-rock and hard rock, favoring just slightly the folk-side of things due to Downie's intriguing, oft-humorous, but always thoughtful lyrics.

Maybe the blame lays with producer Adam Kasper - known most significantly for his work with the Foo Fighters' last two albums, both of which possessed a decidedly harder edge than their predecessors. Throughout the album the guitars are turned up loud, panned hard left and right, drowning out Downie's voice that floats right down the center of the soundstage. I find myself straining often to make out what Gord is singing - a shame with lyrics as impressive as his always are. This is likely a purposeful effect to play down the band's true signature, Downie's trademark tuneful, choked warbling. It's no secret that the Hip have struggled to take off in the US while enjoying massive success in their homeland. Where the Hip are basically Canada's answer to Pearl Jam, in the States the Hip have barely made a dent in the market. The band frequently sells out arenas at home, but it's nothing unusual to find them playing small clubs stateside. When I've played the Hip for the unitiated it's always been Downie's soft barkings that draw the most comments. "You get used to it," I say frequently, but I don't believe it - I've always enjoyed Gord's voice and have never understood how it turns people off. What is there to "get used to?" Gord's slightly nasal delivery is no less characteristic than Michael Stipe's voice, yet it
somehow manages to stand out just enough to throw off newcomers. Perhaps it's because it's unfamiliar and unusual - when it comes to the unfamiliar and unusual it appears that US listeners are most hesitant. American audiences need their rock verified - maybe we got burned on too much meaningless, throwaway rock the labels threw at us for so long, who knows. All I can say is that before most Americans can commit to something, we need to know the music is good by seeing it endorsing commercials, backing action sequences and love scenes in movies, or hawked at the end of meaningless teen dramas. Without that, sorry guys, we just can't determine if it's any good. (But we have no problem downloading mp3 after mp3 of pop pablum. We've got no issues spending hours downloading the latest sound-alike tune from Nickelback - they did, afterall, have a track in Spiderman a couple years back. But parting with our hard-earned cash for something that might be different sounding? No way, we're not having it.)

The identity issues evident early on in the album are erased quickly with multiple listens as the album finds its own groove and pacing. I probably won't ever be able to hear it as a single, solid piece, but upon inspection, I can't find a better place for the three oddballs on the album than right up front - get 'em out of the way so they don't throw off a good flow later on. Placing them at the end would blow the emotional closer, another Hip trademark. Regardless of whether it's an up-tempo or down-tempo number, the Tragically Hip has managed to end on a note of beauty with a track that always leaves you wanting more. "Goodnight Josephine" is no different. An upbeat ballad of sorts to a young girl lost, as far as I can tell, in the distractions of teenage life, dating, and maybe abuse, "Goodnight Josephine" somehow manages to beat the odds its subject matter might impose on other bands to actually wind up sounding hopeful. And that's the thing that really keeps the Hip from making it in the US. There's nary a song in their catalog about suffering, hurting others, drowning sorrows - if you haven't been paying attention to what sells today, these are sure-fire hit material. If the American music-buying public can't openly sulk to their purchases, it has no place in their collections. Downie writes not out of a need to heal his own scars, but in hopes of getting everyone else see the good and the beauty that's out there. That's too bad - it's hard to place happy, thoughtful songs in movies with lots of explosions and over-emotive teens. We just can't get enough of that crap.

Tom Johnson likes corn, but only if it's popped. Accomplishments include being crowned "belch king" for the first half of 6th grade. He also enjoys writing his own bios.