Somehow, without anyone sending us a letter or certificate, we have become one of those bands people refer to a Canadian institution. There are only a handful – Spirit of the West, Blue Rodeo, Trooper, and a few more. Most are pretty much unknown in the States or Europe, but have plugged away for decades in Canada, headlining Lobster Festivals, Firemen’s Days, hockey arena openings and the like. Never enormously successful, no one goes hungry either.

We cross paths with one another in airports and the like, and we all seem to share the same dozen-crew guys. Most of the bands are a fair bit older than us, but they are all universally nice guys, and have been generous and helpful over the years.

Over the years I have become rather fond of 54-40, a band I missed entirely when I still lived on the other side of the monitors. I would have liked them a lot. Songs like ‘I Go Blind’ and ‘Ocean Pearl’ are text book examples of great power pop. Lead singer Neil Osborne is not blessed with a great voice, but he knows every inch of the one he does have, and knows exactly how to push, and when it matters. On ‘Baby Ran’, a fast punky slice of rock, he puts on a sly sneer. The lyric expresses regret for his lost girl, but the tone is opposite – it’s all about the subtext, and the subtext is that there’s another one around the corner, anyway.  ‘Casual Viewing’, from another era, establishes a slow, murky groove, one the band exploits to its limits. It should get dull, but instead it gets suspenseful. You expect it to let go, but it never does. It’s the sound of musicians who are completely at ease with another, but utterly unafraid to hold back, waiting, lurking.

My greater personal appreciation of 54-40, as a fellow traveler on the ‘long, cold road’ as Dave Bidini would have it, is founded on their their punk work ethic. There is a big part of me that wants to be Joe Strummer or Greg Ginn, beating the shit out of an electric guitar, the crowd inches from my face, the amps ripping your nuts off. 54-40 lived in that world during their salad days, and 20 years of criss-crossing Canada still has not completely extinguished that spirit. After a while, just keeping the band together is an accomplishment; doing it with a bit of brio is worth bonus points.

In the late 90s, we joined with Blue Rodeo and a number of other Canadian bands to organize a traveling festival. It wasn’t the best idea we have ever had, but we had some fun times. 54-40 joined the ‘Stardust Picnic’ several times, the most memorable being a Sunday afternoon show in Guelph. The venue was a local park, already damp and humid after a week of rain. Osborne and co. went on in the late afternoon under darkling skies. A few songs into their set, a torrential shower broke out. It was hideous – sheets of rain, a sudden gale – you could hardly see the sound guy from where I was backstage.

The crowd couldn’t move, they were too tightly packed up front, and just suffered under the downpour, instantly up to their knees in muck. The band members of 54-40 just looked at each other, shrugged, and in the face of all logic and good sense, went driving into one of their fastest and most raucous tunes. The audience, who had expected to be abandoned, reacted with surprise, then a huge roar, as they realized the band was going nowhere.  The stage roof blew off, and now the band was soaked. It looked like they were being hit by fire-hoses. The bass player was right next to me, and in seconds he was standing in a sizable puddle. The crew was horrified, but the crowd was delighted, screaming and roaring their approval. It was magic, the best display of showmanship I have ever seen. The drummer was grinning like a teenager, big splashes flying off his kit every time he hit a drum. Osborne didn’t even move, he just kept on singing and playing, his long hair glued over his face.

It all came to an end when the PA crew unhooked the generator, fearing mass electrocution. The band, clothes and instruments ruined, finally left the stage to a mass ovation, one that rang through the storm. I felt like a coward, sitting in the bus, warm and dry while 54-40 showed all and sundry what playing in a band is all about.

For that act of stupidity/brilliance alone, I’ll buy every album they ever put out.