OK, fuck you Rolling Stone magazine, and fuck you too, Sheepdogs.
So there I am, reading RS 1137. The Sheepdogs, a band from Saskatoon, have won a contest to be on the cover. Hooray and good for them, right? Not according to them. When they aren’t moaning about their horrible tour stories, making fun of other people at open-mic nights, or how long it took people to notice them, they’re bitching about the (to them) remoteness and lack of culture of their hometown. A hometown, I might add, that got behind them and voted for them in the contest.
RS was no better, attacking the city cruelly, stopping just short of trying to tell us that people there live in igloos. “Writer” Danny Clinch was probably only there for a day and got the rest of his impression from the band itself and his own stunted imagination. To him, it seems that Saskatoon is full of rednecks and drunk natives with no teeth who, like they’re in some old wild west story, are scratching out a living in some harsh, far-flung wasteland.
I lived in Saskatoon for five years, and found it to be a beautiful city, alive with culture and history, and populated with some of the loveliest people we’ve met in this country. Yes, it is remote from the major metropolitan centers of this country, and every city has its rougher corners, but it was out of order for this article to paint the entirety of the Paris of the Prairies with such a thoughtless, demeaning brush.
If it were my band, and this was my one chance to be on the cover of Rolling Stone (for surely people will tire of this band’s 70s re-tread music, no matter how good the current album may be), I would try extra hard to leave negativity out of the article. Instead, I would have used the Sheepdog’s dwindling 15 minutes to actually try to promote the band.
Oh yeah, and another thing. The Tragically Hip are not “awful.” And there is a very good reason why they are “yet extremely popular.” This was a lazy potshot to try to make you feel better about yourself by taking down an established, important band. But I suppose since the whole point of this article was to piss all over everything, not unlike the door of a club in Toronto (ever heard of a telephone and calling ahead to make sure your booking is solid before you drive 30-plus hours, you thugs? Guess not.), I shouldn’t be surprised. The world really is out to get you.
When you look back on this, after your career is over, you’ll regret the negativity. You blew this one, and you acted like children, Sheepdogs. And RS happily egged you on.