Assembled with expert input from some of the nation’s most prominent music critics, The Globe & Mail last month published their list of 101 essential Canadian albums, recordings that represent the country as a whole and tell a story about what it means to be Canadian.

Lists are perennially enjoyable — to celebrate, scrutinize, and debate — and the Globe’s panel did a fine job, I think, selecting a collection of albums that sonically communicate Canadian-ness to us and to the world. The 101 entries are intended to round up Canada’s most iconic albums, neither the most obscure nor fan favourites but the biggest and best that we’ve offered so far.

As with any list, there were some surprises (two Arcade Fire records!?) and a few discoveries (Allison Russell.) They got a lot of things right, for instance, including artists like Nomeansno and Godspeed You! Black Emperor. The paper also published a readers’ feedback list of missed opportunities that corrected a few omissions. Skinny Puppy and SNFU were obvious oversights.

But the problem with lists is that, by necessity, they must exclude more than they can possibly include. And lists imply a hierarchy, even if only chronologically speaking in the Globe’s case.

Aiming for diversity and political correctness also made for some awkward missteps. Embracing Simply Saucer but neglecting Buffy Sainte-Marie is a case-in-point. Possible pretendianism does not negate that Sainte-Marie made a lot of records that rippled at the time throughout the Canadian cultural fabric. And although some of Canada’s foremost rock snobs have championed Simply Saucer of late, it is flat-out revisionist history to put them in the same league with Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen. Nobody should ask, “who?” when they read a list like this.

Nationalism can be problematic, especially when it tips into jingoism. But asserting our unique identity in the face of aggressive economic and cultural threats from an increasingly unhinged America is a timely and worthwhile project. As well, acknowledging Canada’s roots as a multicultural mosaic distinguishes us above the yanks and in opposition to their homogeny. What does being Canadian mean? There are over 40 million answers.

There has always been a sense that products of Canadian culture were only praiseworthy if an international audience approved of them. Yet, Canadian arts and culture are not “just as good as” their American counterparts. We possess a distinctive pool of deeply significant musical artists that exist independently from the United States’s entertainment complex. Canadian music stands on its own, regardless of American or transnational endorsement. The Tragically Hip proved that being overwhelmingly beloved within our own borders was more than enough.

While The Globe & Mail certainly scored some necessary points for the “Bye American” zeitgeist that our southern neighbour’s despot brought upon himself by waging an unprovoked trade war and threatening our national sovereignty, there were still at least ten albums that I felt went curiously forgotten by both the publication and its readers.

These were enormously popular releases as well. So, this list is a little off-brand, but comparatively niche — and essential to include on a revised and unranked compendium of honourable mentions within the Can Con canon.

Les Sinners – Sinnerismes, Jupiter Records (1967)

French Freakbeat found its footing in Quebec while psychedelic rock was dominating England and America. Les Sinners, formed in Outremont in 1965, exemplified Quebec’s independence from France, as well as from English Canada, and epitomized our raucous resistance to the encroaching Americanization of modern media and culture.

Bachman-Turner Overdrive – Not Fragile, Mercury Records (1974)

Recording the chorus to your next single as an inside joke to tease your stuttering brother is the perfect Canadian combination of hardy cruelty and familial adulation. The song reached number one because Americans thought it sounded like The Who’s “My Generation.” The fact that it became a classic rock radio standard speaks volumes for our twisted sense of humour.

Trooper – Thick as Thieves, MCA Records (1978)

Raising only a modest amount of hell smacks of Canadian judiciousness. Raise not enough hell and you mightn’t have bothered raising any hell at all. But raise too much hell and you risk all hell breaking loose. A dive bar jukebox anthem if ever there was one, Trooper has likely soundtracked innumerable heavenly revelries.

Bob & Doug McKenzie – The Great White North, Anthem Records (1981)

Pete and Joey, Wayne and Garth, Terry and Deaner, Ricky and Julian — the “hoser” archetype of Bob and Doug best characterizes the Canadian male condition vis-à-vis our American cousins. The tendency to sit around, drink beer, and smoke cigarettes instead of applying one’s ambition is itself among our proudest national ambitions. If you don’t try, you can’t lose.

André Gagnon – Impressions, CBS Records (1983)

There would likely be no Alexandra Stréliski or Jean-Michel Blais were it not for André Gagnon. Impressions manages to skate on the thin ice of melancholy nostalgia without falling through to the treacherous waters of saccharine sentimentality. There is something both beautiful and sad about the desolate Canadian landscape, and this album captures it.

Corey Hart – Boy in the Box, Aquarius Records (1985)

Before MuchMusic and Big Shiny Tunes, there was Video Hits, a half-hour long CBC broadcast of music videos hosted by Samantha Taylor that introduced audiences to a mélange of Canadian and international musicians. It was important that Bryan Adams be given equivalent weight to U2, and Madonna and Bruce Springsteen should rub shoulders with artists like Corey Hart.

Mitsou – El Mundo, Isba Records (1988)

There is an amusing scene from Don McKellar’s T.V. series Twitch City that casts Molly Parker and Callum Keith Rennie as convenience store clerks who dance around to “Bye Bye Mon Cowboy” whilst restocking shelves with tins of soup. Mitsou’s popularity in Toronto demonstrated that Canada’s two solitudes were never really that far apart.

Maestro Fresh-Wes – Symphony in Effect, Lefrak-Moelis Records (1989)

Hip-Hop emerged in full force in the 1980s as an urban cultural form. Cities in Canada provided the population, diversity, and infrastructure to support the domestic rise of an admittedly American artform. Nonetheless, Symphony in Effect was not just a Canadian imitation of rap, but rather an original text that helped to cultivate a thriving culturally specific scene.

Tom Cochrane – Mad Mad World, Capitol Records (1991)

The metaphor of life-as-highway reflects Canada’s expansive geography and invokes our last great nation-building project, the Trans-Canada Highway. Cochrane positioned himself as both tour guide and interpreter of Canada’s acquiescent position within a world that seemed to be gradually becoming less rational at the dawn of the 1990s and has devolved ever since.

Love Inc. – Love Inc., BMG Music (1998)

Chris Sheppard was the entry point for many Canadians into the world of electronic music at a time before A.I., when an air of utopian promise still surrounded new technologies. The earnestness of naming a band as both a corporate entity as well as the most benevolent human emotion illustrated Canada’s innocent sincerity and naïve confidence in human dignity.◼︎

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