That's what the poster called it so that's what I'm calling it, at least once. And probably never again.
Let us briefly recap my history with Fred Eaglesmith, such as it is. For a long time, people have told me that I'd like his music. How long? The first song of his I ever heard was Time to Get a Gun, which Apple Music tells me came out 21 years ago. That was also the only song of his I heard for years. There were always other shows to go to, other CDs to buy. I don't know what my excuse was in the Napster era but I clearly had one. Finally, two years ago (to the day, as I'm writing this), he came through town and the stars aligned (meaning I bought an advance ticket so I wasn't likely to back out at the last minute) and I got the chance to see him. And sure enough, I had a really enjoyable time.
This time out, I got to the Exchange a few minutes before the show was set to start. It seemed a fair bit less busy than last time; I don't attribute that to anything other than it being harder to get people out on a Sunday night than a Saturday. I took a seat in the back along the wall.
Right on time, we were joined by Fred Eaglesmith and Tif Ginn. And a kid? Their kid, specifically. Or so they said. I mean, I don't know this kid. He's in Grade 4 (home-schooled, or rather, "bus-schooled") and his name is Blue, and he also has a real name that's not Blue, but does that matter? All three of them sang two songs, then Blue sang a song by himself that he wrote about a puppy, then all three sang another song. Just as I was thinking "so... is the whole show going to be this?" Blue was done. Eaglesmith made what I thought was a joke about sending Blue to work the merch table, but I'm pretty sure that's what he actually did.
This was, thus far, not my thing. One song would have been cute. Four? And it wasn't like the kid was bad. It's just... let me tell you this. When I was roughly that kid's age, my dad bought me my first cassette player. He also got me two tapes, which I can only describe as wild-ass guesses as to my 10-year-old musical tastes: a Mini-Pops collection (if you're younger than me, or possibly not Canadian, think Kidz Bop) and the greatest hits of Kenny Rogers. Despite only owning two cassettes for a while, I never even once made it through the first side of that Mini-Pops tape. Not my thing. I listened to a LOT of Kenny Rogers.
I may as well add here that when I was in high school, my dad also got me my first CD player and made a similar wild-ass guess as to what I'd like for my first two CDs and they were Tone-Loc's Loc'ed After Dark and the Days of Thunder soundtrack. Days of Thunder got played only slightly longer than the Mini-Pops but at least it had Knockin' on Heaven's Door on it.
Anyway, back to the topic at hand. The rest of the show was pretty much exactly like that one two years ago. I recognized some of the same songs. He told some of the same jokes. Ginn sang a song or two on her own and sassed him a bit and played everything from ukulele to melodica to accordion to drums.
And like before, Fred spent a lot of time talking to the audience. The theme of "let's all get along and everybody be nice to each other" is coming up a lot at these shows lately, and I get why, and I'm going to endorse it every time out (even though I don't always do the best job of living it myself). The talk about "can you believe people buy expensive TVs to watch millionaires throw the ball around," though - kinda hackneyed and also not real high on my list of pressing concerns these days.
I don't generally mind when a show feels a lot like one that came before it, as long as the one that came before it was good. This time, though, I wasn't feeling the start and so it took me quite a while to warm up to things. Which isn't really fair - most of the show was what I was wanting. Eaglesmith mixes equal parts storytelling, humour, and commentary, an appealing mix which makes his songs quite listenable. And the sound at the Exchange was fantastic; I'm hardly even an Eaglesmith neophyte, much less an expert, but I could easily make out every word. The music sounded great as well. Really, everything was fine, just felt a bit like a rerun that I wasn't quite as into the second time around.
This marks the third time I have seen Hawksley Workman's musical/cabaret/ode to debauchery The God That Comes (and it would have also been the fourth time, had Mark's sinuses not revolted earlier in the week)