Back to Basics: The Downie Street Collective Lauds the Purity of the “Analog Man”
Technological Luddism is hardly a new thing among musical purists. But Downie Street Collective are so convincing about it that you might be tempted to chuck your smartphone into the nearest river and retreat to the nearest farm to start raising your own meat.
On their new single, “Analog Man,” the band takes a hard look at the human experience in the age of digital overload. The song, they explain, is meant to decry “the growing dissonance between our innate need for physical, human connection and the increasingly virtual world we inhabit.”
“What is lost when we trade touch for taps, skin for swipes?” they wonder.
The answer, as the song’s probing lyric reveals, includes but is not limited to “Polaroids, an old paper map,” “a 45 I’m dying to spin,” and a bunch of other relics of a simpler time that our traditionalist narrator isn’t ready to let go of. Reaching out to the one he loves across the computerized threshold he abhors—but which he’s almost been forced to acknowledge as a necessary evil—he implores her to:
Send a hug with a digital kiss
The screen reminds of what I’m going to miss
I’m a romantic, I’m an Analog Man
And for a guy like that, the present is a tough place to be. As the picturesque middle verse reveals, it’s like:
A lonely night with echoes and fears
Cellphone is virtually useless in here
The radio plays in and out of tune
A new reality so cold and canned
I want to hold you but I can’t feel your hand
Sometimes it’s tragic to be an Analog Man
By the end, though, the two of them have managed to shake off the high-tech shackles of today and find refuge in the real.
Lay with your heart in mine as we sleep
Laughing in your arms, entwined at the feet
So fantastic being an Analog Man
Some kind of magic being an Analog Man
Not surprisingly, the song was written during the darkest days of the covid lockdowns, when the band members had to resort to desperate measures like driving 45 minutes just to sit on a girlfriend’s back patio and talk on the phone, from opposite sides of a sliding glass door. Or, even more ominously, to meet at a church graveyard at night and try to hold a conversation through heavy masks from 10 feet apart.
When it comes to musical exuberance, though, “Analog Man” is anything but a wake. It’s a jaunty, invigorating little ditty that thoroughly lives up to the band’s extensive list of stated influences: Barenaked Ladies, 54-40, Sloan, Northern Pikes, The Pursuit of Happiness … oh, and Big Sugar, I Mother Earth, The Tragically Hip and The Grapes of Wrath. Appropriate to its subject matter, the song nails the group’s overweening artistic goal of sounding “nostalgic yet fresh,” with a reverb heavy sound and an angular, anxious rhythm that would have been right at home on an episode of Hullabaloo. You could totally do the Swim to it.
Recorded at Westmorland Studio in Hamilton, the track benefited immeasurably from the production of Carl Jennings, whose hands-on approach was just right for the tactile, organic, very human ethos they were all pushing.
“He’s got this great way of hearing you play and then saying, ‘I think what you mean is this …,’ and either vocalizing or playing your intended idea,” the group says. “That way of working really helped us shape the sound.”
“Analog Man” is a new high-water mark In the Downie Street Collective’s ongoing agenda of blending introspective lyricism, emotive vocals, intricate guitar riffs and compelling beats. Not coincidentally, those are the same qualities that have made the group a popular presence in their home of Stratford, Ontario, and beyond, with club audiences and festival crowds alike falling under the spell of their ability to share genuine, resonant emotions via story and song. Each new show wins a flock of fresh converts to the gospel of authenticity laid down by the group’s current lineup of Andy Allen (rhythm guitar and keyboards), Scott Beaudin (lead vocals and keyboards), Peter Dixon (bass), Mark Ippersiel (drums) and Eric Lundgren (lead guitar).
And every time that happens, it’s a victory for the “keepin’ it real” philosophy that “Analog Man”—and the group itself—are all about.
“We as a society seem to rely more now on the digital ‘fix’ than the analog ‘touch’ or ‘presence,’” the band says. “To us, there is nothing that can compare. Or compete.”
Hi, Downie Street Collective! Good to meet you! Care to introduce yourself to the readers?
Absolutely!
A warm, sincere Southwestern-Ontario ‘hello!’ from Andy, Eric, Mark, Peter and Scott, otherwise known as Downie Street Collective. It’s an honour and privilege to share space with you. We also acknowledge that we send this greeting from the traditional lands of the Anishinaabe, the Haudenosaunee and the Attawandaron.
“Analog Man” highlights the tension between digital overload and the need for human connection. What inspired you to explore this theme in your music?
Great question. The impetus of the song was the overwhelming feeling of disconnect and despair that I think we all as artists felt when our worlds literally stopped during the pandemic. The arts were one of the first industries to come to an almost overnight screeching halt and one of the last to open up again. Live music, in particular, completely stopped and was affected the most. We all took to social media to try to connect with our fans. We explored live-casting and streaming concerts. These tools allowed us to keep creating and connect with our fans. But a streamed live performance doesn’t fully capture the tangible energy that you feel both as a performer and as an audience member. We, as musicians, feed off that energy and so does the audience. It’s symbiotic and grows exponentially throughout the performance. That energy simply can’t be reproduced through smartphone or computer speakers. Thumbs up emojis and positive messages just don’t have the feel or feedback as applause or the sound of an audience singing your songs with or back at you. Add to that there was suddenly an explosion of digital platforms to host your virtual concert or new live-streaming sites and apps. Look at Zoom; it exploded almost overnight to be the communication tool of choice for most of the planet. No need to meet in person when you can be remote. While on the one hand it allowed people to be ‘close’ it reinforced that we were separated by and in many ways relied on technology and screens. And we as a society seemed complacent with that. For musicians it creates a literal disconnect which can be toxic, in my opinion, for truly feeling the rush, the feeling of community and the sonic joy that only a live show can produce.
The song was written during the covid lockdowns. How did that period of isolation influence the lyrics and overall tone of “Analog Man”?
The majority of the lyrics come from experiences that Nick Bastian, who co-wrote the song,and I had with our then-partners.
I remember having to drive 45 minutes to sit on my partner-at-the-time’s patio and talk to each other on our phones, separated by a sliding glass door. It was so frustrating and surreal. There was no way to get any tactile feedback which is extremely important to me. It reminded me of those movie prisoner visitation scenes.
Likewise Nick had to meet his then-partner at a church graveyard at night and shared with me his frustrations trying to have a heart-felt conversation from ten feet away with most of the conversation being muffled by makeshift masks. In the dark. So those two experiences laid the groundwork for the lyrics and the shape of the song.
The song references the challenges of maintaining relationships in a tech-driven world. How do you think technology is impacting modern relationships, and the music industry as an indie band?
Another fantastic question.
I think we run a huge risk in assuming that a text or emoji, when we’re busy, can be as sufficient as a two minute check-in phone call. I personally want to communicate to my friends and loved ones using senses other than sight. I’d much rather someone actually hear from me that I miss them or I’m going to be late rather than Skynet doing it for me. As a band, technology makes scheduling and ‘paper-trailing’ easier but I still write my set list out with ink and paper. Sometimes in cursive.
As for the music industry itself, it’s truly a blessing and a curse. On the one hand technology has come so far and allows us as musicians to create new sonic landscapes and textures. It allows me as a fan, for example to dive down a rabbit hole of info to discover, for example, how to recreate a Depeche Mode sample or David Gilmour’s ‘Comfortably Numb’ guitar tone. That avenenue can lead to more creativity, certainly.
However, that same technology and rabbit-holing can allow us to replace an orchestra with a keyboard. Whilst that takes talent and creativity it displaces real flesh and musicians and their ability to make a living after one studio recording.
As a band from Stratford, Ontario, how does your local environment influence your creative process and the themes in your music?
Stratford is such a great place to live and work as an artist. We’ve had some pretty famous people live and work here. It’s a great example of an arts/industry town. For those unfamiliar with Stratford, we are home to the Stratford Festival of Canada, a four theatre organization that employs a great deal of the arts community in one form or another.
The first lineup of the band consisted of members of the acting and production companies.
As far as themes, our name is derived from the street in front of the theatre where Scott (Beaudin, lead singer) and I work at. When we were brainstorming names, one of the members looked out the window of the coffee shop we were in and asked “Why not Downie Street?”. It stuck.
Another advantage of being in a town of creatives allows us to have amazing and diverse guest artists perform with us. We have the great fortune, especially in our local shows, to showcase members of the Festival company with us to create a different feel and vibe for songs and shows. It leans heavily on our Collective idea.
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