2020, You were supposed to be the cool uncle (Jesse)

2020, You were supposed to be the cool uncle (Jesse)

By JP Hoe

When the clock struck midnight January 1, 2020 I remember laughing at the year that finally ran out. I dislocated my shoulder, had ulcers, and my appendix removed after scooting with Parker on the first day of school…my body was changing the terms of our agreement. That being said, I made it out. Professionally, a few less milestones than I would have preferred, no European tours, but, I was stockpiling demos eager to get back in the studio in 2020. Personally, we were on an adventure managing Parker’s hockey team and “embracing” the weekly weekend 7 AM practices. At home we were savouring watching Mara’s personality reveal itself daily, and Linds and I felt the level of exhaustion we were attempting to live with, meant we were doing it right. 

Don't get too comfortable with who you are at any given time - you may miss the opportunity to become who you want to be. - Jon Bon Jovi  

And then 2020. It started normally enough; I taught ukulele to some of my favourite people in February, followed by a warm family holiday in March, only to be locked down 2 days into the trip. The novelty of the situation only somewhat dampened the experience, including cancelling my first father/son trip with Parker, but we had food, access to hiking trails, our baseball gloves and access to a pool. No complaints.

Upon return to Winnipeg, we began our first quarantine. Hanging out in close quarters, snacking every 20 mins, learning about Queen Elsa and the company of Frozen, having people drop off food or treats, and expecting the situation to blow over, as every other international situation has done in my life.

But it didn’t. It hasn’t. 

It dawned on me that the privileged infrastructure we have enjoyed and taken for granted, was cracking. Everyday, another news story, another pot hole. All the while, grim reports from all over the world came at us from all angles. Italy, France, Brazil, Quebec and then the US. What the hell was happening? It was easy to judge others while we had a relatively small outbreak in Manitoba. And slowly, as their tragedies continued to pile up, the realness of the situation was unavoidable, even for the lucky ones like us.

Lindsay was working overtime the minute she landed in March. She works on acquiring and managing the plasma that’s used in hyperimmune drugs, and her company was developing a COVID drug, with a sense of urgency I didn’t know was possible. I imagined she arrived at the office, took her arm and in one fell swoop swept all the papers, trinkets and framed photos from the woman’s desk she took over. She proceeded to spend 60 hours a week with her team trying to be part of the solution. It was a challenge. The days were physically and psychologically draining on her, which in turn always affects the family. Everyone acknowledged it, put their heads down and plowed forward, but it didn’t make it any easier. We didn’t see her much from March until July. The three of us at home had small tears, but Lindsay was coming apart at the seams. Even with all of life’s luxuries and amenities, we were wounded as a unit. Mara did not adapt well to home life, and not being able to see mom for entire days added to her disgust in the situation. 

JP’s Covid Beattitudes: 

Blessed be the boy child Parker for being calm and cool, for he shall be a light in all future storms.

Blessed be the many dishes skipped, without their knocking would we be here?

And blessed be the new Xbox and Disney+ subscription for their distractions, may their ear worms provide wisdom should we ever find ourselves in the past running a town in Norway.

We made it to summer and Lindsay’s work dialled down somewhat while they started to test the drug. Sweet relief for us all. Locally, covid numbers were down to the single digits. We collectively gloated in our prairie Camelot; presuming we were more powerful than this invisible illness. Though the worst was yet to come, we took advantage of sun and relaxed protocols, spending time with friends and family, stockpiling the chance to see faces.

Sadly at the end of July, I received word my friend Sophie. A sweet nine year old I had met 4 years ago, who was an amazing artist, and even kinder person was losing a battle with cancer. The chance to help was offered to me, and I ran with it. I called upon friends to help and they came in spades. We recorded a 2 hour folk festival called Sophest; video performances and well wishes were blended with live performance from the band. How bittersweet. The first chance to play together, see each other during the pandemic was under tragic circumstances. I’ll remain grateful we all had a chance to focus on making someone else’s life a little better and ignore the small sacrifices we were personally making at home. Sophie was the best. Her parents are amazing, and I’m the lucky one who was welcomed into her glow. We lost Sophie in September, and I will carry her with me.

As fall approached, we started bracing for the second wave. I started noticing how people were getting fatigued; the novelty worn off, the feeling that bad things were on the horizon, and this time around we weren’t going to have the same group mentality we had in the spring. 

I played in a handful of socially distanced concerts, and though each one brought with it a moment of joy, it was quickly followed by the cold truth that it was about to get worse, my industry and my livelihood were in peril and only time and a collective effort would lift us out from the rut. At the time, there was no firm talk of vaccine approval or timetables. Public gatherings were correctly being shut down. The future seemed bleak. When would we play again? Maybe 2021. More likely 2022. And even then, what’s the landscape? Can I ride this out? Should I ride this out? All the while, people are dying and getting sick, and I’m worried about playing songs. Guilt comes in many shades.

Meanwhile, plans for the holiday show changed every couple of days. The show that has morphed into a tradition for so many and which requires so much forethought and attention to details, was unlikely to happen. We flirted with doing it at the Burt. We talked about performing outside at a large stage. We talked about shooting a 90 minute performance/movie that would have ended with all of us being chased by security guards and arrested, while the Christmas Waltz & credits played, a la Die Hard. I would fall in love with each concept, only to be dumped moments later, and have to start swiping right again. I was losing sleep and sanity trying to predict where we would be come December. It didn’t help that my friends in the band, were not interested in any risky behaviour and I agreed. 

How do you make something, you’re not allowed to make?

Finally, after realizing I’d be happy to bring happiness to even 100 people, I decided December 1 to do a little show from the home studio. I would try to make some funny videos, send out the chords and lyrics so people could play along, and have the family (the only legally allowed people on the property) push a couple fo buttons. I spent 17 days writing and recording and editing, learning on the fly, hoping to make this special for everyone. I refused to be the cherry on top of this disappointment sundae of a year. I wanted to help. It helped me to help others. 

As many of you saw, the night of was unique. After many online concerts leading up to the virtual holiday Show, all the kinks were worked out. I updated the software 2 days prior to the show and tested, tested, tested. The kids were ready, having fully charged the iPad to watch something more interesting than dad that night. We were set. I thought we were set. As it turned out, that software update had a glitch. It lead to a surreal moment in my life. where 1000 links (2-6 people per link) watched in real time my fiasco to occur (side note: please go listen to This American Life’s episode called ‘Fiasco’). The video stopped sending video, feedback issues were smacking every listener and Lindsay and I looked at each other blankly, without a sense of what to do. 20 minutes later, we settled upon, “If you can hear me, we’re a go.” and the rest of the night was like a dream. I didn’t know what people heard or saw, I just decided I should keep going. I’ll play and lose myself in the songs I’ve been writing about winter after winter for as long as I can remember. I’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow.

The show ended. 

I drove a freezing Ariane Jean home. She had been singing from the inside of our outdoor 15 ft snow globe we inflated, had a camera focused on and was meant to be our special end of the night treat. I don’t remember the drive, I just knew I was still alive. We were still alive. We have shelter, food and a community. What just happened will certainly stay with me forever, but it’s lasting effects are going to be more about resilience and accepting problems beyond your control. They will be about feeling empathy for people trying to help, trying to troubleshoot in a world completely foreign to them (see Lindsay), while tending to 2 kids on the ground beside her. It will be gratitude for my friends who helped me make content (Derek, Luke, Jason, Matthew, Rebecca, Rusty, Lloyd, David, Sandy, Matt), and then brought me a traditional cheeseburger when I returned from driving Ariane home (Geung). I will remember the moment I accepted my fate during the show, and could draw upon the years of disastrous performances which taught me to not be so precious. You’ll be fine. These online concerts really do a number on your perception of reality. I knew you were all out there, and yet, in the studio was just us. My family. People I love. I always tell Parker, “Nobody died. Nobody lost a million dollars. We’ll be fine.” We had chips and diet cokes on stand by.  

Finally, the best part of the holiday show, was the unintended surprise that Victoria + Dan (Side Door Access) created on their end. With hundreds of cameras on, they manufactured a 2 hour long moment of togetherness. I received messages of people crying, people not feeling alone, people needing this moment. It was me on a frozen screen, but it was us together. I’ve come down from the moment, and like you, have been celebrating the joy of the arrival of vaccines, then immediately being sucker punched with the hate and ignorance stoked so close to us.

Assuming restrictions ease in the next couple of months, I’ll finally get to start pre production on the new record, and plan to head back out into the world, and catch up with so many people that hold a special place in my heart. Thank you to the crowd funding campaigners who believe in me and the music I make. Thank you to the companies who threw me a lifeline this fall with digital concerts for employees. And thank you to everyone who participated in the holiday show. It’s tough to square how much hope there is when you spend any amount of time watching the news, but it’s there. I don’t know where we go from here, but I do know that one glitch can lead to absolutely beauty.