Protectionism has a bad name among economists, but as with most things, in some circumstances it’s absolutely the right thing for a country to do if it wants to grow a particular industry.
For Canada in the early days of rock music, the danger was the domination of the its music industry and airwaves by the cultural behemoth to its south. The answer was the Canadian content laws, adopted in 1971, which dictated radio stations devote a certain percentage of air time (25% at first, now 40%) to Canadian singers and bands. As a result, the country has a thriving home-grown music scene. Occasionally acts break through internationally (and hey, thanks a pantload for Bryan Adams), but most fly under our radar, creating a parallel universe Americans would recognize but have never seen.
To illustrate, you’ve probably never heard of Toronto — not the city, the band, named for where they formed in the late ’70s. Ironically, a majority of its members were Americans, led by North Carolina-born front woman Holly Woods, who moved there from San Francisco. They were one of Canada’s biggest bands for the first half of the ’80s, but they never broke through in the states (we got Loverboy instead). This was their only Billboard chart entry — it topped out at No. 77.
I never would have heard the song if the Canadian supergroup the New Pornographers hadn’t covered it in 2003 — for a Canadian-produced movie, naturally, called “FUBAR.” They sped it up just a tiny bit, but it makes a big difference in the energy level, and Niko Case does Woods’ original justice.
Toronto might have missed its chance at international fame when it recorded this song in 1982 but failed to include it on the LP it was intended for. Three years later a more heavily produced version became a Top 10 hit for another band that featuring women on vocals and guitar, Heart. Woods hits some notes on the fadeout that even Ann Wilson, who has a fine set of pipes, could only dream of.
