He wears a T-shirt that reads: “Man Whore.” And he’s pimping for Canadian music.
Jian Ghomeshi, of Moxy Früvous (the seminal pre-Barenaked Ladies Canadian novelty band) is frantic. It’s a day before the CBC’s Great Canadian Music Dream—which he hosts—goes to air and his phone is ringing off the hook as assistants hustle around his office. Ghomeshi is the calm eye at the centre of this publicity hurricane. “I feel like I should have a cigar,” he jokes, gesturing at his jittering cell phone.
The Great Canadian Music Dream, at first blush, comes off like a Canadianized version of American Idol with Hinterland Who’s Who production values. The premise is simple: Ghomeshi hosts a series of live music shows—taped in theatres across the country on a pared-down set—and the studio audience plus a jury of music industry movers and shakers cast their ballots for the best act of the five presented at each hour-long show. After each episode airs, TV audiences can chime in with their votes by phone or Web, which are added to the live audience and jury tally. The winners from each regional contest will compete in a final showdown and the grand prize winner gets a feature special on the Mother Corporation.
“There is a place in all of this to create the conditions for actual young artists to perform,” says Ghomeshi. He insists the show is about allowing local talent to flourish, not providing brash entertainment value. Viewers of the show’s American precursors are well aware of the outright brutal tactics used by, say, the American Idol jury to winnow out the Christina Aguileras of tomorrow. If anything, The Great Canadian Music Dream is American Idol’s diametric opposite. The set is bland, the audience is placid, corn-fed and white bread and the “backstage” artist intro segments and voiceovers are so full of saccharine platitudes they could induce Type II diabetes. But Ghomeshi still says the show is more “real” than American Idol could ever be.
“[Reality TV] is a misnomer,” he claims. “We’re socialized to expect this fast-cut editing that is designed to show backbiting, enmity, tears, drama…it’s like an edition of The Love Boat: someone wins at the end, and says goodbye to Gopher.
“If people tune in to see another version of The Bachelorette or American Idol, they’re going to be disappointed. [The Great Canadian Music Dream] is more reflective of reality. In the Canadian music business, people don’t really hate each other that much.”
That may be, but after all—just like the Yanks—don’t we crave the sight of Paula Abdul verbally eviscerating some fresh-faced farm girl until she bursts into tears before an audience of millions? Will the Great White North actually buy into this kind and gentle Star Search?
“I don’t know,” admits Ghomeshi. “I think the psychology [of voting] will be very interesting…. I think somebody could hit a wrong note, but that won’t be why they win or lose.”
Bottom line: The Great Canadian Music Dream is kind of like figure skating. Nobody gives a damn whether or not the new ice-dance sensation from Cornwall nails that triple lutz—we want to see him sweating it out on the ice, earnest and glorious, giving his all.
And, like our skaters, Ghomeshi makes it clear the artists on his show have real talent; they’re not manufactured American Idol’s one-trick ponies. “These are real, live, fleshy, actual artists,” he says. “These are indie bands who are out there in the clubs, struggling.”
As real and as Canadian as it sounds, it might not make for compelling television. In the Vancouver episode of the show, which aired yesterday, a string quartet faced off against a punk/indie band and a female vocalist. This bizarre juxtaposition may bewilder the average viewer into flipping over to Joe Millionaire.
But, as Ghomeshi says, “There’s a lot of stuff on Canadian TV that I kind of go—‘Who’s gonna watch that?’—and it pulls in two million people.”
So do we have a new hit on our hands? We are, after all, responsible for Rita McNeil.
’Nuff said.
