Canadianity

by Jeremy Taggart

  That initial buzz from the States was so intoxicating; we chased it like a donkey after a dangled carrot for the rest of my days in OLP. It was quite crippling in many ways. To start something on the basis of pure expression and individuality, but then respect boundaries that are created and imposed by modern radio is, to me, a serpent eating its own tail. And that can be very frustrating indeed. To change in spite of your gut instinct, or ignore it completely, is very difficult and dangerous. You become too much like your surroundings and you shallow out. It’s not easy, and probably necessary to prolong a career, but it’s completely alien to me. I’m not good at it. I know this 100 percent because I tried and tried.

  When I decided to leave OLP, I was really starting to feel blind in too many ways. I didn’t understand how things were happening, and I was tired of arguing about which way the ship should sail. Twenty-one years is a long time to do anything—a very long time. I felt it was time to get control of my own life, and the moment I decided this was to be, I felt the release of something huge come away and off me. I know from that feeling that I made the right decision. Never ignore your instincts, bahds. They’re all we really have to find our way in the world.

  Trailer Park Boys II Men

  Torrens

  In the spring of 2016, Trailer Park Boys was renewed by Netflix for its eleventh season. There was so much to like about the Netflix experience. No executive in charge giving inane notes. They really trust the key creatives to make the show they bought in the first place. It’s awesome, actually, the way they’ve raised the bar for other networks, because the traditional development system doesn’t work so well in Canada.

  To tell the truth, I’d made my mind up to leave the show when Clattenburg left right after the third movie. He’d brought me in originally, and I felt pretty happy with what I’d accomplished with the character. Again, it’s the delicate dance between maximizing an opportunity and leaving the door open for others. I didn’t want to be J-Roc for the rest of my life. There were other voices, other characters in my head that wanted out.

  But I admired the three boys for taking a giant leap and acquiring the rights to the series. They’d been out on the road and were convinced that there was still an appetite for the show.

  They were right. In fact, you could argue that once it landed on Netflix, it really started to take off. Around the world, certainly.

  The three guys complement each other very well in that Wizard of Oz kind of way. Mike has courage. Robb has brains. John Paul has heart. Together, they cover all the bases, but some fans would argue it was best when there was a wizard named Mike Clattenburg working his magic behind the scenes.

  It’s fairly evident in the later seasons that Mike Smith has a darker, more shock-oriented sense of humour than Clattenburg. Clattenburg softened the hard edges with kitties, gut slaps and genuine love. Smith can be raunchier and more prone to sexual gags and visual-anatomy humour—people pooing themselves, boners and such.

  No question he’s a great writer, though, with a very strong sense of story and flow.

  I was on the fence about coming back when they asked, even though playing that character is one of the most fun things I’ve ever done and the three guys are all genuinely fun to be around. Somehow, the show itself was always bigger than the sum of its sometimes-dysfunctional parts.

  I initially said no, but Mike Smith asked if I would shoot a few days just to explain what happened to the character. That seemed like a reasonable request, so I agreed. That was season 8.

  When the show was picked up yet again for season 9, I intended to say no. Carole and I were talking about it and—like a good partner does—she said, “I feel like it’s my job to point out that you came home beaming from each of those days you did last year. Say no if you want, but maybe ask yourself why it is you’re saying no.”

  She was right. As she so often is. It was fun.

  I realized that my reluctance was rooted in worry that Mike Clattenburg and Mike Volpe (my good friend and producer of Mr. D) would feel slighted or betrayed. So I told both of them about my concerns and that I was choosing to do Trailer Park Boys, but I wasn’t picking sides and I hoped it was okay, but it was shooting near my house and I had a family to feed, and, and, and . . .

  They were both perfect gentlemen about it and immediately endorsed my decision. Clattenburg went so far as to say he was glad I’d be involved. True class.

  So I jumped into season 9 with vigour. I was back in the writer’s room and even directed a few episodes. Talk about big shoes to fill, but I’d learned a lot by osmosis from watching Clatty all those years. Plus, if ever there was an aesthetic I could achieve, it had to be that one.

  We gave J-Roc a kid named M.C. Flurry, which felt like great new territory to pursue. J-Roc as a new dad mirrored my real-life experience, and it felt like there was a lot to play there. It played out like an ABC after-school special in J-Roc’s unique patois.

  In season 10 we elevated J-Roc’s storyline again, giving him a new wife from Mexico called Marsha, and now he had to balance the relationships in his new blended family. We added the risky but challenging layer of Marsha not knowing he wasn’t Hispanic, so he had to speak with a Spanish accent in front of her. Definitely high concept, but most fans of the show seemed to really dig it.

  If I’m being honest, a nagging feeling started to gnaw at me during season 10. It felt like the agenda of the show was starting to collide with the personal agendas of those who made it, resulting in some curious creative choices. Getting Snoop Dogg to be on the show was a coup, I guess, but seemed to me, at least, like quite a shoehorn from a plausibility standpoint. Same with Jimmy Kimmel appearing via Skype. Pretty hard to justify that under the umbrella of likely. Then Tom Arnold was added to the cast. Then weed comic Doug Benson.

  My first instinct was that maybe Snoop could play Calvin, someone’s cousin from away. To me, that would’ve been so much cooler. Have Snoop on playing against type, but never shine a light on his real identity.

  Don’t get me wrong—it’s cool and inconceivable that these folks even know about the show, let alone dig it. But it felt a bit like grandstanding for the sole purpose of saying, “Look who we know!” When season 10 came out, reaction among diehard TPB fans to the celebrity cameo factor seemed mixed.

  But one thing the three guys know about is their brand and how to maximize it. There’s no denying these high-profile names extended the show’s reach. Snoop was a super-nice guy and his posse was awesome. It was actually really fun to have them around. Tom Arnold was maybe the biggest surprise for me. He’s kind, humble and funny. We’d never had that gear on the show before, the “holy shit this place is awful,” wide-eyed wonder.

  I wasn’t asked back in the writer’s room for season 11. Maybe because I flagged my discomfort at a few of the things I thought crossed the line, maybe because I was verbal about feeling lukewarm towards the cameos. Maybe because I’m not a good writer. In any event, I had a brief email exchange with Smith about what the boys saw J-Roc doing in season 11 and it sounded like there would be no Marsha, no Flurry, just back to rolling with T. There was some mention of there being a strip club where they would work. I wasn’t sure how J-Roc could just go back to pre-family styles.

  As I was trying to somehow get psyched for season 11, there were some unfortunate high-profile off-screen occurrences involving cast members. It’s not my place to go into them in detail here, but it’s relevant for context because they definitely factored into my decision to leave the show.

  One of my side hustles is corporate hosting work in the States, and when these conservative companies started hearing about these antics, they questioned whether they should remain associated with me, someone from the show. They were suddenly asking me not to mention my affiliation with TPB. It became very uncomfortable. These gigs provide a great revenue stream for me and my family that may last for another twenty years. Nothing is worth jeopardizing that. What it comes down to is if I’m up for a gig again
st someone else who doesn’t have that potentially negative association, all things otherwise being equal, I’d lose out every time. There’s enough risk in corporate America. Booking some guy as a host who is part of a show that’s been in the headlines for suspect reasons simply isn’t worth it.

  Look, lots of people have asked if there was one specific thing that led to my departure. The short answer is no. There were several small things that added up to one crystal-clear decision.

  And so, after ten seasons, three movies, two specials and more laughs than I could ever count, I made the decision to hang up the ol’ do-rag.

  Clear and direct communication has always been a problem that plagued Trailer Park Boys. Like in many workplaces, whispered fractured conversations take the place of outward ones. This breeds paranoia and leaves people feeling out of the loop or even unaware of what the common goal is. That’s dangerous in any environment, but especially in a creative one.

  In this case, I had a great conversation with the three guys. Really great. Candid and respectful, as gentlemen and friends. I prefaced it by saying a hard conversation is so much better than not having one, and they seemed to agree. I started by saying that what anyone does in their private life is none of my concern, other than I’m genuinely worried about people I care about. But it becomes my business when it affects my income and reputation. We volleyed the tricky situation back and forth to work out a way forward and arrived at a satisfactory conclusion that would see me still involved, but to a lesser degree. I was happy with that, and they said they were too.

  Later that day, I heard from their producer that there had been a change of heart about the course of action we’d all agreed on hours before.

  I copied the guys on my response, reinforcing that we’d all agreed just that morning on the importance of clear and direct communication, but I never heard back from them.

  Actually, I got an email from J.P. on the side a couple of days later. The heart. Hoping things were cool.

  Things are cool. I don’t regret my decision to leave even one bit, and it’s certainly not like the entire franchise hinged on my being there. It’s my prerogative to see what else is out there, just as much as it’s theirs to suck the marrow out of that TPB bone until it cracks.

  The biggest lesson I’ve learned in life and in my professional career is to calmly and respectfully speak one’s mind. It’s show business, not show feelings.

  It’s weird how sometimes we get into the habit of not saying anything because we don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings, but it ends up being way worse in the long run. That tack never works.

  In life, in work, in relationships, you might as well say what you’re thinking, because that’s the stuff that will eat you alive.

  Fans of the show were very kind (for the most part) in wishing me well and thanking me for the memories the character had made for them. It was overwhelming, actually, the impact that show had/has on its audience. As I said at the time, the true legacy of Trailer Park Boys will always be the loyalty of its fans.

  In December 2016, a guy sent me a tweet asking how much he’d have to donate to a shelter to get a signed J-Roc picture. The truth is, I didn’t have any pictures, so I replied by saying, “How about this—for anyone who sends proof of a $50 donation to any shelter or food bank, I’ll record a custom J-Roc greeting for whoever you want!”

  Holy cow, did that thing snowball. That’s one of the great things about the internet. The donations started rolling in and people were getting them as Christmas presents. “Can you do one for my cousin Kyle? Make sure to say mafk!” “Could you do one for the boys in the fire hall? End it with Raaaaaaaaaay!”

  Over the next two weeks, I recorded more than five hundred messages. Mostly as J-Roc, but the odd Gordon Lightfoot or Robert Cheeley (my character on Mr. D) too. I sent them to people in eight countries.

  And we raised more than $30,000 for food banks and shelters. All because of one tweet. Felt like the perfect way to say goodbye to the character. Nomesayin?

  Frig Off, Peckers

  Torrens

  In the fall of 2016, Taggart and I decided to do a few more TnT live dates around the Maritimes. My mother wasn’t well so I had to stay relatively local, and by touring the Maritimes I could be within three hours of Halifax if I had to get back for any reason.

  With the help of our homie Nick Zildjian, we geared up the Frig Off Peckers tour, named after Andrea’s catchphrase, and booked shows in Charlottetown, Fredericton and Halifax.

  We really wanted to go to Newfoundland too, but the reality is, it’s very cost-prohibitive. We make a bit of cash on some of the dates thanks to merch sales, but it costs a fair bit to fly where we need to be, and then pay the venue and cover expenses like hotels, food and rental cars.

  But some things you do for love and some things you do for money. And as someone who grew up in a region that not every band made it to, I know how much that sucks. Plus, if ever there’s a place riddled with bahds, it’s Newfoundland. So when I found a couple of decently priced flights from Halifax to St. John’s, we thought, what the heck. We can’t claim we toured the country and preach Canadianity without going from coast to coast, so let’s do it.

  We booked a show at the Ship Pub and our friends Fortunate Ones helped promote it.

  I’d personally been road-banging pretty hard, doing corporates, and had just returned from overseas when Frig Off Peckers started. The ghirlst were still on European time, so they were getting up at four in the morning and the long days were catching up with me.

  The first night in Charlottetown was great. It’s always fun to be home, and the Prince Edward Island Brewing Company is a wonderful, cozy venue. It was fun to see Taggart face to face, and the adrenalin got us through.

  The next day, we drove from PEI to Fredericton and I was starting to lose my voice. I assumed it was just fatigue from a late night and early morning. By five o’clock, though, I couldn’t even talk above a whisper. I was lying in my hotel room, trying to decide what to do. Should we cancel? Could we come up with a creative way to do the show that didn’t involve me talking? That seemed difficult. But then I saw a tweet from a listener. “Just found a sitter for tonight. Can’t wait to see the bahds!”

  I thought that, given the spirit and warmth of the people who listen and come to our shows, they would understand that this was beyond my control. I’d just be upfront and honest about the situation.

  So the show went on. You know what? It was extra special. I started by saying if anyone wanted their money back due to my voice—or lack thereof—they were more than welcome to it. I then plopped a $20 bill on the table in front of us and said the only caveat was that they’d have to come take it during the show.

  Ice broken. We played Blank-Lookin’ Mafk with whiteboards that Jer and Lisa had scored at Dollarama. We did a sketch where I was the Vannellis’ father, so it made sense that I would speak in a whisper. It couldn’t have gone better.

  The next two shows were in Halifax, at the Seahorse. Another warm, squishy TnT venue, like the Carleton, where we had played the last time we were in Halifax.

  Some Canadianity for you: the Carleton is run by Mike Campbell of Mike & Mike’s Excellent X-Canada Adventures fame. That show was one of the early staples on MuchMusic and, in a way, its dynamic was not unlike the one that Jer and I have.

  The Seahorse is owned by Victor Syperek, a Hali-famous person who used to work as an art director in film before designing several of Halifax’s most famous and gorgeous haunts, the Shoe Shop and the Press Gang among them.

  I was happy to be in Halifax for two shows because it’s home, but also because it meant I could visit my mom on both days. At the time, Susan was seventy-six. She’d been suffering from Alzheimer’s for a couple of years, and though she was a little repetitive and didn’t have great problem-solving skills, she still knew who we were and didn’t have the angry or disoriented spells that so many Alzheimer’s patients and loved ones have to deal with.


  We’d also just learned that Susan had a pretty good-sized tumour in her lungs. The doctor felt, as we did, that she didn’t have the will or stamina to get treatment, and we were well aware that neither of these issues would get better, only worse.

  She had been living in a healthcare facility in Halifax called Northwood Manor for several months. It’s a wonderful place where residents live (as opposed to “wait to die”), and the staff there is simply unrivalled. They love the residents. You often see them dancing with them, teasing them, painting their nails. I grew to really love going to visit my mom there because it was so uplifting. But I was feeling some guilt. Here she was, her quality of life diminishing, while I travelled and worked and parented and did whatever else.

  There’s a hospice coordinator at Northwood whose name is Mary. She might be the person who’s most in the job that’s right for them that I’ve ever met in my life.

  My sister Marj and I were meeting with her about what to expect and what came next and probable timelines. That kind of stuff. I confessed I was feeling guilty about travelling for work and asked whether I should cancel everything. Mary said that they encourage people in our position to do three things.

  1.Tell your loved one exactly how you feel about them every time you see them.

  2.Carry on with your life and travels.

  3.Tell them where you’re going and for how long. That way, if they choose to wait for you to return, they can. But they also may be waiting for you to go away because they don’t want you to be around for their departure.

  What a mind-blowing moment that was. Thinking about someone “deciding” to go when they were ready gave me such an incredible perspective on life.

  I thought about it. I’d always been very vocal about how much I loved my mom. I teased her mercilessly and she loved it. She’d been vocal about how much she adored Carole and the girls. How she was so happy for me that I was so happy.