54-40 Has Northern Soul: Q & A with Neil Osborne

By Megashaun

There are few Canadian bands who have been around as long as 54-40, and few who remain as consistently active. And as with many bands who’ve been around for any significant amount of time, they’ve gone through a few minor line-up (and wardrobe) changes. Their style, however, remains the same. While each 54-40 record has its own vibe, the songs are at their core heartfelt and sincere if not a little tongue-in-cheek from time to time.

It was 54-40 that set me on my course in life, though neither they nor I would have known it at the time. A small package arrived in the mail one day in 1996. My sister had joined the Columbia House CD club; you’re probably familiar with it. Ten CDs for a penny, but then $25 a pop for the next ten. For some reason, my sister somehow ended up in their Hard Rock/Alternative listener profile, which to this day still boggles the mind since she blew her ten-disc selection on the likes of Mariah Carey, TLC, and Whitney Houston.

The club would send subscribers the featured CD of the month unless the subscriber opted out of receiving it. The package that arrived, in other words, was not asked for. And in this case, it wasn’t wanted. We opened it out of curiosity and slid the jewel case from its cardboard tomb. Four elongated heads stared back at us. My sister was disgusted and may have even wondered out loud what this “crap” was. It was 54-40’s Trusted By Millions. The faces of the band members were somewhat disturbing: elongated, with sinister, dead eyes. They looked evil to me. A UFO was flying above, exiting the frame. It was all so strange to someone whose CD collection consisted entirely of Star Wars soundtracks and one Snoop Doggy Dogg album.

Still, there was something that I found intriguing about it. I put the CD back down on the dining room table. It stayed there for three weeks. The time to return it back to Columbia House was getting closer and closer. My father, who was going to take it to the post office, asked again if neither of us wanted it. I reached out, took it, and headed to my room.

I listened to the album twice in a row. The first time, I didn’t like it. I was not a fan of rock music, and can’t even remember why. On the second listen I found myself tapping along to it, mouthing the choruses, and reading the lyrics.

That summer, I went out and purchased the rest of 54-40’s albums. The band quickly became my favorite band and has remained so since. Through the door they opened for me, I discovered other great musicians and made several friends throughout the years. Music, particularly their music, changed my life. It compelled me to be a rock reporter, buy myself a drum set, and join a band of my own.

54-40, 2007

This September, 54-40 will release Northern Soul. The title track of the album was released online a few months ago, for free, and with a companion video, an animated piece by Toronto artist Sol Friedman. The song’s haunting refrain of “war has taken away our son,” is one that is unfortunately applicable to thousands of people.

The video, much like the band, drew a strong emotional response from me. I sought an interview with Neil Osborne, 54-40’s frontman, about the song and its subject matter. What follows is the email transcript.

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