Lessons From Punk Rock University

What music taught me about Canada

"I learned more from a three-minute record than I ever learned in school." – Bruce Springsteen

During my two decades in Canada's House of Commons, I was often called a punk rock politician. The skills I brought to Parliament came from years on the road playing punk rock bars and honky-tonks across this vast land. I still play music to this day. And I continue to carry the punk rock ethos of resistance and DIY.

My background was always a source of confusion for the officials in Parliament. Staff at the Library of Parliament often made calls to my office looking to update my official bio.

"We note that Mr. Angus hasn't posted any of his academic credentials," the librarian would say. "Could you have Mr. Angus forward us his academic background?"

My staff always gave the same answer:

"Charlie is a graduate of Punk Rock University."

(Parliament, however, never posted my alma mater.)

Charlie Angus on stage with L'Étranger, early 1980s

I quit school and went on the road with a punk band when I was 18. My bandmate Andrew Cash also became a Member of Parliament.

Fun fact: we are the only two members of the Westminster system of Parliament that opened for the Dead Kennedys.

And so, yes, I've been standing up to fascists for a long, long time. Here's an interview from back in the day about taking on the Nazis.

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The road was where I fell in love with the incredible beauty of Canada. It was also a powerful apprenticeship in building a team and organizing.

The truth is that four musicians with instruments are never really a band until they have travelled together in a van.

For some, the experience of having to stick together in a van for endless hours is enough of a wake-up call to make you quit and go back to school. But for me, it was a joy to travel the immense distances of this beautiful country.

It was a rite of passage to see the fog-shrouded St. Lawrence for the first time, watch dawn rise in the fields of Manitoba, pull over at 3 AM to watch the northern lights dance over the Yellowhead Highway or drive the nose-bleed heights of the Kicking Horse Pass.

The beauty of this nation has stayed with me in the work I do and the songs I write:

My first van tour was in a beat-up 1969 Econoline van with standard transmission.

First gear often didn't work. If we stopped to fill up with gas, the band had to get out and push the fully loaded van while the driver tried to get it into second. Then, we would all run alongside and jump in the open door.

True story.

That van carried all our gear, four musicians and two roadies. Sleeping was done on a makeshift mattress thrown on top of the gear in the back or with one band member sleeping on the floor while others had to keep their booted feet up on the backseat. Seatbelts were optional then.

There were no cell phones. No Google Maps. The radio rarely worked. We stayed awake telling stories and arguing — music, hockey, religion, and politics.

I remember an entire tour out to Halifax where we argued relentlessly about the meaning and ethics of Bruce Cockburn's song If I Had a Rocket Launcher. We argued equally passionately about whether the Toronto Maple Leafs could escape the endless string of bad years.

I learned how to drive on narrow northern highways and all-night journeys in that van. I learned what it meant to become a team with our own mythologies and certitude.

You don't get to be a prima donna or a jerk in the van. Everyone must make space.

The van forged us into unbeatable force no matter how incredible the gig or how shitty — like those nights when we drove 400 kilometres and played to six bored customers. We still played our hearts out.

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What made it all worthwhile was my growing love for this immense country and its people. Every town I ever went to felt like coming home – the warmth, the good humour, the decency. I picked up local lingo and great stories from Saskatchewan to the Yukon.

This is a country I will do anything to defend.

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Charlie Angus at the legendary Horseshoe Tavern with Canadian legends Gord Downie and Stompin’ Tom Connors.

These days, I’m still on the road — part political tour, part rock ‘n roll revival.

Between the Elbows Up / Resistance and playing shows with my band, Grievous Angels, on the Revolution 2025 tour, I’m reminded how deeply rooted my work is in the music, movement and community.

In these dark times, we need music, celebration, and coming together.

Last weekend, my band played in the steelworker town of Hamilton, Ontario. Since it was an afternoon matinee show, we decided to have some fun with the crowd. I sang an old Hank Snow classic but rewritten as a tribute to Canada and the incredible number of communities I know and love.

In case you haven't seen it, here it is — with an elbow in the nose to J. D. Vance.

As Bruce Cockburn sang on an album that I learned by heart — we need to keep kicking at the darkness until it bleeds daylight.

Music and shared stories will help give us the energy for this work.

We’re in this together. Elbows Up.

~ Charlie

PS. As for the music, my band, Grievous Angels, is still performing and recording. We released our latest album, Last Call for Cinderella, last year:

https://grievousangels2.bandcamp.com/

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