Bryan Adams was sitting in a bar in Los Angeles when he got the news: his new album, Waking Up the Neighbours did not qualify as Canadian for purposes of Canadian content regulations. He responded the way any good Canadian would: he complained that the government wasn’t treating him fairly.
Backstage after the first concert of his current world tour, a short, pudgy, balding guy walked up to Adams. “Bryan, me lad,” he said with the vaguest hint of an Irish brogue, “I hear you’re pissed!”
“I haven’t touched a drop!” Bryan responded.
“No, lad, I meant about the CRTC declaring your album unfit for Canadian content.”
“What’s it to you? And, who are you, anyway?”
“I’m your Guardian Angel, Bryan.”
“My what?”
“Your Guardian Angel. My name is Clarence.”
“Guardian Angel? I don’t need a Guardian Angel!”
“Oh? Do you really think ‘Summer of 69’ could have been a hit without my help?”
“Mmm…”
“I don’t want to argue with you, son. You’re unhappy. I’m here to help.”
“How do you know I’m unhappy?”
“Bryan, baby, you haven’t exactly been shy about voicing your displeasure. You made the editorial page of the Globe and Mail – nobody can accuse you of hiding your feelings.”
“Okay. Okay. So, what can you do?”
“Well…how would you like to live in a world where there was never a CRTC?”
“No CRTC? That would be way co -“
Before Bryan could finish his sentence, he found himself transported to a Hawaiian fast food joint. Bryan, who always got hungry after a gig, was impressed: not only did Clarence have extraordinary powers, but he was thoughtful, as well.
“Next.”
Bryan stepped up to the counter, where a thirtysomething man in a hula skirt stood, impatiently drumming his fingers on the cash register. Bryan was about to order the mau mau platter when, to his amazement, he recognized the tune.
“Bob Rock!”
“Do I know you?”
“It’s me! Bryan! Bryan Adams!”
“Can I take your order?”
“What are you doing here? You’re in a band called Rock and Hyde -“
“Rock and Hyde? I don’t think so. I was in a band called the Payola$ for a while, but we never got a recording contract, so we broke up after a few gigs in Vancouver.”
“No…no!” Horrified, Bryan stumbled out of the restaurant. Walking down a Vancouver street, he nearly tripped over a dirty body lying across the pavement. When he righted himself, Bryan was shocked to discover that he recognized the man.
“Bruce?”
“Hunh?”
“Bruce, what are you doing here?”
“Bryan?”
“Shouldn’t you be working on publicity for my next album? For god’s sake, Bruce, you’re my manager!”
With a tremendous effort, Bruce managed to develop some indignant rage. “A lot of good it did me! Nobody cared about your first album – we couldn’t get any airplay to save our lives – and you cut your losses and quit the business!”
“I – what? That’s crazy. I’m a multimillion with tons of gold records and -“
“You’re the one who’s crazy. Last I heard, you were pumping gas in a -“
“Pumping gas? No! I don’t believe it!” Bryan shoved the old man aside, got to his feet and ran into the night. “Clarence!” he shouted. “Come back, Clarence! I don’t believe it! I don’t want to believe -“
And Bryan was back in his dressing room, Clarence standing smugly over him. “Oh, Clarence! You were right! I should never have said those awful things about the CRTC – we do need them!”
“Well…” Clarence smiled.
“Of course,” Bryan pragmatically continued, “I’ve already gotten a lot of press on this, and it would be really embarrassing to back away from my stand, now. But, you’ve opened my eyes, and I couldn’t be more grateful…”
Bryan motioned to a pair of security guards and had Clarence ejected from the stadium.