If you spent any time in a smoky Toronto bar in the early nineties, you knew the sound. It wasn't the polished grunge coming out of Seattle or the synth-pop leftover from the eighties. It was something else. It was literate. It was loud. It was The Lowest of the Low. Honestly, if you ask any die-hard fan of Canadian indie rock about the record that changed their life, they aren't going to point to a major label blowout. They’re going to talk about Shakespeare My Butt.
That album title alone says everything you need to know about Ron Hawkins and company. It’s cheeky, slightly pretentious in a self-aware way, and deeply rooted in a specific time and place. Specifically, 1991. The band basically took the folk-sensibilities of Billy Bragg and smashed them into the high-energy power pop of The Replacements. The result was lightning in a bottle. They didn't just play songs; they built a world out of Bathurst Street landmarks and cheap beer.
The Cultural Weight of Shakespeare My Butt
Why does one album from an independent band in Toronto still get ranked as one of the best Canadian records of all time? It’s a fair question. You’ve got to look at the landscape of 1991. The Canadian music scene was transitioning. The Lowest of the Low weren't trying to be "international stars" in the way we think of it now. They were writing about what they saw outside their window.
Songs like "Salesmen, Cheats and Liars" or "Rosy and Grey" felt like anthems for people who were tired of the "corporate rock" machine. The lyrics were dense. Ron Hawkins has this way of cramming twenty syllables into a line where only ten should fit, yet it never feels clunky. It feels urgent. It’s that urgency that made Shakespeare My Butt the best-selling independent release in Canada at the time. It eventually went Gold, which, for a band on a tiny label like Page Publications, was basically unheard of.
They were the underdogs. They were the guys who drank at the same bars you did. That connection is hard to manufacture. You can’t just buy that kind of street cred with a marketing budget.
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Breaking Up, Getting Back Together, and the "What If" Factor
Success is a weird beast. For The Lowest of the Low, the pressure of following up such a massive underground hit was intense. By the time they released Hallucigenia in 1994, the cracks were showing. It’s a heavier record. Grungier. Some people love it for its grit, but it didn't have that same communal "sing-along at 2 AM" magic that the debut had.
Then they broke up.
It was a classic story of internal friction and the exhaustion of the road. For years, they became a legend. A "you had to be there" band. Hawkins went on to do solo work and front The Do Good Assassins, which are brilliant in their own right, but the shadow of the Low always loomed large.
When they finally reunited for shows in the early 2000s, something interesting happened. The audience wasn't just older people reliving their youth. There were kids there. Teenagers who had found their parents' CDs or discovered the band through word-of-mouth. The songs hadn't aged. "Eternal" is a word thrown around too much in music journalism, but "Henry Need a New Pair of Shoes" still hits just as hard today.
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More Than Just a Nostalgia Act
A lot of bands from that era just tour their old hits until the wheels fall off. The Lowest of the Low refused to do that. They’ve released newer material, like Do the Right Now (2017) and Agitprop (2019).
What’s wild is that they haven’t lost their bite. Agitprop is a political record. It’s angry, articulate, and loud. It proves that the "Low" aren't interested in being a museum piece. They still have things to say about the state of the world. Hawkins’ songwriting has evolved, becoming perhaps a bit more refined, but the core DNA—that mix of folk-punk and melodic hooks—is still there.
They are a working-class band. They represent a version of the Canadian music industry that isn't about the Junos or the Polaris Prize, even if they deserve them. It’s about the sweat on the walls of the Horseshoe Tavern.
Why the "Lowest of the Low" Keyword Matters Today
People are still searching for this band because they represent authenticity in an era of TikTok-engineered hits. When you listen to Shakespeare My Butt, you aren't hearing an algorithm. You’re hearing four or five guys in a room trying to capture a feeling.
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There's a specific nuance to their popularity. They are "Toronto famous" in a way that is almost legendary, yet they remain a cult band in the rest of the world. That dichotomy is fascinating. It makes the fans feel like they are part of a secret club. If you know, you know.
- The DIY Ethos: They showed a generation of Canadian indie bands that you could stay independent and still move tens of thousands of units.
- The Lyrics: Ron Hawkins is arguably one of the best lyricists the country has ever produced, right up there with Gord Downie or Neil Young.
- The Live Show: Even now, their live energy is famously high. They don't phoning it in.
How to Dive Into Their Discography
If you're new to them, don't just shuffle them on Spotify. You’ll miss the narrative. Start with Shakespeare My Butt. Listen to it start to finish. It’s a concept album about a city and a mindset. Then jump to Agitprop to see how they've aged.
You’ll notice the shift. The early stuff is about the personal—relationships, drinking, city life. The later stuff is more about the systemic—politics, injustice, the bigger picture. But the voice is the same. It’s honest. It’s a bit rough around the edges.
Honestly, the "Lowest of the Low" isn't just a name. It’s a badge of honor. It’s about finding the beauty in the basement bars and the rainy streets.
Next Steps for the Interested Listener
- Track down the 25th Anniversary Edition of Shakespeare My Butt. It contains demo tapes and liner notes that explain the chaotic recording process in detail.
- Watch the documentary Low: The Lowest of the Low. It gives a raw, unvarnished look at the band's rise, fall, and eventual second act. It’s a must-watch for anyone interested in the realities of the music business.
- Check out Ron Hawkins' solo work. Specifically The Chemical City Alice. It shows the more melodic, acoustic side of his songwriting that often gets buried under the band's volume.
- See them live. They still tour frequently across Canada. No recording can quite capture the communal shouting of the chorus to "Under the Table."
Understanding this band is a shortcut to understanding the heart of Canadian alternative culture. They didn't need a global empire; they just needed a stage and a story to tell.