Movers & Shakers: In Conversation with Paul Gott of The Ripcordz

For more than forty years, Paul Gott has lived a double life—and he means that in the best possible way. By day, he's a professor of journalism and media studies at Concordia University. By night, and for countless weekends and summers over the past four decades, he's been the guitarist, singer, songwriter, and driving force behind Montreal punk legends The Ripcordz. Along the way, he's crossed Canada hundreds of times, played thousands of shows, lived in a succession of increasingly bizarre apartments, and accumulated a record collection so massive that it effectively ended his moving career.

For this edition of Movers & Shakers, we spoke with Paul about immigrating from England, surviving Cockroach Manor, touring life, and why home means something very different when you've spent forty years on the road.

TSM: Where did you grow up?

Paul Gott:

"Well, originally I'm from England."

Paul's first move was arguably the biggest one of his life.

"Our first move was a fun one because we moved across the Atlantic."

He was only five years old when his family boarded a Cunard liner and sailed to Canada.

"It was like ten days across the Atlantic."

Like many immigrant families, they had to choose carefully what to bring.

"My dad brought his favourite chair."

They also brought their cat.

Which, according to Paul, was a mistake.

"Nobody really brings cats across the Atlantic except for us."

The poor animal spent the voyage amongst dubious company.

"The cat was basically surrounded on all sides by dogs."

Occasionally, the crew would let the animals out.

"The cat was like, 'Yay, I'm out!' Then looked around and saw nothing but water and immediately went back into the cage."

As Paul puts it:

"The move was a lot easier for us than it was for the cat."

The family eventually settled in Montreal West.

"My parents had friends there."

And, perhaps not coincidentally:

"It was basically so you could be British and stay British."

TSM: What's the first place you ever lived on your own?

Paul Gott:

"My first place was on Beaconsfield and Sherbrooke."

He was seventeen.

And unlike many young adults scraping by, Paul and his roommate somehow landed a bargain.

"It was a five-and-a-half for a hundred and ninety bucks a month."

The apartment was so affordable that they discovered an unconventional method of paying rent.

"We basically paid for the place by having huge parties."

The strategy worked surprisingly well.

"The entire neighbourhood would come."

Afterward:

"We'd cash the empties and pay the rent."

Unfortunately, success eventually became its own problem.

"The parties became kind of legendary."

One night, nearly three hundred people showed up.

"There were people jumping off the balcony."

"They didn't bring beer. They just drank whatever was there."

"They ate all our food."

That, Paul admits, was the end of the party business model.

TSM: And what about Cockroach Manor?

Paul Gott:

"Oh, Cockroach Manor."

The nickname was well-earned.

The apartment occupied the upper floors of an aging building near Sherbrooke Street.

"It was amazing, but really old and dilapidated."

The previous tenants had left behind some memorable decorating choices.

"They painted the bathroom all black."

Not just the walls.

"The sink, the toilet, everything."

Even with the light on, visibility remained limited.

"You always had to sit on the toilet, even if you were a guy."

Then there was the couch.

"When we lifted the couch, at least a hundred cockroaches scattered."

Paul loved the place.

His parents were somewhat less enthusiastic.

He still remembers bringing them over for a visit.

His mother, a proper British woman, attempted to navigate the apartment's rickety staircase under an eerie green light.

Then he heard her turn to his father.

"It's just like a horror movie," she could be heard whispering.

"Favorite moment ever."

TSM: Who was the worst roommate you ever had?

Paul Gott:

Paul insists he had more strange roommates than bad roommates.

But one particular roommate stood out.

"Warren."

Warren was a college student with a diet that bordered on scientific experimentation.

"He reinvented the cholesterol burger."

The recipe was terrifying.

He would take a pound of the fattiest ground beef available and divide it into three enormous patties.

"He fried them until the grease overflowed on top of the burgers."

Then he assembled the sandwich.

"Wonder Bread. Two slabs of cheese. An egg. More Wonder Bread."

Paul still seems amazed by the memory.

"We were just amazed that he's still alive."

Warren also possessed a remarkable resistance to cold.

The apartment had terrible heating.

The bedrooms routinely dropped below freezing.

Meanwhile, Warren would sleep wearing only his underwear.

"With the window open."

Paul developed a theory.

"I think his blood pressure was so high it was keeping him warm."

TSM: Is there something you've kept through every move?

Paul Gott:

"My record collection."

The collection became legendary.

"It got bigger and bigger every time I moved."

Eventually, it became so large that moving itself became a problem.

"I had five thousand albums."

For perspective:

"Five hundred albums is like carrying a couch."

Moving companies quickly learned the truth.

"They'd get there and go, 'Holy f***, all these albums.'"

According to Paul:

"That's like ten couches."

The sheer logistics of moving the collection may have permanently ended his nomadic years.

"I think that's one of the reasons I stopped moving."

TSM: Did you ever leave anything behind that you wish you'd kept?

Paul Gott:

"I've been pretty good at amassing stuff."

Unlike many people, Paul approached moving with military precision.

"I always had a plan."

His strategy involved securing the new place a month in advance and moving gradually over several weeks.

"By the time the actual move came around, there was very little left to do."

As a result, he doesn't have many regrets.

TSM: Did you ever move because of a relationship?

Paul Gott:

"When I bought the house back in '93, that was with my girlfriend at the time."

By then, they'd already spent several years living together.

"It just seemed like the natural evolution."

In reality, Paul jokes, his first move was motivated by someone else entirely.

"I moved out at seventeen to escape my sister."

Not his parents.

"I had amazing parents."

Just his sibling.

"It took about forty years" for the relationship to fully recover.

TSM: Did you ever have a move from hell?

Paul Gott:

"Not really."

Paul approaches moving the same way he approaches everything else.

"Like I say, I spend far too much time planning stuff."

The closest thing to disaster came during his first apartment experience.

"I got sick of my roommate and moved back home."

Fortunately:

"I didn't have a heck of a lot of stuff."

TSM: What place has felt most like home?

Paul Gott:

"Besides where I am right now?"

The answer surprises even him.

"Cockroach Manor."

Why?

"Because it was so weird."

And because, at that point in his life:

"I was trying to be as punk rock as possible."

The apartment reflected exactly who he was.

"The black bathroom was cool."

"The fact that I might kill myself on the stairs was rad."

The cockroaches?

Apparently less important.

TSM: How has spending decades touring affected your idea of home?

Paul Gott:

"Actually, what it really does is make me appreciate home more."

Unlike many musicians, Paul has never romanticized the hardships of touring.

"I always make fun of people who complain about touring."

Because, in his view:

"It's not a hard life."

"It's tons of fun."

He loves meeting people, seeing places, and experiencing different ways of living.

But eventually:

"Getting home and things feeling normal."

And no matter how luxurious the hotel:

"There's no place like home."

Touring, he says, helps you appreciate:

"What you've carved out for yourself."

TSM: How much touring are you still doing these days?

Paul Gott:

"I play like fifty or sixty shows a year."

Including an annual western Canadian tour.

"Thirty-odd dates."

The Ripcordz have now spent over forty years doing what they do.

And Paul has somehow balanced all of it with a successful academic career.

"I officially earned about six thousand dollars a year."

He laughs.

"Despite owning my own business and working eighty hours a week."

Today, he's a full-time professor at Concordia University, teaching journalism, television, and visual media.

TSM: If you had ten minutes to pack one box that represented your whole life, what's going in it?

Paul Gott:

"My guitar."

Specifically:

"A Gibson L6-S."

Then come the family memories.

"Pictures of my son."

And finally:

"My laptop."

Paul isn't particularly attached to possessions.

"I'm not really possession-centric."

As long as he has his guitar, his work, and a few mementos:

"I'm good."

TSM: Is there a city you ran away from?

Paul Gott:

"I love Montreal."

After decades of travelling across Canada and the United States, Paul remains firmly committed to his adopted hometown.

He appreciates Toronto.

He enjoys Vancouver.

But Montreal remains unique.

"The only other place I would even think about living would be New York City."

He spent years visiting friends there.

"I just find it so alive."

He especially loved Alphabet City.

"Back when you weren't supposed to go there."

TSM: What does home mean to you now compared to when you were twenty?

Paul Gott:

"The big difference is comfort."

When he was younger, home meant something entirely different.

"Parties."

"Friends coming over all the time."

"Wall-to-wall posters."

The home of his youth was an extension of his identity.

Now?

"It's more like getting home, sitting on the couch, and putting my feet up."

Although, to be fair, Paul admits his current home isn't exactly conventional.

"I have gargoyles now."

He pauses.

"I have a face on my tree outside."

There are still record posters.

And there is still "crazy gothic lighting."

But unlike his punk-rock apartments of the past:

"It doesn't interfere with the comfort level."

Which, after forty years on the road, turns out to be exactly what home is supposed to do.

Paul Gott continues to perform with Montreal punk legends The Ripcordz, who celebrate more than forty years as one of Canada's longest-running punk bands. In addition to performing fifty to sixty shows a year, he serves as a full-time professor at Concordia University. To learn more about The Ripcordz and explore four decades of music, stories, and archives, visit the band's Facebook and Instagram pages.