We chased our pleasures here
Dug our treasures there
But can you still recall
The time we cried
Break on through to the other side
Break on through to the other side

– Jim Morrison, Break On Through

He approached me through the drizzling rain, his jacket a twinkling shine large silver, green and red sequins. I think he was wearing antlers, or maybe they were alien antennae. It was dark. I was high on painkillers and THC oil and probably shouldn’t have been out in public, for I was not feeling at all fit for human consumption. He, in a gentle voice, said to me “Hi, good evening. We’re hosting a free event tonight. We have musicians set up and they’ll start to play in a few minutes. You’re welcome to join us.”

I looked through the open door into the event. Cartoons were playing on a large screen on one wall. The lighting was low and attractive. I felt a pull to go in. “Will you be here for the countdown?” I asked.

“Yes, we’ll be here until 1am.” he said.

I thanked him and kept on. This was on Busy Street, a short, charming stretch of road that runs behind the Value Village in Leslieville. It reminds me more of something out the the Bowery in 1970s New York City than something you’d see in modern day Toronto. While I walked home, I opened a discussion in my head, lobbing the pros and cons of going or not going. I felt like it was somewhere I should be, to ring in the fucking new year and all that.

“The fucking new year?” I can hear you saying to yourself. Where’s he going with this? Is this going to be a pile of major bitterness?” Well, yes, and no.

In the past, I’ve been the first one to hit the socials and ring in the annual turnover with all the righteous platitudes. This year was different, for two main reasons: the first is that I’m more and more sick of social media all the time. The clickbait, the phony, staged bullshit and, most of all, the desperation. We artists posting like crazy, our creations there for a nanosecond, then evaporated into the mists of digital nevermore. I get why we need to do this and admire those of us with the wherewithal to continue to do it without choking on the puke in our mouths.There are so many breathtaking bits of artistic heroism out there, but it’s so disappointingly momentary. And the sheer volume of it. I’m not good with too much of anything. I’d prefer less and social media is the not the landscape where less is the order of the day. It might help us all if I decided to shit or get off the pot. To go all in with it, especially with a new record to promote, or to delete all my accounts and go dark. The second reason is the deep depression that I’ve found myself in, and fighting against. It’s been here very intensely for the last year, ramping up towards year’s end, as my chronic pain issues have increased and become more debilitating. I’ve become, this season, acutely aware that the pain from my hip surgery and trashed nervous system may be things that I may have to live with for the rest of my life. Aware that management, rather than a curative solution, may be the new reality. It would require an acceptance and a process of grieving that I’ve been struggling with accepting for weeks. I’ve tried everything, and spent thousands in different therapies, working on a solution, all to no avail.

That said, I can’t help but wonder if my pain would lessen if I were spending my days doing what I love doing, instead of spending hours a day working at something that I’m not naturally inclined to excel at.

Yesterday I found myself cringing at the litany of posts on facebook and IG, with all the things everyone accomplished in 2024. Again, I’d usually be the first to champion my deeds. I don’t want to disparage anyone who worked their magic to make shit happen. This stuff is hard. I felt the way I did due to the stark reflection of my own feelings of failure and not meeting the sky high mark of my perfectionist standards staring back at me. I feel like I barely survived the year. My biggest accomplishments were taking Ava, my daughter, to New York City for our summer holiday, and, against the odds, finishing Stereophile (the record and the book). The latter took two and half years to complete. There were days and weeks where I was too damaged to make any progress. There were times where I worked longer sessions, in the timeless flow of creativity, only to suffer the physical effects of that, having to then take weeks off to heal. I had best laid plans to gig like hell last year, only to wake one night in February, from my second show of the year (which was great), with my body screaming at me to stand down. I listened, and stopped all work on the live shows, knowing that I couldn’t finish the record and gig concurrently, along with being a present Dad and solo householder with a day gig.

I didn’t go back to that warm and welcome room last night. I got home and barred the door, wept buckets for my broken body and battered mind, for the state of the world, and for what feels like the most disconnected and isolated I’ve ever been from everything. The attraction to that open door and the warmth within was the connection I’m missing and yearning for. Playing live music does this for me. It’s my primary source of feeling connected. It’s not just playing the music. It’s meeting people. It’s the hangs with friends old and new. It’s the natural high after the gig, that carries over into the days after. At that gig in February, which was through So Far Sounds Toronto, and in the basement of a local chap’s house, there was a queue for the bathroom after the show. One high point of the night was chatting with a girl in line. She was from Brazil and a few years new to Toronto. We didn’t get into anything deep. We connected. Plain and simple. Or not plain. Divine is a better word for it. The web of our humanity grows vaster and stronger with each of these interactions. We come away from them more beautiful for the experience.

I passed out last night listening to a live take of Roadhouse Blues. I woke this morning and listened to Break On Through. That lead to finding a clip from the Classic Albums series, where the people involved in classic records talk about what went into creating them. Often, if the engineers and musicians are still alive, they’re the ones involved. In the case of Break On Through, the engineer felt like Morrison had a Sinatra vibe, in that his vocals went from a crooner-type delivery to a soaring, visceral growl. When he showed Jim the vocal mic he’d be using, the singer was chuffed and said it was the same mic that Sinatra used. This is the stuff. I love it. Music nerdery at it’s best.

As I sit here at the local and write this, I’m feeling good. I’m writing and riffing on all the good feelings of creativity and connection. A dear friend sits beside me. People pass by, many bleary-eyed from last night’s revelry. We see other friends passing by. We meet new ones. It feels good to be here and feeling fine. Who knows what this year holds, what divine paths will cross and what wonders may come. Finishing the record and book are a massive victory. I hope to make a success of Stereophile. Mostly, I hope to connect with others via live music and real time social connection. Here’s to having the physical ability to do so. Here’s to the undeniable worth of us connecting through music. Here’s to seeing you out there sometime soon.

As always, thanks for reading. And Happy Fucking New Year 😉

K. xo