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I dream of painting and then I paint my dream

– Vincent Van Gogh

I’ve recently been checking out Carly Paradis, keyboardist and newest member of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds. I first noticed Carly when seeing Cave & Co. at their Toronto stop on last year’s North American leg of the Wild God tour. As a longtime fan of the Bad Seeds, I was immediately aware that there was someone new in the fold. When seeing live music, I’m there for the music, but I also geek out on what’s happening on stage, the gear, the sound, all of it.

That night I noticed, during the song Red Right Hand, which has been a staple at Bad Seeds live shows for over thirty years, that something wasn’t quite right. The keyboard hits were landing on a beat different than we’re used to hearing. It was one of Carly’s first gigs, so she was still putting it all together. Nick Cave noticed, too. While stalking the stage, singing the song, he looked over at her. He realized what was happening. He ran over to his piano without missing a beat and started playing the part, demonstrating it for her. She sorted it right away and the band played on. It was an amazing musical and personal moment between both the players on stage and a longtime appreciator of all things sonic sitting twelve rows away.

The other night, I had a dream where I was with Carly. We were discussing a piano part I had to write for Nick. I had the tune all set out. I woke up with it still in my head. As I’m sure many creators do, I lay there, wondering if I would remember the dreamy nugget. Sometimes we think it’s there and nod back off, only to find it’s slipped back into the collective ether from whence it came. I did fall back asleep, and, glory be, dreamt of it again. I woke up before dawn and trudged down our dark hallway, taking my guitar into the bathroom so I could record it without waking the kid. Although a piano song in the dream, I sketched out the guitar chords, with the melody over top it and got it down on tape (read: iPhone).

I realized later in the day, part way through work, that it needed to be finished on the piano. While taking lessons last year, I started to write some songs on the keys, but couldn’t quite get there. This time, I did. It was so amazing. The melody worked exquisitely with the chords. I hadn’t played any piano in weeks or maybe months. Also amazing is that the little bit of piano theory and form that I’ve learned was available to me as a composer for the first time.

Last night, I started to write the lyrics. They tumbled out mostly fully formed. I woke this morning and listened the the dailies. It all sounds really good. I’m going to sign off here and finish up the words and coffee, then head back home to put it all together. If it goes well, hopefully the new recordings will have a piano song among them…

As always, thanks for reading.

K. xo

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How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness, how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?

– Dr. Suess

Persistence Of Memory – Salvador Dali, 1931

It’s that time of year when our feeds and minds are full of ways in which we might improve ourselves. Usually rooted in feelings of lack, we use the new year as some kind of barbed yardstick to quantify all the ways we don’t measure up. If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that these feelings, the deeper ones, aren’t so easily tamed by taking up a hobby, losing weight, or any of the usual resolution suspects.

Earlier in the year, I found a book called When Things Fall Apart, written by Pema Chodron, a Buddhist nun with a wonderful perspective. It both reminded me and helped me newly see that only when we’re okay with the parts of ourselves that we can’t stand to look at or acknowledge can we be okay with anything.

The past year was the most difficult I’ve experienced. It dawned with continued worsening of the chronic pain that’s plagued me for the last few years. In February, I released Stereophile, which felt amazing, but was followed by zero interest from the general public and shops that I tried to get the book and record into. Not helpful was the fact that, due to chronic fatigue and spiritual exhaustion, I wasn’t able to, or interested in, putting forth the relentless effort it takes to promote any creative work. I then found out that I’ve a heart condition that’s going to require surgery later this year. It sounds like a standard procedure, but nonetheless added another thing to the list of maladies. In the early spring, a romantic relationship came to an end, one in which the friendship and familial aspects, just as, if not more important to me than the romance itself, were subsequently decimated in the ending’s wake. Early summer saw some standard bloodwork flag the possibility of a rare form of cancer for which there is no cure. It took until December 1st to get the final word. Turns out I don’t have cancer. Almost a half a year with that question hanging around. Egad. Add to all of this my role as solo householder and single parent to a beautiful, brilliant kid with a handful of her own challenges, and it’s fair to say there was enough cooking this year to leave a body wanting. There were many times I thought I might cave. I didn’t.

While the year was my hardest yet, it also offered great gifts. Revelatory is the word that comes to mind. Were it not for the intensity of the events I’ve listed, I wouldn’t have had the capacity to see where I stand. To own my behaviour and reactions. To begin befriending the parts made previously unbearable. In Chodron’s book, she talks about the importance of possessing unlimited friendliness toward ourselves. It sounds simple, but it’s dead elusive. We’re all so hard on ourselves. Our feelings of unworthiness eat us alive from within. They become the anger we inflict on others. The demons that drive us to addiction. They’re a departure from our innate humanity and basic self-worth. The work I put in this year has given me the ability to start seeing different possibilities. However tarnished by the hurt and suffering we endure, our hearts still shine. Whatever the depth of the darkness that surrounds, we’re still fundamentally okay. In the heat of the moment, clearly seeing what’s up is almost impossible at first. I’ve had recent experiences where I’ve been able to see where certain reactions are coming from, closer to the events themselves. This is usually after the reaction. With practice comes the ability to see it rise and catch it before it goes live.

Also present in 2025 were dear friendships. My appreciation for the support and understanding of a few close souls cannot be understated. Where nighttime reigned, there they were, reminding me of the dawn which was, always and inevitably, just round the bend. If you’re reading this, you know who you are. Thank you so much for always seeing me, and for your patience and love.

I’ve often berated myself for how far I have to go to be “whole.” The tandem filters of self-awareness and the things that hurt have a way of sending these messages. According to the Buddhist view, it’s all right here and available to us right now. With lots of life and twenty years of yoga under my belt, I understand that part. A life lesson revisited, from a perspective only experience can offer. I’m full of gratitude for seeing a bit more clearly. The ground needs constant, gentle cultivation.

If, from all I’ve said here, anyone is thinking that I’m breezing into the new year full of vim and vigor and ready to become instafamous for living my best life…I wish it were true (except for the nausea inducing instafamous for living my best life part). I came into the holiday season crawling across the finish line. The break has done nothing to improve my wellbeing. I’m currently on Herculean doses of meds, none of which are making my days pain free, but help enough to weather the day. I can feel my heart beating its odd time bebop rhythms in my chest and it’s dreadfully uncomfortable. My doc finally found a med that’s helping with the acute anxiety I started feeling partway through the year, which no amount of meditation could mitigate. It’s doing its job and then some. I wake up each morning feeling stunned psychologically and in dreadful pain from the chronic issues. My yoga mat (mindfully) mocks me from its dusty corner. I can’t remember the last time my body felt not only good enough, but average enough, to get through the day without deep discomfort. I list all of this, not for sympathy, but to illustrate how inspired I feel by the budding successes of Buddha-based technique I’ve had. If I can feel relaxed and okay with all of the crazy shit that’s going on, well, that’s an amazing thing to work toward.

So, here’s to us at the dawn of another calendar year. May we find more kindness for ourselves and each other. May childlike wonder and the wisdom of the ages be with us. May you and I continue to tread this chapter lightly, finding our way through the thick and thin of being, while the world rages on and time flies by.

As always, thanks for reading.

K. xo

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Out of sorrow, entire worlds have been built
Out of longing, great wonders have been willed

– Nick Cave, Are You The One That I’ve Been Waiting For

And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair

-Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

With summer’s end approaching, the Khalil Gibran quote above is fitting. I’m rereading Gibran’s The Prophet, a well-worn standby. No one else comes close to putting divinity and unspeakable beauty into words. I’ve spent countless hours this summer barefoot in the grass at the local park. Much of that time has been spent singing for the people. Much of it has been spent writing & reading, and much of it spent starfished and gazing up at the sky and trees. These have been this summer’s meditation.

Each year, I always feel a sense of back to school energy. It’s a time of renewed focus and creativity. This has been a season of retreat, healing and (some) relaxation. Fall is a welcome one this year. I’m excited to be working on new music and keeping the Stereophile flames fanned. I’m writing today to share Dark Horse, one of the tracks from the record and book.

The oldest song on Stereophile, Dark Horse was written years ago, while house-sitting. The words and music started to come to me while sitting amongst piles of bird shit. Say what? It’s true. I was housesitting for a wonderfully eccentric, elderly neighbour, Nancy. She’d been an opera singer in Ireland in her youth. She married a U of T prof and they spent many happy years together before his passing. Nancy, in her later years, kept birds. Not wanting them to be stuck in a cage, she let them fly free about the house. They shat everywhere. She was happy to let sleeping turds lie. There was no shortage of crusty droppings lying here and there.

From these avian-based beginnings came Dark Horse. I’ve been working with depression all my life. At the time the song was written, I was particularly aware that a sensitive being, one prone to chemical imbalance, is also often one that’s very aware and insightful. While the lens we see life through can cause difficulty and be sometimes very messy and devastating (to us and those around us), it’s also something very special. It allows us to see and feel deeply. Nick Cave’s line in today’s first quote always hit me. Pain and longing, when brought forth, have willed great wonders.

Dear Subscribers: If you’re reading this via the email drop, the Soundcloud player doesn’t appear in your email. Click here to listen to the song: Dark Horse

As the years went by and Dark Horse stuck around, it began to take on new meaning. I’m close to someone with a number of different neurodiversities. I see a great awareness, insight and creativity in them. These traits are not limited to those of us who have experienced depression. So many of us with cognitive and emotional challenges look to art to allow us to process. To come back. Our sensitive natures often result in us feeling diminished by the heaviness of the world. Not just its obvious atrocities, but the ever growing isolation we’re feeling, and the general direction of disregard in which the speed of life is taking us. I’ve recently read, in don Miguel Ruiz’s The Four Agreements, that we’re all, as he puts it, living in hell. This hell is based on all the societal and familial agreements we’ve made with ourselves, those that beat the wild bits out of us, with an aim at domestication and burying our true nature. I don’t disagree. We’re in the throes of global human tribulation. Our masks are suffocating us and very few among us have found the means to shed our personas and all that we’ve learned, to go with an open, authentic heart.

The chorus lyrics in Dark Horse:

Don’t you know you’re not alone
I want you to know you’re not alone

While I’ve always been happy with the song’s verses, the chorus lines are crucial to keep in our hearts and minds. When we’re down in the dark hole of anxiety/depression/ADHD/OCD/basic human sadness, etc., and it feels like there’s no way out, they’re a reminder that we are not the first or the last to feel this way. Reconnection is always available, if we can find the wherewithal to drop our false notion of feeling like a burden and reach out. These words have for me more recently been a much needed reminder of our interconnectedness. We are not alone. Each of us is made of the same light, separated at birth and finding our way through this strange and beautiful place, so often feeling solo, when we are anything but.

Interestingly, for all the years Dark Horse has been around, I’ve never until now recorded it and have never performed it live. I’d like to record a simple live video version of it here at home. Maybe in the fall. It’ll land in the live set at some point. This year has been quiet on the gig front and, for the first time in decades, I’m happy and comfortable saying that. That said, I’m feeling a bit itchy. We’ll see what autumn brings.

May we all find our way back home. Back to ourselves and each other, and the love that waits patiently, with open arms, for our return.

As always, thanks for reading. Enjoy the track…

K.xo

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Hi Friends. Hope you’re all well and warm. At long last, Stereophile is done!!! Please have a listen to the audio below. Also on this page are the credits and story that unfolded while making the record and book. Buy links are below the player. Hope ya dig…

Purchase your copy via PayPal or eTransfer me at kdub@kelvinwetherell.com
It’s $20 for your digital download of the record and physical copy of the book
Canadian residents buying in person (at shows, etc.) please add $2.60 for tax. Total $22.60.
Online purchases are $1.75 to ship anywhere in Canada. Total w/tax and shipping $24.60.
Global shipping fees to be determined according to distance and packaging requirements
Once you’ve placed your order, please email us, along with your address, at kdub@kelvinwetherell.com and we’ll send you your copy of the book. A download link to the record will be sent to your email address.

If you live in Toronto, I might be able to hand deliver the book and give you a hug. It depends on where you live, or if you like hugs.

Thanks so much for your support!

Credits
Kelvin Wetherell – Vox, Acoustic Guitar, Les Paul, Bass, Piano, Organ, Drums, Percussion, String/Vocal Arrangements
Howard Ayee – Bass on Grip The Raven and Dark Horse
Kaleb Hikele – Piano on Kinder Things

Produced, Recorded and Mixed by Kelvin Wetherell
Acoustic Guitars recorded by Kaleb Hikele at The Townhouse
Mastered by Howard Ayee

All Songs Written, Composed and Arranged by Kelvin Wetherell Copyright 2025

The Stereophile Story
On an unseasonably cold and grey day at the end of April, 2022, I pulled round the last corner of an east end townhouse complex, checking each address and looking for the mailbox with the music stickers plastered all over it. After successful location, with acoustic guitar in hand, I knocked. Greeted by friend/studio owner (and fabulous singer/songwriter!) Kaleb Hikele, we navigated the barking of his dear doggo, Bear, and headed down to the basement to get to work. The idea was to record five of my songs with just my acoustic. I didn’t know at the time what the heck I was going to do with them. There was certainly no idea that they’d become part of an eight song, full length record and book. Over two days we succeeded in tracking five songs. I was down with most of what I played, then, in the true fashion of (usually unneeded) songster angst, I thought everything was shite. I needed a break from what I’d tracked.

Enter the studio upgrades. I’d just been turned on to the world of plug ins (digital instruments, recording hardware, etc.). I’d been recording at home for years. My beater of a laptop, eight years old at the time, therefore prehistoric in terms of technology, couldn’t handle the new oomph I was throwing at it. I’d recently reconnected with my old mate, Howard Ayee, who’d produced on of my records back in 2009. It was great to reconnect with him. He’s responsible for my new plug-in-fanboy-geek-out status. He was forever dangling the many new carrots that make modern recording truly awesome. I bought everything he sent me. I also bought a new laptop, which, after six months of agony trying to figure out why it wasn’t recording properly, made me so irate that I shelved the recording for months and spent the summer barefoot and busking at Jimmie Simpson Park here in Toronto. I returned the craptop and swapped it out for a new one. I got it set up and was off again…

I spent 2023 recording in bits, whenever energy or will permitted. Some of my peeps reading this are already aware of my chronic struggles. I’ve been living the effects of a botched hip surgery and was diagnosed with fibromyalgia in early 2023. At the end of that summer, I tore the medial meniscus in my knee and could hardly walk. My personal stars were not aligned and it felt like the universe was giving me the boots over and over. Still, we persist. I kept going, working my day gig and being a present, single Dad and solo householder. I kept up with my live playing and preparation, always wanting to keep my pickin’ and singin’ chops in shape, or “match fit”, as Jimmy Page calls it. 2023 was a great year for gigs. I played a bunch of out of town stuff and made some great friends. I was not much concerned that the progress of the record was not swiftly moving. In November, I decided to start creating the book that would accompany the record.

The written part of Stereophile, affectionately known as Booky, is a collection of lyrics and images that my daughter, Ava, and I created. The first drafts were created in a free, Word-light type program. My old friend, Alexis Campbell, recommended moving the creation of the book over to InDesign. I did so. She also let me use her Adobe suite, without which I couldn’t have made the book. I then spent many days wanting to fire my laptop through the sliding glass doors that lead out to our back garden. Anyone who’s used Adobe in the past can attest to how frustrating their proprietary, weird-ass way of doing things can be. Still, we persist. No laptops were harmed in the making of the book or record. Bit by bit, I was making progress. Through days of pain sometimes so severe I couldn’t think straight, the record and book were happening!

Sleep, eat, parent, work, parent, record, rehearse, repeat. So it went for the next year. The sonic elements of the record were the easy part. I’ve made many records and written many songs. Writing and designing the book were new, as was working with the plugins. These were steep learning curves, happening while I was in full creative singer/songwriter/arranger/producer mode. I loved building the colours around the acoustic spines of the tracks. I worked extensively with strings and choral vocal arrangements, as well as digging in and creating unique sounds out of whatever was available to me, digitally and otherwise. The parts came fluidly. If an idea wasn’t cooking, it was scrapped. I didn’t wrestle with stuff not working. Usually, the parts sang themselves in my head. It was a matter of extracting them and finding the right sound, the one that fit with the track.

Also new to me was mixing a full length record. I’d released a few singles during the pandemic years and beyond. Mixing a full record is a different beast. Another learning curve. I mixed as I went. There was little to do when the tracking was done. I tweaked a few of the acoustic guitars and made some small changes. It was then time to master.

With Howard on board to master the record, we set to work finding the right chain of gear to put the final stitches into the Frankenstein. It was a looooooooooooooooooooong process. I’d always left mastering to others. I was fully involved this time. It meant going back to the songs and massaging the vocals deeper into the sonic landscape of the arrangements. I also had to tweak some of the levels on the instruments to sit better in the tracks. We wrapped the mastering and the end result is a beautiful sounding record. When I was able to take myself out of the recording and listen as just listener and not creator, I was touched. It felt like the singer was in the room with me. The sonic wormhole surrounding the vocals were what I had first envisioned. That coming to pass was a feather in my cap. While mastering, I was working concurrently on finishing the book and getting it printed.

The design of the book was going amazingly. I added a dedication, table of contents, afterword, all the things to make it feel like a proper book. The printing then became an epic situation, due to a ghost in the machine. The first run of books did not look like the proof I signed off on. Something happened in cyberspace that made one of the images look wacky. This required another few weeks of back and forth with printer and Alexis, figuring out what the issue was. It was mad. Finally, out of the murky mist, the final proof was good and off to print we went. I received the first run of books in the middle of February of 2025, which is the same month I’m writing this. With the book and record done, here I am, getting it set up for all of you to read and hear.

The creation of the book was important to me. As I mention in the afterword, I wanted you to have something to hold. Something tactile and real, to compliment and help heal the disconnect of all our modern digital trappings. As a kid I used to love pouring over an album’s liner notes, reading all the details about what went into making it; the names of the band members, the lyrics, the artwork, where it was recorded, and the little tidbits of random info that made you feel like you were on the inside of something.

So, here we are. A new record that I never thought I’d make. My first book, the first of many, I hope. Against the odds, with the help and support of dear family and friends, these creations happened. In hindsight I’m aware of the Herculean effort that went into completing this phase of my artistic life. There were days I wanted to die, not because of any garden variety artistic crisis, but because living with intense chronic pain, along with prolonged use of pharmaceutical painkillers, have a way of taking their toll on a body and being. It’s hard to stay ahead of the black dogs of depression when sitting still hurts. Still, we persist. I made it. It was no small feat. The record and book are beautiful. I hope the songs on the record hit you. Here’s to creativity and connection.


K. xo

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“There’s one thing you can’t lose and it’s that feel
You can pawn your watch and chain but not that feel
It always comes and finds you, it will always hear you cry
I cross my wooden leg and I swear on my glass eye
It will never leave you high and dry”

– Tom Waits, That Feel

It’s been a minute. I usually attempt to pen these bits every other Saturday, when my daughter, Ava, is at her Mum’s. I sit down at the local, fresh cup of mud in hand, and try and make some sense of certain thoughts and feelings that have been rambling through my mind.

This week has been a very intense go. My day gig responsibilities are at peak requirement, to the point where I’m waking up at night going over the task list. This is never a good sign of work/life balance. The music is going well, though that’s generally an all consuming state. I’m okay with that, but having one foot in it and the other in the land of Responsible Adulting is a tricky dance. If you’ve read any of my other blogs, you’ll know that this is a recurring theme. Apart from all this, there’s the darkness of winter coming on. And, of course, there’s that thing that happened this week down south that I’m trying desperately hard to keep ahead of. Ahead in the sense of not falling prey to the vitriol, hatred and division that’s coming in from all sides.

There’s that sense of We and Them that never sits well with me, where we feel compelled to pick sides and point fingers at the “other”. I struggle with this myself: On one hand I’m down with following the Yogic/Buddhist approach of our interconnectedness, where we recognize that there’s a President Elect lurking somewhere in all of us, and we do what we can to be kind and open to all beings. Christ was on to something when he said “Forgive them Lord, they know not what they do.” We all have blind spots, where we are out of personal and universal alignment. On the other hand, I sometimes feel like all manner of retaliation, from slaps to armed revolution are appropriate steps to deal with those I share a foundational disagreement with. The fatalist in me feels that a global cataclysm, like the space rock that wiped out the dinos, is the only thing that will save us from ourselves.

The darkness that turning the clocks back ushers in each fall this year feels metaphoric for the spiritual darkness that’s fallen deeply upon us in the wake of the US election. These post covid years have already been dark. We’re missing so much, now more than ever. Social media, the rising cost of living, corporate piggery run amok, greed, stupidity, ego, mental illness, all of these and more layering our days, robbing us of our ability to see our commonality.

Not lost on me is the election falling on Guy Fawkes Day, the British celebration of the thwarted Gunpowder Plot, which, in 1605, was an attempt to blow up the Houses Of Parliament. That said, Fawkes & Co.’s impetus for the plot was to gain more tolerance for Catholics. I see election falling on November 5 not as religious, but symbolic of how satisfying it would be to blow up the current political model. To establish anew a system where one didn’t have to cast a ballot for which crass, double-talking greaseball will do the least damage.  

We need to remind ourselves how Adolph Hitler was able to take the reigns in Germany in the 1930s. It was by the lack of awareness and inability for the commoners to inform themselves and not see past the poison they were being fed. Some may find me comparing Hitler to our current leaders off. With the current state of the world, I’d urge those with misgivings to look deeper. If things feel like they’re getting shittier, there’s a reason for that. It’s okay to be very fucking angry right now with the attitude that’s coming from America, and also with what politicians and the corporate model are doing to our own country.

After the election this week, myself and some friends, other creatives, talked about the outcome. The consensus was mutual: to go deeper into our respective modes and continue to create beautiful things. To continue live in that place where we are truly free, if only for those moments between our adult responsibilities. To bring Light & Love to the world, through art. To continue to foster the feel that Old Tom Frost refers to in the lyrics above.

It’s hard to keep loving and see the light, when around us is so much horror and disregard. May we continue to fight the good fight, without and within. May we learn to see ourselves in the basest actions of others, and for our basest inclinations to wither, in the spirit of connection, goodness and unity. May we harness our rage and use it to foster the highest in us all.

Lastly, and awesomely, Stereophile will be finished this week! I’m sending one final mix tweak to Howard today, and the accompanying book of lyrics and images goes to print early in the week. It sounds and looks grand. It’s very beautiful. I can’t wait for you to hear the finished work. I’m planning the official release for the new year, but you’ll all get dibs on the first listen. I’ll keep ya posted.

As always, thanks for being there.

K. xo  

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“Yesterday we obeyed kings and bent our necks before emperors. But today we kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love.”

“Are you a politician asking what your country can do for you or a zealous one asking what you can do for your country? If you are the first, then you are a parasite; if the second, then you are an oasis in the desert.”

– Khalil Gibran

I’m sitting in the window at the local, in my usual spot. It was an adventure to get here. I live a block away. I’ve been staying at an Air BnB, courtesy of my own voice and advocacy with our local Metrolinx community rep, referred to herein, for the sake of anonymity, as “M”.

After five sleepless nights over a seven day period, due to overnight Ontario Line work on the Queen Street bridge, my continual, kind and firm communications with M resulted in Metrolinx footing the bill for the Air BnB stay. I’ve been dividing my time between sleeps there and working from home during the day. What a pain in the ass. It’s proven to be a trade off of which flow is more tiring. I’ve let our rep know that I’m grateful for her going to bat for Ava and I, but that there’s much left to be done to ensure peace for all of us living here and elsewhere, affected by the ongoing work, especially after learning that the project’s end date has been extended from 2027 to 2031 (Eglinton Crosstown, anyone?).

A friend of mine recently appeared in a Toronto Life piece, entitled Train Wreck. She’s a local dog-mum and lovely person. She, along with a few others, tell their stories. These all involve how the company has repeatedly shat on us. Lies, deceit, deflection, all underscored by greed and ego. So-called Captains Of Industry sneaking and bullying their way to impotent grandeur. A CEO in our current premiere’s (lower case intended) pocket. A CEO to whom the same premiere has given a $750,000 raise between 2017 and 2022. That’s our tax dollars at work. Padding the bank account of a wretch, who’s led a campaign of dirty pool and cut corners.

Inevitably, this is where one usually gets called out, claiming the necessity of better transit and NIMBY (Not In My Backyard) leanings. I’m all for better transit. That’s not what this is about. It’s about transparency and spending the right amount of money on ensuring the peace of mind and wellbeing of the locals in the communities in which this project is happening. Metrolinx has not done this. The Train Wreck article outlines all of this: damage done to people’s properties, foundations, possessions, the sleepless nights, the constant runaround from the company, the lack of transparency.

To me personally, it’s about much more than the above. I look at the bridge, only a few feet from our front door, and it’s a representation of what’s so wrong in our current climate. We were long ago drugged by TV. Add social media, dopamine and smartphone addictions to that list. We are idle and distracted while this elected official robs us blind, giving our money away to cronyism and for his own personal gain. It’s Corruption 101. There’s the attitude that we live in a democracy. That this provincial leader was appointed by the vote. The only problem with this is that there are a lot of gullible people out there. There are two types of people who voted for this person: Those too stunned to understand the damage he’s doing, and those who know exactly what he’s doing and stand to gain financially from it.

I understand very clearly now why Che Guevara took up arms against dictatorship and stood up for socialism. If you’re gobsmacked by me comparing the attempted violent overthrow of past dictators to our relatively docile Canadian landscape, I’ll say this: I’m very grateful to live in Canada and enjoy the benefits of safety and help from the Guv’nor in the form of things like the Canadian Childcare benefit. As a single Dad and Musician, this alone has helped me make ends meet. I’ll add that, while the premiere and CEO made mention here have not sent out men in black to murder their naysayers, their modus operandi is more insipid. These are people who will gladhand us and smile sweetly in our faces, while dipping an unseen hand into the national coffer. These actions and lack of care paint an ugly picture of suffering. I see Southern Ontario floods if the greenbelt is sold off to questionable developers. Yes, we need more housing, in particular, more affordable housing. Do we need it on the greenbelt. No. Any developer considering building here is part of the problem and is only looking out for themselves. I see the billions of taxpayer’s bucks being lost to the private sale of alcohol. Funds that could be spent on healthcare and education, instead of the decimation of these. I see the suffering of people in hospital emergency wards across the province, sitting on floors for lack of space, at the hands of a politician working hard to privatize health care, no doubt in alliance with those willing to practice private care and rake in the dough. For anyone with a lick of sense and curiosity, all of this is so obvious.

I was happy to come across both of the Khalil Gibran quotes above. The former means more to me than the latter. There were many times over the course of writing this where I felt sick in my heart. I needed to express all of this, but it’s energy I’d rather be spending on connecting us, rather than expounding on the ills of our society. Ills which, if we all had the capacity to care for each other first, and temper our lust for money, would not exist. It gets harder and harder to maintain a peaceful reconciliation of this stuff, especially as we’re seeing the cost of living skyrocketing, while the wealth divide increases and the middle class becomes obsolete. While I continue to advocate for my family and community, I’ll look for the the strength to kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love. To cultivate my Muppetite For Destruction. It’s a tall order in the face of modern life and all our challenges from without and within. May we all find the strength to continue to tear down all of that which doesn’t serve us, and to continue to love one another.

K. xo

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“La Niña de Los Peines had to tear apart her voice, because she knew experts were listening, who demanded not form but the marrow of form, pure music with a body lean enough to float on air. She had to rob herself of skill and safety: that is to say, banish her Muse, and be helpless, so her duende might come, and deign to struggle with her at close quarters. And how she sang! Her voice no longer at play, her voice a jet of blood, worthy of her pain and her sincerity, opened like a ten-fingered hand as in the feet, nailed there but storm-filled, of a Christ by Juan de Juni.”

– Federico Garcia Lorca, Obras Completas, Vol. 1

The passage above, from Lorca’s complete works, is preceded, in context, by the Spanish singer Pastora Pavon (La Nina) delivering a technique-perfect, but soulless round of songs to a crowd of the who’s who of the scenesters of the day. The audience sat quiet and still. No applause. Nothing. Nonina, as they say in Andalusia. Someone from the audience stands up from behind his brandy bottle and says ‘Here ability is not important, nor technique, nor skill. What matters here is something other.’

Pastora then digs deep, lets go, and lets loose.

I’ve only scratched the surface of Lorca’s vast beauty. What I do know of his work is wrapped in glorious romance, sadness and bravery. Everything I’ve experienced of his writing and life takes my breath away. It was he that introduced me to the concept of duende. The translation of the Spanish duende, to English, is elf. I love that, because elves, but it means so much more. Lorca refers to it this way:

“With idea, sound or gesture, the duende enjoys fighting the creator to the very rim of the well…the duende wounds. In the healing of that wound which never closes lies the invented strange qualities of an artist’s work.”

– Sidebar!: I’m sitting at my local, which I’m always sitting at when I write. A guy came in earlier, seeing a pic of Jimmy Carter on the wall while he was passing by. He came in and started talking to everyone in the cafe about Jimmy Carter pardoning all the American draft dodgers of the Vietnam war. He spoke to one of the folks sitting here who happened to be a U.S. war vet. They had an excellent conversation about the currently morbid state of America (See what I did there? Groaaaannn). He named all the Jimmies on the walls, except for the one hanging behind me. I told him it was Jimmy Page. He thanked us for our smiles and disappeared to go get his haircut by George, our local Greek barber, only to return a while later, hair intact because George is closed today. He told the ladies that work here that, because he came in with a Timmie’s cup earlier, he wanted to come back and do them a solid and buy a cup from them. Solid character, that. He and I talked for a good half hour about motorbikes (Triumph vs. Harley and the shaft drive on his ‘83 Honda Goldwing) and English history. This man, Toby by name, and an Englishman by way of Ireland, has a deep knowledge of the Brit’s legacy. Fascinating. Turns out he’s a local. I hope I see more of him. I also kinda hope he doesn’t get his hair cut. He’s got an epic topknot. I love this stuff; our connections. My morning here has been peppered with visits from locals that I call friends. I would say I digress, but I won’t, because this stuff is what makes our lives amazing. So, back to duende…

It’s on my radar, this ancient thing, while I tussle with a modern problem…social media. The first time I heard about Facebook, I thought “No good can come of this”. Now, all these years later, it feels like the damage social media has done to us outweighs the good it’s wrought. My hunch was accurate.

My social numbers have never been great. I’m in the process of yet another attempt to reattune myself to going fully into them, to promote Stereophile, my new record and accompanying small format book. I’m told that the reason for my low numbers is the irregularity with which I post. I get that. I also get, and I’ve said it before, that art should not be reduced to content. We’re all struggling so hard to produce, produce, produce. FOMO. Keep that shit going, or fall by the wayside while the true hustlers get Instafamous. Malarkey. What this constant need to produce has resulted in is a lot of disposable, disingenuous shite, borne of a desperation to go viral in a world where the arts, especially music, have been decimated. There is little duende in the social media landscape. A lack of grit, shadow or depth. I don’t think that’s news. Liam Gallagher said recently that everything is beige. Artists I know who have great followings see the socials as an albatross around their necks. A tiresome, necessary evil. They’re a drag on art.

A week ago I had my finger on the DELETE trigger of my IG and FB. My site analytics gave me pause. Lo! Traffic was up, due to me consistently composing and posting my writings. I’ve spent the week researching the best way to take a solid crack at the crazy game of online promo. To find the most effective, efficient way to get the goods out, that leaves more time to create and hang out with family and friends. A friend is helping get this together and we’re discussing her coming on board to help manage the promo regularly. This weekend I had a first rehearsal with a rhythm section of two fine chaps (more on them later). The team is growing, which is amazing for me and long overdue. I’ve felt isolated for a while now, having others to create with feels wonderful. Moreover, having pals to hang with is giving me all the good fuzzies.

The music is going great, that’s what matters most. At least it does to me. I don’t care much anymore for wearing all the hats that a modern singer/songwriter is expected to wear. I’m still not sure how the social monkey business will go. When a certain mood comes on, I find my fingers again hovering over the delete buttons. Whatever the case, I hope I can make my way into and through this vapid online wormhole with some sense of substance. To strike a fine balance between consistency and art. To do battle with the dark elf and pin the little fucker to the mat, and then sing about it, honouring the wound that heals but never closes.

I’ll keep you posted (See what I did there again? Groaaaannnn).

K. xo

ps. Here’s a link to the full piece that I pinched Lorca’s quotes from:

https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Spanish/LorcaDuende.php

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The Silent Accord

“It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society”

– Jiddu Krishnamurti

Sitting here in the window at the local. It’s a rainy Saturday morning. The studio is whispering to me from a few blocks away. Urging me in. Urging me on. I’m in a weeks long cycle of pain, illness and procrastination. I am one guitar track and one vocal track away from finishing Stereophile, my new record. I am mustering the courage, the heart, to lay them down. To breathe it all out and elevate out of this hard place. I’m aware that, while I moan about the delays, I’m afraid to finish. Afraid to release this work into the world, these bits of soul made digital, and see it mostly ignored, if my previous work is any measure. I’m at once hopeful, while feeling the cold whisper of the voice of ridicule and shame trickling down the back of my neck.

I drink my coffee and watch the people go by. I think of a better world. One where we are not so pressed and dented. Where art is not reduced to content. Where the substance of our silent accord is lived, rather than its loss bemoaned as a symptom of modern life. A place free of our Post Pandemic Disconnection, the cortisol coming in waves as we panic for breath, for a short reprieve.

I think I may be in the wrong lane. It may be time to hang up my modest public presence in the world and beat a retreat. I’m sick of the spiritual shithole we’ve made of this place, with all its potential for greatness and kindness. I’m tired of the helpless, hateful rage I feel towards our politicians, and the corporate world, who continue to refuse accountability for the widespread damage born of their relentless pursuit to hoard and boast. These for whom money has replaced the hardwired neanderthal idiot male need to compete and dominate. The depth of this greed is an uncommon stupidity in this day and age. For those of you feeling like this is a finger wag, make no mistake, I see myself in these people. I see all of us in each other and everything else. We all have the potential to shine or shit the bed.

Coffee is almost done. Time to head over to the studio and get embryonic, while my heart longs for more real time connection, to be among a group of souls. Maybe that’s what’s missing. Maybe, instead of retreat, I need to get out more. For me, and everyone I know, having the energy and making time for something as simple as seeing a friend has, due to the relentless hustle to make ends meet, become elusive.

We are fragmented. The societal machine we continue to allow to run is sickly and wrong. The silent accord I mentioned earlier is the feeling we all get, in the quiet moments, where Love comes in and fills us with its amber glow. That light is in all of us. It is the eternal, fixed point, like lights along the landing strip at night’s most impenetrable hour.

I’ve been sitting here for a while now, thinking about a succinct way to wrap this one up, but I can’t find one. This is an ongoing trip. One without end. We are Divine Misfits made flesh and bone, each with our own story, each flawed and returning, missing home and looking for the runway lights…

K. xo

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“Have we been so brainwashed by capitalism that you have to be busy to be worth something?”

The above quote is from an article I read in the Guardian this morning about millennial women pursuing the “soft life”, so named for a generational movement towards not working your ass off for so little in return. Millennials get shit on all the time for being lazy and of no account. In this case, the lifestyle pursuit is one I can get behind.

My music has made little money over the years. I’ve always had a day gig to make ends meet. The forty hour work week is something I only did for a short time. I found a way, while employed in food service, to survive on a four hour work day, to keep the creative and utilitarian plates spinning. I spent all my free time developing my craft, while learning to carry out all the other aspects the modern singer/songwriter is required to be good at.

I was never one to pursue a career in any area other than the arts or to have “something to fall back on”. I knew what I was getting into. The risk. The odds. The potential to be crushed under the weight of one’s dream not coming true. Still, I went for it. Over the years my music got better, I learned more about everything, my writing deepened, as should any writing, with the experience of life and years gained.

Seven years ago, my marriage ended. We lived together for three years after that, due to the cost of living in Toronto being so high. I became a single Dad and solo householder in the midst of the pandemic. All of the above, coupled with an empathy and sensitivity to the forces at work in this world started to take their toll. I then underwent a botched surgery for a labral tear in my hip that resulted in graver pain than the issue itself caused. This has become a chronic condition where each day is met with serious pain. All this said, I still wake each morning with art in my heart, mustering the energy to put forth sound. To, hopefully, bring a bit more light into our often dark and disconnected world.

I tell you the above, not to fish for sympathy, but to illustrate the reasons by which I came to feel supportive of these women saying fuck that to being on the endless, thankless wheel of shit that is the current societal system. The nose-to-the-grindstone approach of the generations of old no longer works. It’s not news that our politicians and corporations don’t give a fuck about us. The divide grows. The middle class is disappearing. Hard work is good for us, but there are no guarantees or securities as a result of it.

I’ve done the sixty hour work weeks, with the day gig and music hours combined. It hasn’t resulted in the success I’d planned on. I’m not the only would be rock star who’s reframed the original dream for humbler aspirations. I know there are many out there who didn’t put forth the effort, mostly due to fear of failure, but I also know many who, like me, have done their time in the arena, taking the hits and savouring the shining victories. We’ve put our 10,000 hours in. We’ve faced the anxious quiver of soul-become-art, released into the world with bated breath.

It’s all exhausting. It is for me, anyway, and clearly some others. How many of us are just knuckling down, unhappy every day, telling the people we meet along the way that we’re fine, when we’re so far from it? Our real time connections wane. Bullshit AI is on the rise, with cowards and fools using it to create fake plastic “art” that sullies the genuine, beautiful things that take time, soul, love and struggle to bring into being.

We could all use a softer life. I’m not sure how to get there. We’re most of us working at maximum capacity and still feel the waterline rising, as though any grace or space we might offer ourselves means compromising cash flow or conditioned definitions of self-worth. We need to keep working hard, though in areas that will result in greater peace and fulfillment of that which we are called to.

I write all this down today to stave off the extended gaze over the edge. To find solace in the process and getting it out of my head and onto the page. And to communicate it to you, to hopefully find common ground between us. We’re missing so much, while we run so fast and hard to stay ahead and above the undertow.

Damn, I’m tired. Here’s to more Love, Light and Ease in our lives.

 

K. xo