At some point while writing this record, I’d given my addiction a personality. He was like a junk yard dog on the other side of a fence I’m cursed to walk by from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep. I wanted that to come through on this recording in particular. The guitars had to be jagged, the bass had to growl, the words had to snap and bark.

I was attending twelve step meetings in the basement of a church in the south end of Halifax. One was held a few hours before I had to go to work singing songs at whatever bar, around the various substances I was desperate to avoid. This is where the religious imagery comes from. I’m not a religious man, but I was trying to find a god of any sort to save me from myself. I wrote the words in my head during one meeting just by looking at the old cross stitches hanging crookedly around the room, and from listening to the harshest truths I’ve ever heard, delivered by some of the most unassuming folks I’d ever met. Truth is cold. It’s uncomfortable, it’s harsh. That basement was cold. Damn cold.

I hope you can join myself and my band June 9th for Rock for Mental Health at the Marquee Ballroom to raise money for a cause near and dear to my heart. The Mental Health Foundation of Nova Scotia does important work. Tickets are available now, grab them here.

Here’s a performance of “Rehtaeh” we did for CBC’s “Q” last year. Thanks to The Ceeb for having us, and to Aaron Goldstein and Liam O’Neil for playing with me.

I sat at my piano Monday evening with my family at our dinner table and began to cry. I was, and still am, gutted and exhausted emotionally. I’ve watched with sadness, like many of you, the unraveling moral fabric of the United States government. I read with horror of the murder of six fathers in Quebec City while worshiping, a civil liberty afforded to every person of this nation. I tend to believe that this is merely an episode, and that one day before too long this too shall have passed. In the meantime, those of us who refuse to live in fear, in ignorance, and without empathy must do what we have to do to sleep soundly. All I can do is sing.

Woody Guthrie wrote these words in the 1940s. My hero, Bruce Springsteen, sang them in the ’80s. I’d never venture to interpret these words in any one way, but no one would dispute that the message is one of uniting. Guthrie and Springsteen have found themselves on the right side of history. Unity will always be on the right side of history. Division will not. Last night, I felt like I had to add my voice to the millions south of our border who are demanding better. I needed to join the masses of Canadians of every “stock” who were mourning the loss of our fellow countrymen. This was the only way I could do that.

This is what all my heroes have done in the past. They’ve used what voice they have to amplify the voices around them that need it most. What little I can do, I sure hope it helps.

I give you this song, I hope it lifts your spirits a little. I ask that in return, you consider donating to the Canadian Civil Liberties Association, or any organization you see fit. Just do something with this to make someone else’s life easier today. Do something that makes someone feel welcome today. Do something that makes someone feel loved today.

What we’re losing in this darkness will be found again in the light those of us shine in these times of trouble.

I love you all,
AB

To donate to the Canadian Civil Liberties Association – https://ccla.org/give/