This has been a hell of a rough spring so far. So many deaths, suffering, sorrows. I'm feeling strong and clear, so if you need to lean, I'm here. Here are some words I wrote for my friend Justin who was a big part of my life, who died last week.
Justin Haynes came to the Yukon to perform in the Longest Night Ensemble in 2003, hired by director Daniel Janke, and that began our turbulent friendship and many years of recording and touring together. He is the guitarist on my 3rd record, “luckyburden”, which was released on Caribou Records in 2004. He played on my records: Wilderness Tips, Saplings, Camden and one track on How To Let Go. We toured in Australia, and across Canada many times. Lots of good, bad and weird gigs. Many stories!
I just got home from my first tour in seven years. I got the news of Justin's passing halfway through the tour. This past week, doing shows and revisiting some of the songs I wrote for Justin, I notice how many of them are like little prayers I made to help keep him afloat. His survival was always a question mark. And yet, so shocking when he died. Hope is weird.
Last year in the spring I got a strong feeling that I should do some music with Justin again. My time has been mainly focused on my twins for the past six years, which has created an urgency about making better use of the moments I do have to myself. The best music I have made has been with Justin. There were times we shared on stage or in the studio or rehearsing when I felt most connected to something magic and beyond words or science. When we played songs together or improvised, we sat deep in the music. I would play something and he responded immediately with sounds from his shitty guitars that felt holy. He always seemed to play what I heard in my head, but couldn’t play myself. I felt more understood and more valued than anything I have otherwise experienced. He was intense and brilliant and made the world less banal and less disappointing.
I came to Toronto last spring right around this time and we spent a day at Don Kerr’s house recording. We went up on the roof in the spring sunshine and sang a song I wrote for Justin and for other people I love who are struggling, called “Glad You’re Still Alive”, because he always liked my straight-to-the-point songs best. Strip it right down to the raw honest bits. Don filmed this session with a 360 camera and you can move the image around and see the gulls flying over in the blue sky, Don breaking a stick to use for rooftop percussion, Justin looking like he was just released from hospital and enjoying seeing the sun for the first time. At the end of the song, a gust of wind blows the camera over and the world turns upside down. We laughed and laughed that day. It’s amazing to watch this now.
I’m awfully glad I followed my gut last spring. I had booked another recording session, for last week, to do the same thing but better this time. We were going to record a few songs, polish them up, do some “Men in Love” improvisations. He was going to play with me at the Burdock. He had a lot of plans, and good things on the go.
Justin was sure not perfect. He said nasty messed-up things to people, burned bridges, was unreliable, destructive. I grappled with knowing he treated people badly, but still being his friend. Navigating boundaries with people with mental health issues is tricky and there is a learning curve to it. Early in my friendship with Justin I used to get so angry! We had terrible fights, and wouldn’t speak for months sometimes. Over time I accepted that I just loved him and wanted to be there for him because he needed allies, too. In the past few years it was easy to forgive him because I could see that he didn’t want to be the way he was. I think he really tried, but some people are wired a certain way and we haven’t figured out how to help them yet.
The housing crisis in Toronto is extreme. If our country, and the city of Toronto, helped people with mental health struggles to live with some dignity through their difficult times, maybe Justin wouldn’t be dead. Read his articles on the subject. I hope we will pick up his thread and keep working for solutions.
I know a lot of you have been through the experiences I describe here, yourself or with a loved one. It’s hard to find the joy in living sometimes. I’m going to sing my heart out the rest of my numbered days. Push back against the demons, make good, for Justin.