Sebastian Gaskin opens up on his debut album, Love Child, a cross-cultural deep dive into love, loss and resilience…
By Elio Iannacci
In today’s musical and political landscape, noise and bravado often dominate. Words like peace and grace have become elusive but are still so desired. Sebastian Gaskin – a queer multi-instrumentalist, singer-songwriter and producer from Tataskweyak Cree Nation – embodies both grace and peace in a way that’s as unexpected as it is magnetic. His serene and intimate rapport in interviews – which never feel forced or performative – mirrors the new songs on his first album, Love Child. This recently dropped disc explores love and loss in a way that doesn’t rage or overtly dramatize. Instead, Love Child’s songs are peaceful and graceful, and yet still powerful. Cherry-picking sounds from downtempo electro, Hip-Hop-Soul and ’90s-era Diva Pop, Love Child was born from crisscrossing multiple territories.
Gaskin’s debut album dropped under the banner of Ishkōdé Records, an Indigenous-owned label, in collaboration with Universal Music Canada. It landed just weeks before Gaskin hit the iconic South by Southwest stage, – setting the stage for what could be a breakthrough moment at Austin’s indie-music Olympiad. And a few days before that, Gaskin sat down with IN Magazine to chat about the many muses, meanings and emotions behind Love Child.
The lyrics for two of your recently released songs – ‘Ghost’ and ‘Song For Granny’ – explore the power of memory. If your grandmother and mother had a playlist, what are some of the artists you think would be on it?
Shania Twain was big back in the ’90s, so definitely her with ‘Man, I Feel Like A Woman,’ and I also remember hearing a lot of Lee Ann Womack. I grew up surrounded by the kind of strong women who would go on to inform my songwriting later in life. I believe little moments like hearing a country song on the radio as a child can affect the way you end up writing a lyric.
Another song off Love Child is called ‘Medicine.’ It is a tribute to your late father, Jody Thomas Gaskin. Tell me about what went into creating this track.
He was an incredible musician. He toured with Buffy Sainte-Marie and bands like Eagle & Hawk, so I’ve just really wanted to preserve his memory. He was a very complicated man. I include traditional singing in the chorus of this song because he was one of the first Indigenous artists to do that – combine traditional elements with pop music. I felt a bit of a deeper connection with him after I wrote the song.
One of your new album’s standout tracks is a song called ‘Shadows.’ How does performing lyrics like ‘I’ll just carry on with the show, don’t you know I’m a falling domino’ resonate with you as a queer Indigenous performer who’s living in such a precarious political moment?
As much as that song came from a place of grief and sort of sadness for losing somebody very close to me, the lyrics are like a manual for me. They literally tell me I have to push forward no matter how much it hurts. You can’t just lie down and die because you’re sad. That might sound insensitive, but you have to work towards something, otherwise you’ll never heal.
I’ll give you a perfect example of something that happened last year. I was celebrating and grieving the life of a friend that I lost a year ago. His name was Josh. He died suddenly and he was very young. The day he died, I had to go do the photo shoot for this album. So, I had to pull myself out of bed and get my ass to this, [to] be a part of this project I’ve worked on for so long. As soon as we finished doing the photography, I had booked a flight to be with his family. I had to compartmentalize in order to get this album done to make sure that I was on time for rehearsals when I got back.
Does music comfort you in ways the outside world cannot?
Music is like a pillow for me. I learned to dream on it. I discovered songwriting very early on in life. It helped me process my feelings. I had a conversation with my uncle this weekend about compartmentalization. He kind of blew my mind. He just turned 60. I was telling him about how I’ve gotten really good at compartmentalizing in my life and he kind of challenged me when he said I should ‘know the limits of those compartments.’
What was the first song you ever wrote?
It’s called ‘Touch and Brilliance.’ I was 12. I’d just gone through my first serious breakup and I thought the world was ending. I wrote about being so hurt but also knowing that I was with this beautiful person who didn’t mean to hurt me. I was a very deep 12-year-old.
One of your newer songs, called ‘Safe,’ brings up the idea of whether or not safe spaces are fictional or real.
They can be created. I’ve definitely experienced places of real safety with my therapist, for example. The topic of safe spaces at shows or concerts is a difficult one because I want to protect the people who go to my shows, but how can you stop them from running into someone they don’t want to see? You can’t exclude people from a public place, so it’s such a tough conversation. Then, sometimes I think…maybe safe is subjective, you know? Maybe it’s more of a feeling or something so arbitrary that it can’t be put into words. I know I feel safe when I can fully be myself, all forms of myself. I enjoy partaking in substances and alcohol, but being able to do that around people I trust is key. Also: being able to say stupid shit without judgment is a big one for me. We all do it with our friends but we have to feel safe enough to be able to be ourselves.
You returned to your nation last year and a journalists called it a hero’s welcome. Is that an accurate description of what you felt?
It definitely felt like that because when I first got there – this was in July last year – I thought I was just going back there to sort of speak to the youth and perform a few songs and see people I hadn’t seen in years. When I left, I saw that they had put a big billboard up on the res that said, ‘Home of Sebastian Gaskin, Juno Nominee.’ It was really moving to feel that love and that acceptance from the community that I grew up in.
What changes did you see on the res?
I feel like it’s gotten a little worse there for the younger generation. There are fewer activities for them to do. I don’t think they even opened up the ice rink this year for hockey and skating, whereas when I was growing up there, it was always open on time every year. There’s a lot more vandalism there now, unfortunately. These kids are still having fun and smiling and playing throughout all of this negativity. There’s been a large influx of crack cocaine that has infiltrated the community and a rise in violence and home invasions, so that was really sad to see.
What gave me hope was the number of artistic types in the newer generations. They are interested in making music and saying something with sound. My younger cousin, Sage, he produces beats and I got him a new keyboard for Christmas because I wanted to continue to fan that flame. My friend Dieter, who is a drummer, guitar player and songwriter – we were in a cover band together back in high school – he’s helping a lot and teaching these kids about music. It’s really important as Indigenous people that we continue thinking about that next generation.
One of the most politically charged songs on the album is ‘Brown Man’ – which I believe was inspired by the murder of George Floyd. One of the verses contains the lyrics: ‘Turn off the TV, I don’t want to see it’ – something so many people can relate to right now. How do you protect your art and the gifts you have – and continue to develop them – while still connecting to what is happening in reality?
‘Brown Man’ is really the only spot in the album where you’ll get a politicized viewpoint, because the rest of the songs are love songs and songs about grief. With everything that’s going on, it gets hard to keep it inside you and carry around all of that heaviness. How can you not write about it? You have to disconnect at some point. You can look at the darkness, but don’t stare at it, because then it sort of strains you if you stare too long. Now, I try to stay off of X. I can’t stay on it for more than 10 seconds because it’s just pure hatefulness and it can be such a disgusting place. I think surrounding yourself with people who love you and support you is getting harder but it’s what you have to do. That might sound super cliché, but it’s true.
Aside from memories for your songs, what else do you collect?
I’m a big collector of shoes. I have an obsession with Nike Air Max 90s. I have 17 pairs at home. I’m trying to get special colourways. I like my jewellery. That helps me get into a good head space. I love silver the most – it looks so good on my skin.
Fashionwise – whether it’s a style icon or brand or trend – who or what are you most connected to at the moment?
A name that always comes up as a reference for me is André Leon Talley. He was brilliant – the sort of larger-than-life sofa parkas he’d wear really speak to me. I wore an outfit for the cover art for ‘Song for Granny’ – which was a Dorian Who piece – which really reminded me of André Leon Talley. Fashion that is genderless and formless feels so right for me.
If your debut album had to have a mission statement, what would it be?
That I am anti-genre. The idea of the music genre is fading away as time goes on. You’ll see artists like Shaboozey who are melding many sounds and cultures together. I hope this record serves as a jumping-off point for other artists to say, ‘Hey, maybe I could push these boundaries.’ I also hope that kids from my res – and other reserves in Canada—can listen to this album and say, ‘I can do that.’
Hearing Chappell Roan initiating conversations about labels providing proper health care to artists and shining a light on trans rights at the Grammys makes me think that pop artists today are far more outspoken than the generation before them. Do you think that is fair to say?
The way she called out the journalist and asked him to put his money where his mouth is really showed what level of resilience there is out there. Charli XCX backing her up and Benson Boone also pledging 25 grand makes me think that this next generation knows how to take action. For a good reason. It’s important that these conversations are had because they’ve been set aside for so long. I don’t know exactly what Chappell Roan’s experience has been, but the fact that she was able to speak up at a huge event such as the Grammys – that says a lot about her and her courage.
Buffy Sainte-Marie has been in the news lately because the Canadian government has stripped her of her Order of Canada after news came out about how she fabricated her Indigenous identity. Many are asking for the Junos to also take her honours away from her. What do you think about the situation?
It’s a difficult one for me because one of my first tours was with Buffy Sainte-Marie. I got to know her – she was always a lovely person and a beautiful soul. I am sure she didn’t mean as much harm as she caused, but she did cause harm. It doesn’t change the fact that many people were hurt by what turned out to be. As far as stripping her of her awards goes, yeah, I don’t know. When’s it going to stop? Do we strip her of everything? I don’t really know the answers.
I want to talk about art that’s inspired Love Child. Did any films or soundtracks seep into the evolution of the album?
I’ve watched the movie Interstellar about 400 times. It’s just such an epic film. The grandiosity of the story and the way it is playing with time makes it such a beautiful thing to watch. It’s the greatest film of all time. It inspired a lot of these songs because the record is so cinematic. I see a lot of these songs as scenes out of a movie.
ELIO IANNACCI is an award-winning arts reporter and graduate student at York University whose research interests include ethnomusicology and gender studies. He has contributed to more than 80 publications worldwide, profiling icons such as Barbra Streisand, Lady Gaga, Aretha Franklin and Beyoncé. His academic work is supported in part by funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council.
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