hurdling with ken yates: singer, songwriter + musician
on playing the long game, the dangers of losing the ability to be bored, and realising there are no shortcuts
This interview is a selfish one. Selfish from me, that is, because today’s guest is someone who I truly am a massive fan of – in the sense that I have been a (somewhat obsessive) listener of his music for a number of years now.
I was first introduced to Ken Yates by my husband (ever the influencer), when he sent me the song Surviving Is Easy during a time of significant stress for us both. Cut to our honeymoon a few years later, and Ken Yates’ entire back catalogue was our New Zealand road trip’s soundtrack – this time being listened to through a different, stronger perspective.
A few weeks ago, after a glass of wine, I decided to shoot my shot and ask Ken if he’d be up for being interviewed for this little orange newsletter. A few days later, I found myself unbelievably surprised and thrilled and ecstatic and shocked and nervous to read his message saying that yes, he would.
So for those of you who don’t know him (yet), Ken Yates is a Canadian folk singer-songwriter, who won the Canadian Folk Music Awards for English Songwriter of the Year, and New/Emerging Artist of the Year at the 13th Canadian Folk Music Awards in 2017. His discography includes the albums Twenty-Three (2013), Huntsville (2016), Quiet Talkers (2020), Cerulean (2022) and Total Cinema, which is out today.
In this gorgeous, honest and generous interview, Ken tells me about the benefits of playing the long game as a musician, the dangers of losing the ability to be bored, and realising that actually, there are no shortcuts to getting to where you want to be.
Enjoy!
Tell us a little bit about yourself, and share a snapshot of your life right now.
I’m a 35 year old indie musician living in a small town about an hour and a half north of Toronto, Ontario, Canada. My wife and I bought a house here five years ago and we have our first kid on the way this summer (a baby girl). When I’m at home, my day to day is a mix of writing, co-writing, recording and everything else that comes with keeping a music career going. Otherwise, I’m either on the road playing shows or spending time in the outdoors.
Can you give us an overview of your CV?
I’ve been an independent artist for over a decade now. I graduated from Berklee College of Music in 2011 and have been working as a full time musician ever since. I’ve released four albums, my fifth will be released this June.
My first album twenty-three gave me my first little boost in an audience when John Mayer posted one of my songs on his blog (blogs were still a big thing back then). My second album Huntsville won two Canadian Folk Music Awards for Songwriter of the Year and New Artist of the Year and I started touring full time, playing literally anywhere that would book me and trying to get added as a support act for any artists that would have me (Passenger, Stu Larsen, Rose Cousins, Kathleen Edwards to name a few). My third record Quiet Talkers was released during the pandemic and my sound started to shift from primarily folk music to more of a contemporary sound. That led to my fourth album Cerulean, which I sort of consider to be my ‘breakthrough’ record, where I noticed my audience starting to shift to younger college kids. I also started to be approached by other artists about co-writing, which is something I’ve been doing a lot more of in the last year.
Since then I’ve co-written with artists like Kathleen Edwards, Jenn Grant, Lori McKenna, Katie Pruitt, Tiny Habits and Trousdale. My fifth album Total Cinema comes out this June.
Q: When you were younger, what did you want to be when you ‘grew up’?
I was obsessed with animals as a kid, so I always said I wanted to be a marine biologist. That is until I discovered I was deathly afraid of the ocean.
Q: Tell us about your first job. Where did you work, how did you get that job and what did you learn?
I used to work summers for an irrigation company installing sprinkler systems. My dad pretty much told me to call them and ask for a job – he wanted me to start making my own money. It was hard physical labour and long days but I learned to really enjoy it and still miss some parts of it, being outside all day and working on a crew. It gave me some independence and certainly taught me some team building skills.
Q: Tell us about your worst ever job. Why did you hate it? What made it so bad?
I was briefly an intern at an indie record label in Toronto. I thought working in the music industry would be helpful for my own music career, but I found it to be incredibly stifling for my creativity. I have a lot of appreciation for people who work on that side of the industry, but I quickly learned I was not cut out for office life, and the ‘networking’ that comes with being around other industry types. It’s just not in my skill set.
Q: Tell us about how you got to where you are today? What did it take? What decisions did you make? What was the path like? What hurdles stood in your way? Was it extremely difficult? What did you say yes to? What did you say no to?
Oh man, it takes a lot. You’re always told how hard it is to have a career in music but you really don’t know how much patience, persistence and resilience you need to have until you’re 10 years into it and still feel like you’re ‘emerging’. And of course, my 20 year old self wouldn’t have listened to that anyways.
It always starts with a big dream of fame and fortune, which is just your 20 year old’s naive interpretation of what an actual music career looks like. In reality it’s many long years of shitty shows and sleeping on couches with little to no money, but you persevere because you love it and let’s face it, music is more fun than most jobs.
I started by booking as many shows as humanly possible, I said yes to pretty much every gig I was offered. I played in a lot of what we call ‘alternative spaces’, house concert type of shows, which was great for a while. I was making money, touring all the time and feeling like I was really ‘doing it’. Birthday parties, house parties, any type of small gathering you can think of – selling CDs out of an old briefcase like a literal salesperson. A few years of that and I got extremely burnt out. It felt good to be making a living playing music, but I realized it wasn’t leading anywhere, I was simply keeping myself busy.
Playing in someone’s living room to a bunch of their family and neighbours was not my idea of a music career, so I switched gears. I started emailing every venue and artist I could find about being added to shows as a support act. It was way less money, sometimes barely $100 a gig, but I was getting in front of real audiences and meeting other artists. Sometimes I would drive hours just for one show and it wouldn’t really lead anywhere, but other times it would really pay off. For example, I once was offered a gig opening for Stu Larsen in Washington D.C. It was an 8 hour drive from Toronto where I lived, but I said ‘fuck it’ and drove down there for the one show. Stu turned out to be an incredible guy and we hit it off. I gave him one of my CDs and he ended up sharing it with a bunch of people, most notably Mike Rosenburg who goes by the artist name Passenger. A few months later I get an email from Passenger’s management about supporting both his North American and European tours. A spot on the tour bus, playing to 2-4 thousand people a night, all thanks to the one gig I accepted to open for Stu. I’m so grateful to both Stu and Mike for those opportunities, which is something I hope to pay forward some day.
Then the pandemic hit and I had to readjust to not being on the road all the time. It was, of course, very stressful having to cancel over 30 shows I had booked for the year, but I really started to value the time I had at home with my wife and not feeling like I had a bag packed all the time. It also gave me way more time to write and be creative, which is above all my favourite part of the job. I attribute that time to the evolution in my sound and it’s when I wrote Cerulean, which is the first album I feel like I really found something unique to myself.
When the world started back up again I was really hesitant to go back to the same tour grind. My wife and I had a serious conversation about it. She had moved up the ranks in her job and between the two of us we were making enough money, so we decided I wouldn’t book as many shows just for the money, I would only tour when I wanted to and where I wanted to. It was a big transition for me, but allowed me to be home more and in turn have more time to write and be creative. I’m so thankful I have that choice now, I know many musicians who have to stay on the road just to make ends meet.
I now say no to shows more than ever, but have started saying yes to other things, like co-writing. That’s opened up a whole new world of collaboration and lately I’ve been traveling more for writing trips than for touring, booking weeks of writing in Nashville or LA. It’s allowed me to do more of the thing I love the most, songwriting. So now I live out in the country, I’m on the cusp of releasing a new album (which I consider to be my best), I’ve got a baby on the way, a few select tour dates booked for the fall, and a small but extremely supportive audience. It’s not a bad place to be.
Q: Is the reality of where you are today different to how you imagined it would be? If so, how? What are the biggest differences?
Yes and no. I’m doing exactly what I always wanted to be doing, writing songs for a job and living where I want to live in a beautiful part of the country, but it looks so different from what my 20 year old self would have imagined. I think I always thought there’d be this huge moment where my career takes off before I settled down, but the best thing about getting older is you realise how unimportant and fleeting some of those initial goals are.
Of course I still want my music to be successful and for people to listen, but I certainly don’t want to be famous. Would I love a big cheque in the mail from a song I wrote? Of course. Do I want to headline a show at Massey Hall in Toronto? Absolutely. But some of those superficial goals that were purely ego based have dissipated, and I have been replaced by more gratitude for just being able to keep creating and doing what I love.
Of course I have many days where I’m frustrated with the music industry, but I try to remind myself I’m only doing this because I love writing songs, not for any of the bullshit that comes along with a career pursuing music. So as long as I continue to love it there’s absolutely no reason to stop, and if something big happens along the way it’s just icing on the cake at this point.
The slow burn of my career has also allowed me to nurture my closest relationships, which are stronger than ever. I think having too much success at a young age would have damaged that, because you’re too young to realize how important it is to care for your relationships. My wife and I have been together since high school and have tackled all of these challenges together, and that to me is the real accomplishment. Having a stable home life that I love has really strengthened my relationship with the music industry and given me a lot of perspective on what’s really important.
Q: What’s the biggest mistake you’ve ever made? What happened? What did you do? And what did you learn from it?
As an introvert, I think I hold too much in, especially when it comes to emotional trauma caused by others. There have been moments in the past where I wish I had confronted the person/problem head on, instead of bottling it in, which led to years of pent up anger and resentment. I finally started seeing a therapist which helped me process some of these feelings, and also gave me the tools to try and communicate more effectively and not push down the feelings.
Q: You grew up in London, Ontario and attended Berklee College of Music in Boston. What do you feel you gained from attending such a presitigious music school? Do you feel that it shaped your sound? Did you gain access to opportunities and contacts that you might not have found otherwise? Did you feel comfortable and at home there? If so (or if not), why?
I’m not sure if I would have ever written a song if I didn’t go to Berklee. I initially went there as primarily a guitar player. I knew I wanted to pursue music but my naive young self had no idea what that looked like. I floated around taking different classes for a few years without any real direction, until my third year I decided to take a songwriting class on a whim. It was quite terrifying at first, and initially I wrote some very bad songs, but the biggest thing was I felt like I was finding a community I really vibed with, and it was also the most engaged and focused I’d been doing anything up to that point.
The songs gradually got better and I noticed people responding to them in a positive way. Initially I thought maybe I could pursue a career as a songwriter in Nashville, writing songs for other artists. I didn’t consider myself a real artist or singer yet, but by then I had developed a friendship with a handful of other artists, and they encouraged me that there was something unique in my own delivery of what I was writing.
That was the most valuable thing I took from Berklee, a community of great friends and songwriters who have inspired and encouraged me, and that community still exists today. Particularly my friend and fellow artist Brian Dunne, who I’ve been sending my rough song demos to for over 15 years now. Having someone to give you honest opinions about your art is absolutely invaluable in my opinion.
Q: Your 2016 breakout (and second) album, Huntsville earned you the Emerging Artist of the Year award at the Canadian Folk Music Awards. This is often described as a ‘defining’ moment for you in your career. Do you feel like these big moments really are the most defining? Or do you feel like we’re defined in smaller, everyday moments? (Maybe it’s both? Maybe it’s neither?)
It was definitely validating to win these awards, but I can’t say it was a particularly defining moment for my career. Awards are certainly great in terms of giving you some credibility for the art you’re making, but in general the smaller, everyday moments are really what moves the needle. It’s a nice thing to add to your resume, and it might help get you booked on a festival or two, but I don’t think it necessarily leads to audience growth.
The most meaningful moments for me have been connecting with audiences and other artists by the daily grind of continuing to put my music out there. You can’t always see it working, but things are always happening, and years later you realize things have grown a lot more than you thought. That being said, awards can be nice milestones to mark your progress along the way.
Q: You describe your 2020 album, Quiet Talkers (which was released during the pandemic), as ‘thoughts from the quietest person in the room’. Do you feel like being the quietest person in the room gives you an advantage in your ability to write lyrics that so many people can relate to?
I think I’ve always been a good observer, which I’m sure helps when it comes to writing lyrics. Sometimes I surprise myself with what comes out on the page, realising that I’ve been internalising thoughts that I’ve never actually articulated out loud. I think that’s probably what drew me to songwriting in the first place. It’s an outlet for me to express things I would otherwise internalise.
Q: In any job, ‘success’, recognition and opportunity often goes to the loudest voice in the room. What is your advice to the quiet talkers out there, in all walks of life, who find themselves overlooked, and might not know how to have their voices heard? How can they wield this as a superpower? How might they do so?
There is power in being a good listener. You don’t have to be the loudest voice in the room to be heard. I personally find I’m much more articulate through song than I am in conversation, so there are many different mediums for using your voice. Do what makes you feel good and people will take notice. I actually think the ‘loud voices’ of the world respect the quiet ones, because a lot of times people are being loud out of insecurity. You can’t have one without the other.
But I also think we need to change our definition of what ‘success’ looks like. We’ve been brainwashed into thinking ‘success’ is making money and having power – the image of the big bad CEO kicking down doors and crushing opponents into oblivion. I don’t believe in that definition. We should all know by now that making money and having career success doesn’t necessarily translate to happiness, and to me, being happy = being successful.
So do what you love and surround yourself with people who are doing the same, you don’t have to be an ass-kicking CEO type to be appreciated. Leave the Type A jobs to the Type A people and do your own thing. If you’re a quiet weirdo like me I say lean into your quiet weirdness, it’s what makes you interesting.
Q: Your 2022 album Cerulean has previously been described as ‘a soundtrack for coping’. Two years ago, my husband sent me a link to the song The Future Is Dead a few weeks before we moved to Amsterdam for nine months – which was a coping strategy of our own for a particularly turbulent and unpleasant time in our shared lives. The album did indeed become our soundtrack for coping, then when we re-listened to it on our honeymoon in New Zealand earlier this year, we were so stunned to reflect on how far we’d come. Now the album has a different meaning for us, which I guess is more ‘we coped’ rather than ‘coping’. So thank you so much for that!
If this album was originally about coping, grief and introspection, do you still associate it with all of those feelings now? Has it lived on in its original state, or do you feel like it’s evolved in its meaning?
That means a lot to hear. I have a very similar feeling towards that album as you do. When I listen to it now it sounds a lot more hopeful than I originally thought it was. At the time of release I think I was feeling very nihilistic and cynical, which I definitely still hear in there, but I also hear someone who was determined to find their way out of it, and much like you I listen back and feel ‘I coped’.
But I think every album’s meaning evolves as soon as it leaves the confines of your own bedroom. That album felt so specific to me and my grief/ introspection I wasn’t sure how people would connect with it, and then you see how each listener brings their own life experience to a song and it completely evolves into something different. I think that part of the process is my absolute favourite thing about songwriting, when the songs cease to be yours and become everyone else’s.
Q: On your album Cerulean, there’s a song called Ordinary Life, which you’ve previously said is about ‘searching for joy in the mundane’. Can you tell us a little bit about how important it is to you, creatively, to sit and exist within the mundane parts of life?
I think as a culture we’re losing the ability to be bored. Being bored is a luxury we now try to avoid at all costs, but I started noticing I was only writing lyrics when I was doing something mundane where I couldn’t distract myself; walking the dog, mowing the lawn, showering etc. In every other circumstance I either have a screen in front of me or I’m listening to something to keep my mind occupied. In that regard I think I’m stifling a lot of my own creativity, so I’ve been trying to allow myself more time to just be bored and let my mind wander. I think it allows your subconscious to be a bit more creative throughout the day.
Q: On the outside, a huge output of work and showers of accolades can make it look like ‘success’ is abundant. But given that success is subjective, how do you separate your career accomplishments from the rest of your life? It must be hard as a songwriter who pours his feelings, perspectives and experiences into his work, to separate this. Do you manage to do so? Do you even want to?
Great question! Like I mentioned earlier, I’m thankful my career has been such a slow burn up to this point (and is still very much a slow burn). It’s certainly made me think about what ‘success’ means to me and what I actually want out of my music career, and I think that’s allowed me to nurture the rest of my life and prioritise those things above career accomplishments. It’s still a pretty modest music career if we’re being honest, but I’ve learned that above all I’m doing this because I like writing songs, not because I crave some sort of spotlight.
I’ve been with my wife since high school, have had a group of close friends since college (some who, importantly, aren’t musicians), and my ideal Saturday night is paddling a canoe on a lake where there’s no one around for miles. So that keeps the rest of my life pretty grounded if this whole music thing ever really takes off.
Q: You’ve said that you don’t think you found your sound until Cerulean, and that it took you a decade to figure out the kind of music you wanted to make. For musicians, writers and creatives, finding your authentic voice is often a huge hurdle to get over. Do you think there are shortcuts and easy ways to find your authentic voice? Or do you think it’s something that finds you in its own time?
There are no shortcuts! I would scream this from the rooftops. A music career is like deciding to get super fit. There are no easy diets or quick shortcuts to lose weight, you just have to hit the gym and put in the work. I didn’t write my first song until I was 20, so it makes complete sense it took me another decade to discover my authentic voice. It doesn’t mean the songs I wrote in my 20s were bad, but like any career it takes years of experience to really hone in on your craft.
Of course, there are artists who find their voice early on and their career takes off immediately, but I think that’s an exception to the rule and not something that can be followed by others. I think a lot of artists who are obsessed with finding shortcuts are more focused on being famous vs. making music, and if that’s your goal I think that’s totally fine, but it’s something you should probably acknowledge early on.
Q: Your new album Total Cinema is out next month (June 6th, 2025). From the EP, the sound feels hugely vibrant, positive and colourful. Do you now feel like you’re making the music you’ve always wanted to make? Has it surprised you? Can you tell us a little bit about the shift you’ve experienced with this album? Has it come from a place of additional growth and lived experience?
Absolutely. I had a lot of clarity with how I wanted Total Cinema to sound. I wanted to take what worked with Cerulean and expand on that, while also introducing some new elements. If Cerulean was one shade of blue, I wanted Total Cinema to be many different colours and more dynamic. Push the tempo, try different guitar sounds, embrace some of the catchier choruses I was writing.
It was also my first time working with producer Dan Ledwell, who brought his own sound to the record. He plays so many different instruments, including woodwinds and horns, so that was certainly a brand new element to introduce on this record. I had a level of confidence making this album I’ve never had before, which I think comes from all those years of figuring out how I wanted to sound.
Most importantly I also had fun making it. I think by default I find myself playing the ‘tortured artist’ role a lot of the time, even though that’s not how I’m always living my life. So with this album I wanted to capture the full spectrum, by still acknowledging some of those darker days, but also rejoicing in the good ones.
Q: What’s the biggest hurdle you’ve ever had to get over? This can be in life, love, work, or any other corner of your world.
I think it goes back to those ‘desperation years’ I was talking about earlier. My whole twenties felt like this decade-long hurdle of wanting to do something so bad but feeling like it was never becoming a reality. Many years of feeling like I was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. The music industry has a way of making you obsess over things that are out of your control and make you forget about what’s most important, actually enjoying making music. In that sense, I’m grateful it took me well into my 30s to start having any traction, because by then I had enough life experience to realise what’s important, and not kill myself both mentally and physically for whatever ‘dream’ I was chasing.
Losing my mother in 2021 was a hurdle that sort of broke the spell for me in terms of this desperate chase for success. When you lose somebody close to you there’s a before and after period. I am now someone who’s experienced a level of grief I could not comprehend before, and that’s changed me forever, for the better to be sure. I’m now a much more empathetic person and I value my close relationships more than ever. That’s made a huge difference in my music career. It’s put a spotlight on what’s actually important to me, which in turn has made me far more grateful for any career successes that might come my way.
Q: What’s a recent hurdle (big or small!) you’ve had to get over?
The decision to have a kid was a huge hurdle that was weighing over my wife and I for the past 5 years or so. We were probably overthinking it, but we honestly could have gone both ways, so making the actual decision to try was a real challenge. Of course, I couldn’t help but think how it would affect my career as a touring artist, but those fears pretty much disappeared once we got pregnant. We chose to let the universe decide and now we have a baby on the way this summer. It’s funny that all it took was making the actual decision, and all that weight was removed and replaced by excitement for the changes ahead.
Q: Anything to get off your chest?
Fellow songwriters, the quickest way to scare off another artist is by cold messaging them and asking them to co-write. Don’t do this. Establish a relationship first. Ask them if they’d be interested in grabbing coffee, or even chatting over the phone before you even think about bringing up co-writing. For fuck’s sake, buy them a drink first!
QUICKFIRE
Q: One object you can’t live without?
My dog, Joni (does that count as an object?)
Q: Best advice you’ve ever been given?
Play the long game. People can smell your desperation. Establishing meaningful long term relationships with people is really what builds a strong career.
Q: Worst advice you’ve ever been given?
‘You need a plan B in case your music career fails.’ Fuck that!
Q: If you could collaborate with any artist (living or dead), who would it be and why?
Sufjan Stevens. I don’t think I would have been a songwriter without his early records. I’d love to just be around him making music for a few hours.
Q: The person you admire the most?
My wife. Watching her navigate pregnancy has been an amazing thing to watch. Women are truly superheroes.
Q: Ever faked being sick to get off work?
No, but I’ve faked being NOT sick TO work.
Q: Any last words?
These were some really great questions! Thank you for thinking I’d be even remotely interesting enough to answer them.
Ken Yates’ new album Total Cinema is out today (June 6th). You can listen to it and buy it (do that instead!) here. You can follow Ken on Instagram here.