Hawksley Workman's New Gratitude

Where a standard tour interview quickly turns spirited and sober

When I spoke with Hawksley Workman this spring, it was to highlight his first foray into the dusty corners of British Columbia, playing sold-out small towns he’s usually skipped over for big cities.

Places like Prince George. Vernon. Crofton. Tiny tiny towns.

“I usually breeze through the province without seeing it,” he tells me. “This time I wanted to tour the old fashioned way, on the ground level that requires sweat and a playing a different town each night. I’m beyond grateful to drive around this province.”

Grateful is a word that comes up a lot during our phone call.

Workman tells me he’s grateful for his status as a celebrated Canadian artist after his younger years of reaching for the international brass rings of fame. He’s still esteemed overseas, but today he’s content to bear-hug Canada with his multifaceted music.

But the more the word grateful comes up, the more my recovery rabbit ears perk up.

I have no idea what Workman’s status is on substances, but grateful is the big buzzword of the sobriety world. So I just ask him. And the answer brings me a sudden warmth of connection.

“I haven’t had a drink in three and a half years,” he says.

Workman admits he bought into the self-destructive artist act in his younger years—one that was only cheered on by the music industry and iconic expectations.

“I know I drank a lot of bottles of wine at the time when I was playing the archetype of the rock star guy. And when I got into my early 40’s I was feeling like I was dying and wanted something different for myself.”

“I also lived a life of hopelessness for a long time when I was drinking a lot, and that’s part of the aesthetic of a drinker, to believe in that despair that’s sold by the media,” he tells me. “And I just don’t have the stomach for that anymore.”

Today, Hawksley Workman avoids most social media and “bullshit news” and searches instead for spiritual guidance from ancient history and deep readings.

“The sober part of me gets to sit in a peaceful place trying to enact some of the behaviours of the Stoics and such. I’m not interested in feeling anymore despair.“

“If all I can get right in the second stage of my life is to be less quick to judge myself and other people—if I can get that a little bit right, then I’ll have done my karmic bit in this life.”

This summer, Workman visited his pal Steve Bays (Hot Hot Heat) in Vancouver to write a song, years after collaborating with him on the acclaimed Mounties album. Hawksley found, almost subconsciously, his sober mind and spiritual quest directed the tune’s narrative into a love song to God and his wife.

“The adventure of life all of a sudden feels really exciting to me.”

Workman doesn’t speak “recovery” because he’s not sure if he’ll drink again. But it sure has altered his creative shapeshifting.

“Sure I feel like I sometimes miss the boozy version of myself getting drunk with Steve and smashing around on the drums,” he admits. “But I can also be very invested in this new version of myself which every day I wake up feeling fucking great.”

He pauses. And I feel the unspoken gratitude over the phone.

“I haven’t felt fucking great every day for a very, very long time.”

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