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Illustration by Alex Deadman-Wylie
When I was 25, indie rock nearly killed me. I was living in Vancouver and playing in a band when things started going down fast. Twenty years later, I’m in a new band but this time things are different, mostly because I’m a grown man and a dad now.
There are good reasons why making music in middle-life is a silly thing to do. At the same time, it is a vital part of who I am. It is the thing I try to do to make myself better. It is also a thing I get to do with my daughter now. Mostly we drop the needle on Raffi but who knows what she’ll be spinning tomorrow when she’s big and tall.
Figuring out how to be an adult can be a heavy experience. It was for me. Figuring out how to be an adult while having all your hopes wrapped up in indie rock success can send you running for the hills. It did for me. At one point, my songs and the sound of my voice – flawed and vulnerable – became too much for me to take.
In April 2005, I had my first panic attack on a public transit escalator. The doctor at the walk-in clinic told me I was having a quarter-life crisis and sent me and my pending doom on our way. Because I was young, I was hanging out and partying a lot with friends, which didn’t exactly help either. I moved back to Toronto and worked on my mental health. I wasn’t actually dying… I just needed to figure out how to do life.
Looking back, I consider myself lucky. Home was a safe place to land. My parents believed me when I told them I had had an emotional breakdown. They also had money so I could delay earning my own, and they let me have my old room back to stage my recovery.
For the next decade or so, that’s what I did. I learned how to be a boyfriend and husband. We took trips, and I learned about the benefits of travelling with an itinerary. I worked in the non-profit sector as a communications guy and learned some important lessons along the way. I went back to school and trained as a social worker. About a year into my chosen career, I got up on a ladder, pulled down my electric and started writing songs again. I played a solo show. I formed a band with two other youth counsellors and we played a show. I distracted myself while my wife, and I waited a long, long time for our daughter to arrive.
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In May 2022, three weeks after being matched for adoption, our baby daughter came home – finally and all of a sudden, both at once. Becoming a dad filled a giant pothole inside me. It brought us comfort where there had been sadness and stress. Everything was better… except for our sleep, of course. I also had to put my indie rock dreams on hold again. By fall, I was back with the band, though, building our songs and working through the kinks. Last year we recorded a record with Canadian indie legend José Contreras and named it after our band, Fastsleeper (you should look us up!). There is a video out there of me and my daughter putting the new vinyl on for the first time. We’re both dancing and looking super happy.
When I was younger, music helped me become a person. But now that I am that person, it seems silly to get dressed up and go play a show when on any other night I would be at home in my pajamas with my wife and kid. When I close the door to my daughter’s room at night, the only thing I want to do is sit. I love sitting so much. But on Wednesdays, I get up and go to a rehearsal studio where I am with all the other grown-up rockers (thrashers, punks, etc.) trying to get close to the edge.
Next week my daughter will move from her crib into a big kid bed and from there, the stakes just go up. As a parent you hope that the transitions go smoothly, but as a grown-up you know that they probably won’t. If you trust the process, though, you also know that things do work themselves out.
After all the difficult stuff, I am grateful I get to be a dad rocker and that making music is still a part of who I am. In addition to my sick record collection, I hope my daughter also inherits this ethos. Just because you grow up doesn’t mean you stop growing.
Geoff Gans lives in Toronto.
