Bad Child

My father had this old Hewlett Packard computer with this bootleg copy of fruity loops, I'd spend hours making beats. I couldn't stop creating. I didn't start singing until after my mother's death, it was the only way I could unpack my emotions. I became colder than the winter that she left. I fell in a downward spiral and would eventually have to face the depression that swelled inside. I tried everything I could to numb myself to the pain but it only made it worse.

I began filtering my struggle into music, I felt repaired analyzing the things that tore me up. I began constructing a world that I could find solace in. The first song I had ever finished was BAD CHILD. I had written and produced it in 3 days and thrown it online. I moved to Toronto not knowing anyone, just on a gut instinct. I lived out of an old rehearsal space with a hotplate and an air mattress, and when the air mattress burst I slept on the floor. I made music every day and lived on oatmeal and cigarettes.

1/2 cup of water

1/2 cup of cranberries

1 Pinch of cinnamon

1 cup oatmeal

That recipe got me through the first year on my own, I don't recommend it. It was the first time in my life I had a purpose. BAD CHILD took on a different meaning to me. It was about finding redemption in my failures. BAD CHILD is about not being good enough, not living up to expectations, it's about trying to be a better person.

For more details visit

Coca-Cola Stage

July 11: 8 p.m.