Cancer Bats: “In a way, not having a specific goal has allowed us to succeed so I’ll continue until my body gives up.”

More than two decades into their career, Cancer Bats have built a catalogue defined by raw energy, relentless touring and a refusal to become comfortable. Their eighth album, Give Me Dirt, arrives at a moment of renewal for the Canadian hardcore band, with a settled line-up, a rediscovered sense of connection and a determination to capture the physical intensity that has always made their live performances so vital.

Created without deadlines or outside pressure, the record grew from long hours spent jamming together, personal upheaval and experiences far beyond the rehearsal room. Frontman Liam Cormier drew inspiration from rural Nova Scotia, motorcycle journeys through Nepal and the Rockies, and a desire to reconnect with tangible, imperfect forms of creativity. Recorded with Kurt Ballou, Give Me Dirt embraces the grit, chaos and authenticity of hardcore while marking a fresh chapter for a band now entering its third decade.

Speaking with V13 for our latest Cover Story, Cormier discusses rebuilding Cancer Bats, trusting his instincts, and creating the album’s artwork by hand, just one of many creative avenues he and the band explored for their new record.

You recently made a comment about how important it is for everybody in the band to jam together in the same room. Why is that so important to the overall energy of Cancer Bats?

“For us, it’s about capturing the energy we want to translate into the live show. It takes a certain number of hours playing songs over and over again to work out the tempo, the feel and how they’re actually going to translate when we’re performing at Slam Dunk or Hellfest. Is a particular section going to make people go crazy? Because of the pandemic and the physical distance between us, we really felt the absence of that process on Psychic Jailbreak. With this record, we knew we needed an entirely new plan that allowed us to be together in the room from the beginning. We didn’t want everybody to work on their parts separately in their bedrooms and then come together at the end.

I needed to sit at the drum kit with Jaye while he showed us the first riffs and explained the atmosphere he had in mind. We could then establish the drum beat together. It was the same with Jackson. He and I worked together in Moncton, New Brunswick, where he lives. Before we even brought those ideas to the rest of Cancer Bats, we wanted to establish the feel. Then Mikey could hit the ground running, and the songs could begin to take shape. The last record reminded us of that process and forced us to relearn something we may previously have taken for granted.”

Many bands have said the same thing. Going from that familiar way of working into the pandemic and losing it completely must have been difficult. How challenging was it to rediscover that connection?

“That was a huge part of wanting to write another record. It was an opportunity to have fun again and jam without any particular intention. We also gave ourselves an almost infinite amount of time. We hadn’t signed the deal with Marshall yet, so there was nobody breathing down our necks.

Our booking agents said, ‘You’re at the point where you’re a legacy band. If you want to keep touring, we can continue booking tours. You can do whatever you want, but don’t rush into making another record because this one needs to be really good.’ I like that kind of pressure, where people are essentially saying, ‘Don’t put out a bad album, or you’ll be out of business and planning the farewell tour.’”

“For us, it’s about capturing the energy we want to translate into the live show. It takes a certain number of hours playing songs over and over again to work out the tempo, the feel and how they’re actually going to translate when we’re performing at Slam Dunk or Hellfest.”

What does it feel like when people describe Cancer Bats as a legacy band?

“As we approached the twentieth anniversary, those comments began to feel cooler than simply being told we were old. Sometimes you become a legacy band by default because you’ve managed to survive. For us, though, we were celebrating twenty years of Birthing the Giant, and people were already asking when we would mark the twentieth anniversary of Hail Destroyer or whether we would eventually play anniversary shows for Dead Set on Living. Those things make us feel relevant. We didn’t simply release one record that people liked. There are several albums that matter to people, and we’re still making new music. It feels like a legacy in a positive sense.”

Where do you think this new record sits within the Cancer Bats catalogue? You haven’t released just one album people love. There has been a real consistency throughout the band’s career, so where does this one rank among your favourites?

“This record reminds me a great deal of Dead Set on Living because we really stepped up to the plate and wanted to nail it. We had written a cool album with Bears, Mayors, Scraps & Bones, but some of those songs were more of a slow burn. People love them now, but with Dead Set on Living, we wanted to write a Cancer Bats record that hit people instantly.

‘R.A.T.S.’ is the first song on Dead Set on Living, and it immediately kicks your ass. I began getting those same feelings while we were making this record. When we were recording vocals for ‘World Gone Up in Flames,’ I thought we could open the album with it. However, we could also have opened with ‘Give Me Dirt’ or ‘Stay Stuck.’ There are so many songs that could begin the record. You could almost put it on shuffle, and it would still kick people’s asses. When you’re in the studio and you realise that, it feels really good.”

There have been several changes to the line-up. Does this album feel like the beginning of a fresh chapter for Cancer Bats?

“It does. We’ve ironed out many of the things that may previously have felt uncertain. Scott leaving was an enormous shift because he and I started the band together. Now the line-up feels solid, with Jackson playing guitar and Mikey and me handling the business side. Everybody’s role within the band is much clearer, and the entire situation feels strong. It’s a really good time to be in the Cancer Bats camp.”

V13 Cover Story – Issue 131 – Cancer Bats

Let’s talk about the lyrics. You went into rural Nova Scotia to work on them…

“That lined up nicely with the fact that I moved to Nova Scotia in 2019. I bought an old, partially collapsed shack from somebody in rural Nova Scotia. It’s around five minutes from the ocean on the north shore, which is amazing. The building was covered in rubbish and falling apart. The previous owner had begun renovating it, but he fell off the roof a couple of times and eventually gave up. He sold it to me for almost nothing, essentially for exactly what he had originally paid. I’ve slowly been renovating it and turning it into a home. I wrote many of the lyrics while I was out there in what I call my shack. ‘Ocean Crash’ is very much about being there, going through a breakup, spending time in the woods and doing my own thing. The place became an inspiration in itself.”

What does being in that kind of environment give you that you wouldn’t necessarily find in a conventional studio?

“There’s something valuable about being completely disconnected from distractions. In many places out there, I don’t even have mobile phone service. I’m not answering emails or thinking about anything else. I might be riding a dirt bike through the woods or driving my truck along winding dirt roads. The only thing you can do is think about the melodies on the record and whatever is happening inside your head.

You can’t even turn on Spotify. There’s a perfect absence of distraction. We’ve always said that, for us to write a record and feel inspired, we have to go out and live our lives. We need to absorb those experiences. Getting the shack created the space I needed to develop all these ideas.”

The album explores a mixture of themes, including personal loss, grief, travel, nature and the environment. Were those ideas inspired by relocating, or did you already have them in mind for the record?

“They developed naturally over the last few years. Being able to visit a place like Nepal, experience the culture, ride motorcycles and make a group of Nepali friends had a definite effect on the record. Give Me Dirt was written entirely in Nepal. Including the temple bells was very important, but there are also children singing in the background. I recorded them outside my hotel window at around two o’clock in the morning during Tihar, which is the Nepali version of Diwali. The children were celebrating and singing in the streets, and I remember thinking it was the most inspiring place on Earth.”

“There’s something valuable about being completely disconnected from distractions. In many places out there, I don’t even have mobile phone service. I’m not answering emails or thinking about anything else.”

What is the one lasting memory or moment you’ve taken away from that trip to Nepal?

“I think it’s the kindness you encounter from people who live in incredibly remote areas. Your motorcycle might break down, or you might need help in some other way, and these people are living in tiny villages with very few possessions. Yet they immediately make you tea, help repair the bike or invite you inside to shelter from the rain. You find yourself thinking, ‘You are literally the kindest people I’ve ever met.‘”

Does experiencing that change your outlook on life?

“It makes me want to appreciate everything much more. We have so many distractions and possessions, yet people still struggle to find purpose or happiness. Then I’m spending time with somebody who owns little more than a pair of flip-flops and a strange shirt, and he’s completely stoked.”

On the other side of that, you’ve spoken about travelling and riding motorcycles. What does motorcycling give you mentally and creatively?

“It gives me clarity. Motorcycling is almost a cheat code for creativity because you’re so alert while you’re riding. You’re alone inside the helmet, you can’t look at your phone and there are no other distractions. You’re completely involved in what is happening around you.

Creatively, it’s interesting to discover what comes to the front of your mind in those moments. ‘Don’t Trip’ came from riding through the Rockies while thinking about one particular issue. Suddenly, I was caught in a storm, and the only thing I cared about was not dying. That experience gave me an immediate sense of what the song needed to be about.”

You brought Kurt Ballou in to work on the record. What did he contribute?

“What impressed us about Kurt was that he’s such a master at recording gnarly, chaotic bands. His approach is almost more straightforward than we expected. His attitude is essentially, ‘We’re recording a hardcore record.’ He isn’t precious. He doesn’t care how large or small the band might be. He gives everybody the same effort and attention.

In a similar way to Steve Albini, Kurt is looking to capture the performance and the reality of what our band sounds like. He isn’t interested in over-editing everything. He’ll use punch-ins, but only because he might say, ‘You played the first section perfectly. We only need to fix this one drum fill because I know how you normally play it.’

Representing what Cancer Bats sound like live has always been incredibly important to us, so it was great to work with somebody who understood that. We had previously played shows with Converge, so Kurt had seen us firsthand. He understood that we headbang while we play and knew what the band was supposed to feel like. He has been making records for such a long time that he could easily have become jaded or started trying to reinvent the wheel. Instead, his attitude remains, ‘Yes, man. Hardcore.’ He tells us jokes, we hang out, and everybody has a good time.”

Considering what we discussed earlier about this being a fresh chapter for Cancer Bats, it feels like the perfect working relationship.

“I think so too. We were laughing with the members of Underoath because they said most bands make their first record with Kurt. They thought it was funny that our eighth record was the one we made with the punk guy. We were doing it in reverse. That’s a perfect way of looking at it because the experience felt refreshing and almost youthful. It allowed us to channel that kind of energy into the record.”

Cancer Bats ‘Give Me Dirt’ album artwork

You recently made a comment about people becoming tired of AI and overly polished art. Following on from what Kurt brought to the record, do you think heavy music needs to remain chaotic, messy and organic?

“I think that will always be part of its ethos. The DIY aspect, the grittiness and the idea that energy can make up for a lack of technical talent are what draw many of us to hardcore. That’s what we want from this music. Around ten years ago, there was a moment when we worried that quality was being lost. Many bands were bringing too much computer technology into their live shows, and some people were becoming overly precious about vocals and other parts of the performance.

It’s encouraging to see that twenty-year-olds are now carrying the chaotic torch. There are many exciting live bands, and people are putting on DIY shows. I think those younger audiences crave authenticity. Coming out of the pandemic, when everything had to be experienced through a tablet and they missed so much real life, has made them hungry for something tangible.”

What was your approach to the album artwork?

“It came from the same feeling. I was also sick of everything being digital and looking too polished. The wall behind me right now is a perfect example of the inspiration. Being in major cities, looking at street art and seeing all those colours and textures had a huge effect on me. My phone is filled with photographs of things I’ve seen in the street. When it was time to begin the artwork, I knew the general direction I wanted to take. I don’t necessarily consider myself a painter as much as an artist in a broader sense. I know how to cut and paste, wheat-paste things and make a mess. I felt I could communicate the idea through passion rather than relying entirely on technical skill.

“I began working on it and slowly chipped away. It felt daunting because the piece itself is four feet by eight feet, so I had taken on a genuinely enormous canvas. I decided to use tactile materials and tools I already understood. It’s painted on particle board, and while I used paintbrushes, I also worked with trowels and tools that would normally be used for applying drywall compound. Those were techniques I had picked up while renovating my house.”

How did the renovation work cross over into making the artwork?

“I realised that, during the years when I hadn’t been painting, I had still been honing relevant skills by working with drywall and painting my own house. I could bring those skills full circle twenty years later and use them to create art again. It felt really good, particularly because I could see the piece progressing every day and becoming increasingly real. I sent photographs to almost every artist I knew to get feedback and make sure I was heading in the right direction. Everybody kept saying, ‘This is really cool,’ which gave me reinforcement. Somebody like Daniel P. Carter is an incredible artist, so sending him the album cover and receiving genuinely enthusiastic feedback made me think, ‘Okay, I’m actually doing this.’ It was an intense but incredibly rewarding process.”

We spoke earlier about dirt biking and what it gives you mentally and creatively. What did returning to visual art after such a long time give you, particularly when you began receiving that positive feedback?

“It was invigorating. I’m forty-six years old, so there was an element of an old dog learning new tricks. I didn’t want to think, ‘I’m too old to do this. I should ask a hungry and inspired twenty-year-old to make the artwork.’ Instead, I thought, ‘No, I’m forty-six, and I can do this. I have all these skills I’ve built over the years, and I can work it out.’

I had plenty of help when it came to translating the physical piece into an actual album cover because I hadn’t thought about how I would get it from the board onto the record. My friend April Thibault helped with the photography and Photoshop work. That was where I leaned on somebody with professional expertise because she’s a Photoshop wizard. She helped retain the crispness and made sure it still looked like paper, paint and physical materials rather than becoming a flat digital image. I feel lucky to be surrounded by so many talented people in the arts.”

“I think those younger audiences crave authenticity. Coming out of the pandemic, when everything had to be experienced through a tablet and they missed so much real life, has made them hungry for something tangible…”

When you looked at the finished artwork, how close was it to the vision you initially had?

“It’s strange because I was making it up as I went along. Whenever a particular technique worked, I kept developing it. I’m incredibly happy with the result, but when I started in January, I had no idea what the finished piece would look like. I simply went for it. That was probably why I kept seeking approval during the process. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t disappearing down a rabbit hole only for everybody to look at it six weeks later and ask, ‘What the fuck have you done?’”

How do you think the artwork connects with the themes of the album?

“When I began working on it, we hadn’t even decided on Give Me Dirt as the title. As the piece developed and I thought more about roughness, dirt and all these different elements coming together, it began to feel completely at home with the record. The album sounds raw. I’m talking about reconnecting with tangible things, the earth and nature. Give Me Dirt almost became a mantra for us and particularly for me. It represented the idea of saying, ‘Fuck computers. Give me dirt.’ I wanted to make the painting raw, so that phrase helped build momentum around the entire project.”

Following on from that, what have you learned about yourself through this entire process?

“I’ve learned where staying open to new experiences can lead. If you had asked me ten years ago whether I would ever leave Toronto, ride motorcycles across Nepal or create the painting for a Cancer Bats album, all those things would have felt completely foreign. It’s about trusting the process and trusting my instincts enough to go with things. You follow the adventure and see where it takes you. When you’re being honest with yourself, things have a way of working out.”

I wanted to finish with something you said about “Stay Stuck” and the idea of moving towards something bigger and chasing goals and dreams. What are the goals and dreams now, both personally and for Cancer Bats?

“One of the reasons we’ve been successful may be that we’ve never had any specific goals. We’re more interested in experiencing everything and living this lifestyle. By virtue of still doing it, we’re already winning. We get to attend these festivals, surround ourselves with incredible people, tour with our friends and bring other friends on the road with us. We keep looking at one another and saying, ‘We’re still here.’ It’s crazy that we’re still doing this, that we’re happy and that we’re having fun. In a way, not having a specific goal has allowed us to succeed so I’ll continue until my body gives up.”