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This one’s for the night in the field.

As this record plays through, it’ll become painfully obvious that this is, like its predecessor, another Mike Haggith therapy project. I’m certainly no stranger to those. And similar to the old trope of ‘everyone is unique’, I’ll say quite decidedly that this situation, like others in my life, was vastly different than anything I’d ever experienced. It was over the course of about half a year, where I arguably learned more about myself than at any other point throughout my life. So now, with that out of the way, here we are; meeting at this particular moment through the medium of this album- the culmination of all that I’ve learned and experienced since that night in the field on August 11, 2019.

Thematically, this album is about as up-and-down as they come, and that’s largely because the material was written while I found myself at the whim of an ever-changing situation. And even as I sit here writing this retrospective, there are certain elements of this record- specifically the optimistic ones- which already feel incredibly dated. I’m sad to say that the end result of this story is substantially less than happy, at least in the short-term sense. I know in the big picture, it’s best that things happened the way they did. I just wish for happiness for all who were affected by this situation, as we found ourselves navigating uncharted waters.

MorningStar probably best embodies the theme of the record as a whole, and it does so with the accuracy of being written from a perspective of loss. The most ironic part of it all, is the fact that this song was one of few which were written and recorded prior to August, when the record really found its direction and began to take shape. In this category, you’ll also find Into The Setting Sun, and Take Back The Moon; a call for reconciliation with Canada’s Indigenous Peoples, but told from the perspective of someone on the outside who doesn’t know how best to approach such a delicate situation- perhaps on that front, this number fits the general theme of the record after all.

The first two tracks to be written and recorded after that August night were The Best You Never Had, and Visual, Descending For The Field, which fittingly serve as the album’s bookends. From the driving optimism of the now ironically-titled The Best You Never Had, the 80s-esque vibes that shaped the whole experience are unapologetically on full display, and that’s quite deliberate. Visual is starkly different, as it’s a more drawn-out attempt to capture the beauty of the entire experience, and the overall grandeur which was all too prevalent. There truly was, at that point, no end in sight.

From September onward, cracks began to show in what had once seemed to be an unbreakable foundation. This is where Communiqué was born; an examination of just what happens when communication begins to break down between two people, who over time become more like two parties preparing statements to send to each other. Along this uncertain time frame, things would occasionally get a bit awkward, and the only appropriate action in such a case would be to make some finger guns and Back Away Slowly. That song’s lyrical content is arguably some of the most candid on the record- and sadly, the most accurate. Nonetheless, it’s one of my proudest contributions to the record. With no clear idea how to start the song, it was close friend Pete Mozarowski who came to the rescue, composing and recording This Page Intentionally Left Blank in a closed session in snowy Winnipeg. Thank you, Pete. It truly is the perfect fit. And while I’m acknowledging the efforts of fellow musicians, let me take a quick opportunity to thank my good friend Justin Fuciarelli for the beautiful solo work on the aforementioned Into The Setting Sun, and Take Back The Moon. Your contribution brought new life into both of those songs, and I tremendously appreciate you taking the time to do so.

Ironically it was the title track, If Ever Comes The Day, which was the last of the bunch to be written. Though it’s shielded in an instrumental mosaic of bright and shiny optimism, the lyrical content acknowledges the likely bitter end to the situation long before it would ever occur. As with most of the more melancholy material on the record, I wrote it in the hopes that it wouldn’t come to fruition, in a sort of ‘plan for the worst and hope for the best’ kind of way. But as we’ve all found from time to time, we can’t always get what we want. Sometimes all we can do is accept the result, even if we don’t like it.

While the album’s official closing bookend is Visual, there still burned a desire within me to sum up all that had taken place over this half-year span, and to acknowledge the great heights which were attained during that time frame- however temporary they may have been. 2145 covers that better than anything I thought I could ever write in such a capacity. While things never quite unfolded the way I thought they would that night in August, it was still one hell of a ride, and I don’t think I’d trade it for anything.

And besides, we’ll always have the field.

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