If confidence in your craft is the key to success, then Sebastian Gaskin is destined for greatness.
“The Grammys, a world tour — I want to do the whole thing,” says Gaskin, a singer-songwriter from the Tataskweyak Cree Nation, during a recent visit to the Star office. “I want to take this to the highest possible level. Bust down the door. I feel like I was born for this.”
Dressed head-to-toe in black, with a gold earring and tinted sunglasses, Gaskin certainly looks like a rock star. But with the arrival of his debut studio album, “Lovechild,” it’s also clear that he’s got serious chops.
Arriving Friday via Ishkōdé Records — an Indigenous-owned, women-led label based in Toronto — “Lovechild” moves between sleek R&B and bluesy, thumping folk-rock. The music is remarkably contemporary, but these songs have sturdy roots: melodies, rhythms and stories that tether Gaskin to the small, tight-knit community where he grew up.
Take, for example, “Medicine,” a soulful ode to the uncomplicated joy of a budding relationship, and a seamless fusion of Gaskin’s pop sensibilities with elements of traditional Indigenous music.
“Sunday morning we be tangled in the sheets / Cuz I been on the road for like a couple weeks,” Gaskin sings in a broad, textured baritone over heart-tugging piano chords and strings, before the song gives way to a chorus of triumphant vocal chanting.
“It’s very easy to be pigeonholed as an Indigenous artist,” Gaskin says. “Part of the mission at Ishkōdé is to not shy away from Indigenous tradition and culture in the music, but to elevate those elements into the mainstream.”
“Medicine” — which racked up hundreds of thousands of streams and took home the Vince Fontaine Indigenous Song Award at the 2024 SOCAN Awards last fall — is the first of several singles from Gaskin’s highly-anticipated debut studio album, two of which picked up Juno Award nominations earlier this month.
Its success stems from years spent honing his skills as a songwriter and producer, thousands of kilometres away from the community that raised him.
“These are just stories from life,” he says. “It’s very autobiographical. Lots of things have happened in the past several years — loss, breakups, new relationships, I wanted to share the way I view the world.”
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Gaskin was born and raised on the Tataskweyak Cree Nation, a remote community located on Split Lake, Manitoba, some 10 hours north of Winnipeg.
“It’s beautiful country up there in the summertime.” Gaskin explains, his face softening as remembers his childhood. “Land of the tall trees.”
Gaskin’s interest in music started early. His late father was a pow wow dancer and musician, who spent the 1990s touring with prominent international acts like Eagle & Hawk and Buffy St. Marie. “He was walking poetry,” Gaskin reflects.
His mother, grandparents and aunties were also singers and guitar players, who often played old records around the house. In third grade, Gaskin picked up the fiddle. Like many middle schoolers, he was radicalized by Metallica, enrolling as a keen student in the informal guitar academy of Hammett and Hetfield.
When Gaskin turned 12, he had his first drink, prompting his mother to ship him down to Winnipeg for high school. “That’s kind of what happens on the rez,” he says. “There’s not much to do, and not a lot of support for the youth, unfortunately. My mother didn’t want me falling in with the wrong crowd.”
Shortly after establishing himself in the city, Gaskin started writing music. He penned his first song after a if breakup.
“I was depressed, and having these dark thoughts,” he says. “Luckily, I discovered songwriting, and discovered that it helps me process these events, whether they are traumas, sadness or even happiness. It became a great way for me to help my nervous system process things.”
Gaskin’s musical tastes evolved as he bounced around between Winnipeg and Ontario. In 2015, he moved in with his uncle in Oshawa to study art in Toronto. During his two-hour commute by car — “the one place you’re not afraid to sound ugly” — he discovered “Trilogy,” the seminal alternative R&B album by Scarborough’s the Weeknd. “I attribute a lot of my vocal ability to that album,” Gaskin says.
Art school didn’t work out, and neither did a brief stint studying architecture at the University of Manitoba. In 2017, Gaskin decided it was time to finally take the leap and pursue music full time..
In 2017, he released “6am,” a modest love song that showcased the duality of Gaskin’s musical interests — “Maybe we pop us a pill / Maybe I’ll make us a meal,” he sing-raps over a gentle hip hop beat, before ripping a bluesy guitar solo.
On a whim, he submitted the song to the National Indigenous Countdown. It quickly shot to the top of the chart and earned Gaskin his first Indigenous Music Award.
Since then, Gaskin stuck with his melting pot approach to pop music, releasing a slow drip of singles that showcased his growing skills as a producer and multi-instrumentalist, while building a reputation as a stellar live performer.
In 2019, he opened for influential rapper Common at a show in Winnipeg. “Gaskin is on the cusp of becoming something truly exceptional,” a review in the Free Press gushed, comparing Gaskin to “Post Malone mixed with Frank Ocean.”
As his momentum grew, Gaskin hit the studio to re-image the songs for his major label debut.
On “Lovechild,” Gaskin charts plenty of musical territory — there’s a bit of retro neo-soul (“Safe”), a bit of silky synth-pop (“Cherie Amour”) and sounds, and there’s even a “hey ho” stomp-rock track pulled straight from the Imagine Dragons playbook (the Juno-nominated “Ghost”).
Elsewhere, Gaskin adorns his songs with sounds from traditional Indigenous music: a subtle hand drum rhythm (“I Don’t Wanna Feel Anymore”) or an exuberant burst of vocal chanting (“Medicine).”
“It’s really cool to see Sebastian kind of bridge traditional and contemporary sounds,” Oji-Cree singer-songwriter Aysanabee told me. “That’s such an incredible way to introduce Indigenous culture into something that people can still bob their heads to.”
But Gaskin shines brightest when he leans into storytelling. On “Song For Granny,” he mourns the loss of his grandmother, peppering the song with hyperpersonal details that feel universal. “Mama got a new job in the city / She still has your things,” he sings over a bright guitar riff. “Lisa can’t see nothing no more / But the voices still sings.”
“My grandmother was a massive pillar in my life,” says Gaskin. “She helped to raise me almost as much as my own mom did. When she passed away, I felt a great hole in my being. It took a long time for me to come back from that.”
Of course, music is healing. “My music’s always been dark, but with light in the distance,” Gaskin explains, paraphrasing Canadian singer-songwriter Dallas Green. “That’s just how I view the world.”
That tension finds its finest form on “Brown Man,” a stirring guitar ballad that excoriates the anti-Indigenous racism that permeates Canadian society.
I am a brown man
My skin ain’t white
They could pull me from the wreckage and still
Shoot me in the light
I’m not an animal, I’m not a savage
Just a human being, who needs to heal from
The heartache and the sadness
In the song’s final minute, the music drops away, leaving Gaskin to deliver a verse a cappella. “I am a red man,” he sings, his voice imbued with righteous anger; the fear present in the earlier verses suddenly giving way to a stoic pride, a symbol of Indigenous resurgence.
“Being an Indigenous musician, your existence is almost inherently political,” he says. “I can’t speak for other people, but I’m glad that people are open to hearing this viewpoint, and that people are open to change, hopefully.”
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Gaskin has lived in Toronto for nearly three years now. “I love the city,” he says. “It’s embraced me.”
Far from home, he’s discovered community in Ishkōdé Records, a label founded by ShoShona Kish and Amanda Rheaume in 2021 to celebrate and foster Indigenous music.
“We’ve kind of started our own tribe, so to speak,” Gaskin, who joined the label in 2023 says.
“I was raised by women, right? And so to be able to continue my work within the company of strong Indigenous women is very natural and it just makes sense.”
But Gaskin remains deeply tethered to Tataskweyak. “There’s just such a deep genetic tie to that part of the land. That’s where my people come from, that’s where my family has lived for so long.”
“When I make my millions, I’m going to acquire a big parcel of land out there, build a compound,” he says with a laugh.
But he remains deeply tethered to Tataskweyak. “There’s just such a deep genetic tie to that part of the land. That’s where my people come from, that’s where my family has lived for so long.”
“When I make my millions, I’m going to acquire a big parcel of land out there, build a compound,” he says with a laugh.
Last summer, Gaskin journeyed home for the first time in six years. When he reached the highway turnoff to Tataskweyak, he was greeted by a giant billboard bearing his face and name, tucked among the tall boreal trees.
Later, he was honoured with a star blanket, one of the highest honours in the Cree community, and beaded medallion of the reservation’s flag
“Dude what a moment that was,” Gaskin reflects with a big smile. “I just felt … elation. To be so wholly embraced by the community that raised you up, what a special feeling.”
