Looking back at these archival tapes from our 2010 sit-down with Josh Ramsay is a study in high-wire ambition. It’s Aug. 19, and Marianas Trench is riding the strange, orchestral wave of their sophomore album Masterpiece Theatre. This wasn't just a follow-up to Set It Off; it was a symphonic pop-punk opera, a move so audacious for a band on their second outing that it bordered on career suicide. And Ramsay knew it.
The two years between albums saw the band gain a significant foothold. But that momentum didn't guarantee an audience for something so deliberately theatrical. When asked what changed for the band, Ramsay’s initial response is a mix of humility and locker-room humour. “More people seem to like what we're doing these days, which is great,” he says, before deadpanning, “Plus I lost my virginity recently, which was pretty awesome.”
But the core of this conversation, the real meat of it, is the architecture of Masterpiece Theatre. It was, from its inception, a concept album. It was a play. Ramsay’s vision was unwavering even if his confidence occasionally was. He saw the record in acts, a structure borrowed directly from the theatre.
“I wanted it to feel like it had a first and second act,” Ramsay explains, his voice crackling with the energy of a creator defending his work. “The point of the three Masterpiece Theatre songs was the first one was setting the stage at a musical, the big opening number. Then Masterpiece Theatre II was supposed to be the reprise, the symphonic reprise that always happens at the beginning of the second act. And then part three was like the big climax piece where, in a play, it would be like everyone's little song becomes intertwined in a medley.”
This wasn't just stringing songs together. This was a deliberate attempt to fuse Broadway narrative with pop-rock hooks. A gutsy move. Or, as Ramsay counters with a laugh, maybe just “stupidity.”
That self-deprecation masks a very real anxiety that permeated the recording process. You can hear the relief in his voice, the sound of a man who has just pulled off a magic trick he wasn't sure would work. “If it was during the recording of it, I might have been inclined to disagree with you because it felt so ridiculous at the time,” he admits. “It felt like we had bitten off more than we could chew. But I think it all turned out for the best at the end.”
With the Canadian success solidifying, the next frontier was the United States. The band was staring down the barrel of a US release, a market notorious for chewing up and spitting out Canadian talent. Ramsay’s perspective is brutally realistic. He’s not talking about conquering America; he’s talking about going back to square one.
“It's gonna be an interesting experience for us to go back to where we started,” he muses. “It wasn't that long ago that we were playing to bars full of five people, you know, in Canada. So it's gonna be an interesting experience to go back and start all over again. But I'm excited. I think we're ready to do the work and it's just another nut to crack, hopefully.”
If it was during the recording of it, I might have been inclined to disagree with you because it felt so ridiculous at the time because it felt like we had bitten off more than we could chew.
This grounded approach extends to his view on genre. In an era obsessed with labels, Marianas Trench was an anomaly—part punk, part pop, part Queen tribute. Ramsay dismisses the need for a neat little box. “I guess at the end of the day, anything on the radio is pop music,” he states. “Regardless of whether it's a top 40 station or a rock station, it's all still popular music.”
He sees the danger in letting labels dictate art. It’s a creative straitjacket he refuses to wear. “I think you can get yourself into trouble if you're thinking about what defines you for a few months, then it'll start to define what you're about to write,” Ramsay insists. “And I think it's better to write new material free from that sort of thing and just write what's gonna come out and figure out what it is after.”
That sound, those massive vocal harmonies that echo Queen and The Beach Boys, wasn't some calculated marketing ploy. It was baked into his DNA. “I did that unintentionally,” he says. “When I was a kid growing up, that's what my parents listened to. So when I was, like, 13 or whatever, I discovered rock music… I just sort of started incorporating both schools of music. I didn't really realize I was doing anything different until someone pointed it out.”
Despite their growing national profile, the band remained defiantly West Coast. Ramsay pushes back on the idea that Vancouver overtly shapes his songwriting, positioning himself as an internal writer, not an environmental one. “I kinda write about what I feel as opposed to where I am geographically,” he says, drawing a contrast with storytellers like Bruce Springsteen. It’s a telling remark that centres his work on emotion, not location.
This period also saw Ramsay participate in a massive Canadian cultural moment: the Young Artists for Haiti recording of K'naan's “Wavin' Flag.” His recollection is a frantic blur of a day spent shuttling between the studio and an Olympic performance, a snapshot of a musician in high demand. “It was crazy to go to the warehouse, the studio where we recorded it, and there were literally like 100 singers waiting in line to go into the booth,” he recalls.
The session was helmed by legendary producer Bob Ezrin, and Ramsay, a producer himself, was taking notes. His admiration is palpable. “The guy is a pro man, nothing rattles that guy, he's got a great bedside manner,” he says. “He's completely calm, and he's fun. It's almost like he's hearing music for the first time. Every time he hears it, he's excited by it the whole time.”
Ramsay’s critique here is subtle but sharp; he’s impressed by Ezrin's unflappable nature under pressure, a skill he clearly values and was likely still developing himself while navigating the complexities of his own ambitious projects. He saw in Ezrin’s varied discography—from Pink Floyd to KISS—a model for his own career aspirations.
His producer wishlist was a who's who of pop and theatre. He praises Ryan Tedder and respects the undeniable hit-making machine that is Max Martin. But the real tell is his dream collaborator for Masterpiece Theatre: Alan Menken, the composer behind Disney’s iconic musicals.
“We actually asked him to work on Masterpiece Theatre,” Ramsay reveals. “I'm doing this crazy Broadway style thing like, you know, we'd love to have you involved, but he just didn't have the time to do it, unfortunately.” The sheer audacity of a Canadian pop-punk band cold-calling an Academy Award-winning Disney composer says everything you need to know about their mindset.
As the interview winds down, the talk turns to an upcoming show at the PNE. Ramsay hints at the band's unpredictable stage presence. “Sometimes maybe we'll play dressed normally. Sometimes maybe we'll play dressed as ninjas. You never know,” he teases. “There have been a lot of unprecedented ninja shows this summer.”
Listening to this tape now, you can hear a blueprint being drawn. The theatricality wasn't a one-off album concept; it was becoming their entire identity. This 2010 conversation captures Josh Ramsay not as a rock star, but as a composer and a showman, laying the foundation for a career built on audacious, genre-bending and unapologetically dramatic music. He bet the house on a wild idea. And he was just about to find out it paid off.
519 Magazine Archive: We are thrilled to officially unearth the Rockstar Weekly Digital Vault. This isn't just a re-post; it's a high-fidelity restoration of a pivotal era in music journalism. By pairing original print dates with modern retrospectives, we’re bridging the gap between historical rock-and-roll grit and the lightning-fast performance of today’s web. These stories—once locked in physical print and lost URLs—are now back, fully searchable, and optimized for a new generation of fans.
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We are thrilled to officially unearth the 519 Magazine Digital Vault. This isn't just a re-post; it's a high-fidelity restoration of a pivotal era in music journalism. By pairing original print dates with modern retrospectives, we're bridging the gap between historical rock-and-roll grit and the lightning-fast performance of today's web. These stories—once locked in physical print and lost URLs—are now back, fully searchable, and optimized for a new generation of fans.
