Sarah Smith is an institution in the London music scene. For years, she was the frontwoman of The Joys, a band that practically owned the bars and festivals of Southwestern Ontario. Since then, she has churned out seven studio albums and several live records as a solo artist, cementing her status as a relentless touring machine. But the Sarah Smith we see today is different. She has traded the humidity of Ontario for the rugged, salt-sprayed isolation of an island in coastal B.C. There, she is building a new life with her partner Lesley, though she remains tethered to her roots by a loyal fanbase that refuses to let her go.
We last spoke roughly 18 months ago, right as the pandemic was beginning to choke the life out of the live music industry. At the time, Smith was in a state of professional paralysis. She was questioning everything. The bravado of the stage had been replaced by a quiet, unsettling introspection. It turns out that period of silence was exactly what she needed to realize she couldn't actually quit, even if she wanted to.
"All of us had to go inside and try to reflect about what we’re doing in this life, what our purpose is and what makes us happy," Smith says, reflecting on that period of forced isolation. "For me, I had to really figure out if music is the thing that drives me anymore. All through the pandemic I just found myself being navigated to different areas of music and it was all music based, everything was just around music and I was trying to almost get away from it, but it just kept finding me."
That pull toward the craft is what separates the hobbyists from the lifers. You can try to walk away from the industry, but the industry has a way of dragging you back by the collar. Smith realized that her identity wasn't just tied to the applause; it was tied to the creation itself.
"I can tell you now that music is definitely what drives me and what motivates me in my life and it’s my passion and my love and I just I can’t see being taken away from it, even though I’ve tried," Smith says. "So here I am still making music and actually I found a newfound love for it."
This clarity prompted a massive geographic shift. Leaving a market like Southwestern Ontario, where you are a household name, is a gamble that most artists would never take. It is the equivalent of leaving a safe corporate gig to go busking on a different continent. Smith chose a remote island off the coast of Victoria and Vancouver, a place where the trees outnumber the audience members.
"Yes, I moved across the country, which was really scary, I left the market that had raised me up and supported me, Southwestern Ontario, and I moved to a new part of the world which is this little island off the coast of Victoria and Vancouver, British Columbia," she explains. "I really don’t know what brought us here but I definitely felt like we were guided here by a larger force. I found myself on a remote island with nobody that knew me and I had to just know myself. I had to find out who I was again and the sounds of nature helped me to find myself again."
There is a specific kind of terror in being unknown. In London, Smith is a star. In B.C., she was just another person on a ferry. But the music industry is smaller than it looks. The bridges she built during previous western tours didn't burn; they just waited for her to cross them again.
"Actually I was very fearful that I would have to start all over again and play for little money and tips and that kind of thing, but the relationships I had built over the years out here were the ones that stepped forward and helped me rise up," she says. The ego hit she expected never arrived. Instead, she found a network of professionals ready to put her to work.
One of those gigs involves a bit of classic rock worship. She has been playing guitar for Thunder Road, a Bruce Springsteen tribute act that tours the theatres of Vancouver Island. "They’ve given me opening spots and theatres shows and playing with a Bruce Springsteen tribute act as well playing guitar which is really cool," Smith says. "They’re called Thunder Road and they’re playing all the theaters out here on Vancouver Island, and I get to open for them and play my solo stuff, which is amazing."
Connections like Brad Hawkes also proved vital. Hawkes, a drummer and promoter, had previously assisted Smith with house concerts. Moving to B.C. turned a casual touring contact into a primary collaborator.
"Brad Hawkes is another person I met. He had helped hook me up with some house concerts whenever I toured out here," Smith says. "He’s a drummer and he and I actually wrote a song together during the pandemic called Meet Me at the Crossroads. He’s been really great at welcoming me with open arms and supporting me and getting the gigs in the city, it’s been amazing."
The validation of being recognized in a new territory cannot be overstated. For a touring musician, it is the ultimate proof of concept. "I honestly did not have to start over," she admits. "People respect me out here and it makes me feel like all those years of touring weren’t in vain."
However, the B.C. scene operates on a different frequency than Ontario. While Ontario venues were experimenting with outdoor shows and socially distanced patios during the summer months, B.C. was under a much tighter lid. The regulatory environment was stifling for performers.
"In B.C. they weren’t allowed to have any live music all summer, it could only be a small gathering of people outside," Smith notes. "In Ontario, you guys were further ahead because you were allowed to have some live music but B.C. was really behind on allowing that to happen."
Yet, the artistic density on the coast is staggering. It is a magnet for people who have opted out of the rat race. On Smith’s island, the line between amateur and professional blurs because everyone is a creator of some sort. It is a communal existence rather than a competitive one.
"There’s a lot of thriving artists out here. I think people run out here and escape so all the artists end up piling here," she says. "There’s a lot of artists out here, physical artists like painters as well as musicians and all kinds of art like pottery and everybody on my island has a little store at the end of their driveway that they sell their art from. I think it’s more of a community. People just really uplift each other, it doesn’t seem to be that there’s any competition. They’re kind and loving and most people in the audience are musicians."
I was very fearful that I would have to start all over again and play for little money and tips... but the relationships I had built over the years out here were the ones that stepped forward and helped me rise up. ... I honestly did not have to start over. People respect me out here and it makes me feel like all those years of touring weren’t in vain.
This environment has shifted her creative process. Instead of the constant pressure to produce, she is allowing herself to exist in the "living" phase of the cycle. You can't write about life if you aren't actually experiencing it.
"My writing is in a place right now where I’m taking a little break from the writing," Smith says. "That’s kind of what happens with me in my life. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, I write and then I don’t. I write and then I live. Right now I’m in a living phase but during the pandemic I reached out to people and I asked people to send me their lyrics or their poems, or anything that they’ve ever heard a song in their head too."
This resulted in a unique collaborative project where Smith acted as a vessel for other people's stories. She took lyrics from fans and strangers, providing the melodic architecture they lacked. It was a way to keep the creative muscles moving without the emotional drain of mining her own soul during a global crisis.
"I was a person that took their lyrics and their poems and I created songs for them," she says. "I gave them music to their words and I created 30 co-written songs with people during COVID. That creativity was really cool for me because the words didn’t have to come from my heart, the music did, and it was just easier to concentrate on the music."
This detachment was likely a survival mechanism. Like many of us, Smith is still processing the collective trauma of the last two years. The "new variant" cycle has made it difficult to find solid ground.
"It’s really hard to put into words how I feel right now," Smith admits. "It’s hard to make any sense of what’s going on in my heart and my soul and I still have some really down days where I just don’t know what’s happening. I feel detached, empty. It’s hard to put those into words so I’m just trying to live one day at a time. Every day I do something musical."
Despite the emotional fog, Smith managed to snag one of the most coveted opportunities in the industry: a spot on the Melissa Etheridge Cruise. It wasn't just a gig; it was a contest win that felt like a fever dream.
"I did surprisingly, I couldn’t believe it," she says. "I was like, 'Oh, I made it to the top five' and that was fine. But then when they told me, no, you’re going on the cruise, I was like what? So, on top of winning this amazing opportunity, I also had to somehow take care of all the travel plans to get on a cruise during a pandemic so it was really wild."
The logistics were a nightmare. In the age of COVID-19, a cruise ship is a floating question mark. Smith spent the lead-up to the trip waiting for the inevitable cancellation email that never came.
"I was totally wondering, right up till the moment that we actually got on the plane," she says. "I was even wondering the moment we were waiting for the cruise ship to leave port. You know, everything is so up in the air these days. I’m always expecting things to just be canceled."
Once on board, the experience was a mix of relaxation and high-stakes networking. For an artist like Smith, who has spent decades grinding, being treated as a peer by icons like Etheridge was a massive psychological boost.
"It’s funny how it happened. I just really loved meeting the other musicians and all the other bands," she says. "We had an artist pass and we could hang out and eat lunch and chit chat and I loved going to the gym. I had just come off a road trip so for me going to the gym was a treat every day and in all the little ports I was able to relax and lay on the beach. My main focus was to just relax after a big long tour in Europe and I wanted to connect with Melissa Etheridge and all the other musicians."
The meeting with Etheridge herself was a moment of pure, unadulterated validation. It wasn't just a handshake; it was a recognition of Smith’s "beautiful soul."
"So the way I met Melissa was Lesley dragged me into the photos with Melissa’s lineup," Smith recalls. "I wasn’t supposed to get my photos taken but they looked at my artist badge and they’re like, okay, come to the front of the line and I was like, Oh my god! So I went to the front of the line, and they let me in and Melissa says, 'Hey, you’re Sarah Smith. You are a beautiful soul. I love your music and I love what you do for people and I just want you to know, keep going, you’re doing an amazing job!' And then I was bawling and she’s like, 'Okay, let’s take a picture' so that was really cool."
The trip culminated in a surreal stage moment. During a 70s-themed night, Smith found herself on stage with Etheridge, dressed as Janis Joplin, performing a disco classic.
"Then the last night we were watching Melissa perform with all the other artists and because I won the contest, I wasn’t really at the same level as the other artists," Smith says. "I was a little bit below and so I wasn’t able to hang out with them all and party with them but that night Robin my drummer says, 'We have these artists’ passes, why don’t we go hang out with all the other artists by the stage?' So we go down and we’re hanging out by the stage and Melissa Etheridge is performing and it’s a 70s night. Everybody’s in their 70s theme dress and I’m wearing my Janis Joplin outfit and Melissa says, 'If any of the artists want to come on stage for this song, come on up.' I was the first one on the stage and I was like, 'Hello' and she just kind of looked at me like I don’t know who this is, she’s dressed like Janis but whatever, hi, and then we did YMCA."
It was a flash of normalcy in an era defined by restriction. The ship, loaded with nearly 2,000 women and a handful of men, felt like a safe haven from the chaos of the mainland.
"Actually, it just felt kind of normal," Smith says. "Everybody had been tested to get on to the planes and then everybody was tested to get onto the boat. It was put together very tightly like a rock and roll concert feel and it just felt like we’re actually normal. And there were almost 2,000 women and about 50 guys on the ship. We were all grateful because of all the stuff we had to go through to get there travel wise. I think everybody was just so grateful to be on that ship."
Back on land, Smith hasn't slowed down. She participated in the *Lovers of London* project, a collaborative album funded by the London Arts Council. Working with Noel Francis, she co-wrote a series of tracks that featured a who’s-who of London talent.
"We had gotten a grant from the London Arts Council to do this co-writing album," Smith explains. "She and I were to co-write six songs and choose six other artists to write with as well. So we had six songs written by Noel and myself and then one other London artist. The first track was by Sarah MacDougall, she’s amazing. And then there was Richard Gracious, who is an incredible artist in London, Doug Varty, you know, a legend, and then there was Lost in Japan’s lead singer, Addison Johnson, a great pop writer. Then there’s Saidat who is a children’s entertainer and a motivational speaker and just a powerful woman, and she brought a lot to the table. The last track was by Jenn Marino and she’s a rock and roller from London."
The logistics of the album were a sign of the times—recorded entirely in isolation. "There are six incredible artists on that album and we co-wrote everything over Zoom and we all recorded our parts in our own homes," she says.
This spirit of remote collaboration extended to her 30-song collection, which included covers and quarantine sessions with her band. It features a pandemic version of Aerosmith's "Dream On" and several other tracks recorded in the bedrooms and home studios of her bandmates.
"Also there are four or five tracks on there of songs we did while in quarantine with my band," Smith says. "We had done Lean on Me with all the members of the band that I had played with and we had done On The Road Again with my trio, and we did Beautiful Disaster with my band and it was all again recorded in our homes. I also did an all star female pandemic quarantine version of Dream On by Aerosmith and so that made it on there and most of the other tracks are all the COVID co-writes."
Perhaps the most daring move of the year was her return to Europe. Smith has a massive following there, but touring internationally in the middle of a pandemic is a logistical minefield. She was essentially a "lab rat" for the industry.
"I just seem to sneak in these little times where things are kind of okay, and then I leave and the whole world blows up again," she notes. "When I got there, I was the first international touring band to go to all of these clubs since COVID happened. I was the first band to rent a vehicle from the musician vehicle rental place to go on tour since the pandemic had happened. It was like we were paving the way, we were like lab rats really. Let’s see how well this vaccine works and everything went fantastic. The shows were great. None of the capacities were at full level, most of them were about 50% but we always sold out and the crowds were so appreciative. The venues were over the top, they treated us like gods there and we came home healthy. I was just so proud of all three of us, John and Kelly and I, for having the strength to do that."
Looking ahead, the schedule remains packed. There is a potential album to be recorded on Pender Island, pulled from a backlog of 50 unreleased songs. There is a tour of Vancouver Island in February and a much-needed vacation to Maui.
"I had plans in my mind to record an album here on Pender Island," Smith says. "I have about 50 songs that I’ve written that have not been recorded and a lot of them aren’t finished. I was going to put some time into going through them and finishing them and see what I’ve got and see if it’s worth putting out. I definitely have a lot of songs and some of them are really good."
The Maui trip is a rare luxury, a gift from a friend who hit the jackpot. "Well, as a musician, I’m going to be honest, I can’t really afford a $2,000 vacation ever in my life, so usually I go there and I play and I get some things for free," she admits. "And that’s how it works for me. This one though, my friend won the lottery and she is buying. I truly won the lottery. She bought a trip for Lesley and I to meet them there and we’re going to be having time with another couple and it’s going to be really awesome."
Beyond that, there is a show in Honduras in March with Cheryl Lescom and Chuckee Zehr, and a return to Ontario for a long-delayed show at the Aylmer Town Hall. "That one was booked two and a half years ago so I’ve got to play it soon," she says.
Despite the momentum, Smith is learning the value of the pause. Even a powerhouse needs to recharge. "Yesterday I had a bit of a meltdown and I just said to Lesley, 'Listen, I need to take a few days off.' She said, 'You can take as many days you want, it’s up to you though.', because she knows me well," Smith says. "I like to pack my days full. So tomorrow is going to be a day of wood chopping with my buddies and then other than that, Lesley and I are going to take a ferry to town and we’re going to do some shopping and we’re going to hang out and check out all the lights in town and just have a little bit of a holiday."
