The Glorious Sons are not interested in playing the role of the polite Canadian export. Hailing from Kingston, Ontario, a city that breathes rock history through its limestone pores, the band is currently in the middle of a 57-city marathon. This "Glory Tour" is a massive undertaking that kicked off in Pittsburgh on Sept. 6 and is slated to wrap up with a massive homecoming at Kingston’s Leon’s Centre on New Year’s Eve.
Sitting down with Brett Emmons, the band’s frontman, you get the sense that the road is less of a choice and more of a biological necessity. He looks lean, perhaps a bit weathered by the humidity of late-summer touring, but his focus is sharp. We are talking about the mechanics of survival in an industry that eats its young. The band is pushing "Mercy Mercy," a single that suggests they are leaning harder into their arena-rock instincts without losing the bar-room grit that made them local legends.
For Emmons, the physical toll of a North American run requires a level of discipline that would surprise anyone who only sees the chaotic energy he projects on stage. He is hyper-aware of his instrument—that raspy, emotive howl that carries the band’s weight.
“Exercise is critical. I’ve been doing a lot more for this tour,” Emmons says. “I’ve quit smoking, too — or let’s say, I’ve cut back dramatically. The objective is to take care of my voice. You’re juggling responsibilities, whether that’s family back home or interviews like this, but at the end of the day, it’s about adapting.”
The adaptation he speaks of is a grueling daily grind. The romantic notion of the rock star sleeping until noon is dead. In its place is a schedule of sound checks, VIP meet-and-greets and the relentless administrative hum of a touring machine. There is a three-hour window of quiet if they are lucky, but usually, the day is a blur of logistics.
It is a family affair, though the workload is lopsided. Brett’s brother, Jay, is effectively the engine room of the operation, handling the business side while maintaining his spot on stage. It is a level of labour that borders on the masochistic.
“My brother has it even worse. He’s managing four bands while also being in this one. From dawn till dusk, he’s on calls,” Emmons says.
But even with the crushing weight of the schedule, the alternative is worse. There is a specific type of restlessness that hits a songwriter when the tour bus stops and the silence of home sets in. For Emmons, the lack of a structured mission leads to a peculiar kind of domestic anxiety.
“I find myself happier on the road often. When I’m back home, I become this guy who makes a plethora of lists just to give myself a sense of purpose. If I’m not writing music, I get restless, pondering, ‘What do I do now?’” he says.
This restlessness is the fuel for "Mercy Mercy," a track co-produced with Frederik Thaae. Musically, it is a polished bit of rock-and-roll theatre, but the lyrics are where the real blood is. It deals with the internal friction of self-improvement and the realization that the biggest hurdles are usually the ones we build for ourselves.
“Mercy Mercy is a testament to conquering my own struggles, letting go of harmful narratives,” Emmons says. “It’s about the depth of human struggles, the relentless pursuit of personal growth. The song demanded to be heard.”
The track feels like a pivot point for the band. It is less about the outward rebellion of their earlier work and more about a quiet, internal revolution. It is a song about the heavy lifting of becoming a functional adult while still carrying the baggage of a rock-and-roll lifestyle.
I find myself happier on the road often. When I’m back home, I become this guy who makes a plethora of lists just to give myself a sense of purpose. If I’m not writing music, I get restless, pondering, ‘What do I do now?’
“The song started with a riff that I would just play over and over again,” Emmons says. “It was in Nashville when I realized I was about 30 at the time and I just wanted to put that struggle of me against the world in my mind and just kind of move on. ‘Mercy’ is essentially a song about maturity and accepting who you are while taking life as it comes.”
Emmons took a more hands-on approach for the upcoming album, *Glory*, stepping into the co-producer chair. It makes sense. When you spend years living inside these melodies, handing the keys to an outsider feels like a betrayal of the material.
“It was a natural progression,” Emmons says. “I had been so close to these songs for so long that there was no way I wasn’t going to have a significant hand in how they turned out. To have someone like Frederik in the room, who has been a long-standing collaborator, meant that I didn’t have to be heavy-handed. We had a cohesive vision, and I had a lot of opinions about the songs.”
The band’s sonic identity is a moving target. They are not interested in recreating the same record over and over to appease radio programmers. There is a reactionary element to their creativity; if the last thing they did was loud and abrasive, the next thing will likely be stripped back and vulnerable.
“It’s always going to be the same band with just a different twist from album to album,” he says. “I’m the type of guy who wants to react to our past selves from album to album. For instance, if this album is anthemic and softer, the next one could be more bare bones and crunchy. We change, accept that change, and continue forth.”
And while they have the chart-topping hits to prove their commercial viability, the focus has shifted toward the long game. They are looking at their discography as a legacy rather than a series of quarterly earnings reports.
“It should be about following your heart and hoping for the best,” Emmons says. “We’ve been very lucky, but I don’t want to be sitting here 50 years later looking at songs that I don’t really like. I want to be looking at bodies of work that I’m proud of and that stand the test of time.”
The pandemic provided the necessary, if unwelcome, space for this introspection. Without the distraction of the road, the writing process became a marathon. They ended up with a massive surplus of material, much of which was born from the strange, quiet vacuum of 2020.
“I don’t want to put an exact number on it, but we recorded well over 40 songs for this album, apart from the ones that made the cut,” Emmons says. “It took a really long time to find the writing voice for this album. It was about halfway through the pandemic that I cracked the code with ‘Glory.’ It became a stream of consciousness, an internal journey because the external world was unavailable.”
The band itself is a living organism, and like any organism, it evolves. The chemistry between the six members is the defining characteristic of their sound. It is a puzzle where the pieces are constantly changing shape.
“When you’re shaping the sound of an album, it’s six guys coming together, fitting their puzzle pieces into one big thing,” he says. “Everyone goes through changes during that period. While I might evolve, so might Jay, my brother. His style of playing might change slightly, adding another layer to our collective identity.”
There is also the promise of more music on the horizon. With 40 songs in the vault, the *Glory* sessions are likely to yield a significant amount of extra material for the die-hard fans.
“Some of the songs that didn’t make the album are very exciting. There’s talk of B-side stuff, but we’re still only a month out from releasing ‘Glory,’” Emmons says.
The lineup has seen some shifts too. Steve Kirstein, who spent years behind the scenes as an engineer for the band, has stepped into the role of guitarist. It is a transition that could have been rocky, but Kirstein’s history with the group made it a seamless fit.
“It’s a fragile thing, a band. You can’t just bring in any good player and expect things to work out,” Emmons says. “We knew with Steve that he wasn’t going to walk all over people. He was the next man up in our minds.”
The title of the album, *Glory*, is a nod to a late friend and a philosophy of life that embraces both the highs and the inevitable lows. It is a heavy word, but the band wears it well.
“One of our best friends, Craig Turner, used to say, ‘Well, that’s the price of glory.’ It’s a beautiful way to describe life,” Emmons says. “This album was about people who are close to me, about the isolation we all felt. That’s the price of glory, and it’s a price we’re willing to pay.”
Despite the studio experimentation, the stage remains the ultimate litmus test for the band. For Emmons, a song is not truly finished until it has been performed in front of a crowd, preferably in a room that is too hot and too loud.
“The live aspect is paramount,” he says. “When we started, we had no idea what a producer was. Our job was to play in bars and ensure that the audience came back. A good show for me is one where I’m drenched in sweat, having moved around the stage knowing that the crowd had an amazing time.”
This blue-collar approach to performance is something they have refined while opening for the biggest names in the business. Watching legends like The Rolling Stones or Pearl Jam from the side of the stage provided a masterclass in longevity and stagecraft.
“You always learn something,” Emmons says. “Mick Jagger, at 75, had this incredible stamina and command over the stage. He taught me the essence of pacing yourself while also taking control. But most importantly, the third time we supported them was our best performance because we didn’t put undue pressure on ourselves. We savored the moment and were genuinely grateful.”
As they head into the home stretch of the tour, with stops in London on Dec. 2 and Kitchener on Dec. 16, The Glorious Sons are proving that they are one of the few bands left that still believe in the power of the big, messy rock show. It is an ambitious chapter for a band that refuses to stay still, and if *Glory* is any indication, they are just getting started.
