VARESE (Italy), August 21, 2026- By Gianni Beraldo
There is a fine line connecting the dust of Highway 61 in Mississippi, the ice of Canadian arenas, and the intimate atmosphere of a country farmhouse in Ontario. Tracing that line is Ethan Askey—harmonica player, singer, songwriter, and leader of the band The Elevators—who makes a fundamental leap in maturity with his new album, Outside the Lines. After a career spent largely as an appreciated sideman alongside other artists, Askey now claims his own artistic space, joining forces with old road companions to bring a visceral, communicative project to life. In this extensive chat, the artist shares a 360-degree view of his journey, from historic trips through the lands of the blues to the vintage production choices guiding his new work.
Speaking of the new album, Outside the Lines, it reunites you with old friends decades after your first steps in music. What does it feel like to find that chemistry again after so many different experiences?
It was rewarding to reconnect with old friendships and create new music together. To elaborate: I’ve always been a sideman,
someone off to the side of the stage playing other people’s music. A few years ago, I felt I had reached a point where I wanted to express my own ideas and make music that truly felt like my own. I started looking around to produce my own songs, and I recorded my first album with studio sidemen. It was a wonderful experience playing with friends and colleagues from the Calgary and Toronto music scenes. We made a great record that received a lot of airplay around the world, which made me realize my songwriting was connecting with people. However, since it was a studio project, I didn’t have a band to take on tour. That was when I started thinking about where I wanted to settle down for the future and who I wanted to make music with. Returning to the roots, collaborating with people with whom I share a history, was fantastic.
In 2023, you took a trip to Mississippi and Tennessee with Keith Larson for the International Blues Challenge. To what extent did that journey inspire tracks like Clarksdale or other songs on the new record?
I had already been to Memphis for the International Blues Challenge. For blues and roots musicians around the world, it’s a wonderful opportunity to connect, represent your region, and get noticed by industry insiders and festival organizers. The local Blues Society in my area had paused sending musicians after the pandemic, so we didn’t have the chance to officially participate in the competition, but we wanted to head down South anyway. My previous album was getting plenty of radio spins, and several DJs and friends were going to be there. Keith Larson and I were laying the groundwork for this new project, and we said to ourselves: let’s go pay homage to the birthplace of the music we love so much. We simply absorbed the music. I also had a gig at a promotional showcase on Beale Street. We listened, soaked in the atmosphere, drove down Highway 61, and filled in some gaps regarding the history of the artists who passed through Memphis and Mississippi. It was a beautiful week, and the song Clarksdale grew out of that experience spontaneously, because we wanted to remember those moments.
Clarksdale truly captures the soul of the blues.
It conveys a sense of freedom; it’s a great road trip song and is infused with a touch of humor, featuring references to Johnny Cash and the other Sun Records artists. That region is packed with rhythm and blues landmarks. If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend visiting it.
Your single, Big Bad Bossman, takes a critical stance toward power dynamics and bullies, while simultaneously paying homage to blues pioneer Jimmy Reed. How did you balance that social commentary with such a classic, fun groove?
As a harmonica player, I am heavily influenced by John Hammond Jr., who in turn was strongly inspired by Jimmy Reed. A couple of years ago, I had the opportunity to play as a sideman for Little Jimmy Reed, Leon Atkins. When he was young, Leon knew Jimmy Reed’s music by heart; when the original band came to his town in the ’50s or ’60s, Jimmy Reed wasn’t in shape to take the stage. They looked for a replacement, and everyone in town knew young Leon was the right person. From that moment on, he was nicknamed Little Jimmy Reed. I’ve always loved that simple, powerful style of playing, with the harmonica often played in first position—a blown style that’s perfect to execute with a neck rack. When I came up with the idea for a song about a small-time tyrant, I thought about following the lead of Big Boss Man and paying tribute to Jimmy Reed, reworking it in my own way. Deep down, we all rely on those who came before us.
In the track Zamboni, you pair blues tradition with a quintessential Canadian symbol: ice hockey. What story were you trying to tell with that combination?
I live in Canada, in a small northern town where hockey is essential. It’s the most popular sport in the country—what we’re known for, alongside curling. Several players from my town made it to the pros and won the Stanley Cup. We all grew up playing hockey. I recently moved back to my hometown, which has three ice arenas. A friend of mine drives the ice resurfacer, the Zamboni. She’s petite, the kids love her, and she waves to them as she drives by. The idea came up spontaneously and turned into a swing track based on the fact that what she does is truly unique, especially in a town where hockey is everything.
You traveled from the Rocky Mountains all the way to Jimmy Bowskill’s studio in Ontario, working with producer Steve Mariner. What was the atmosphere like during the recordings in that rural setting?
Steve Mariner co-produced my first album; this one I produced myself while he handled the mixing. We started tracking in local studios closer to home, but the ambition was always to complete the album at his studio, a farmhouse equipped with vintage gear. We wanted to immerse ourselves completely in the music without everyday distractions. I also wanted Steve and other guests, like singer Suzie Vinnick, to contribute musically to a few tracks. The studio is run by Jimmy Bowskill, guitarist for Blue Rodeo. Steve Mariner and Jim Bowskill are among the finest multi-instrumentalists on the North American roots and blues scene. Steve played upright bass, keyboards, backing vocals, and baritone guitar on this record. We slept in the farmhouse surrounded by instruments, with no other concerns than playing, stargazing, and following the rhythm of the music for several days.
Do you prefer live in studio recording or the subsequent work in post-production?
When laying down the core tracks, we prefer playing together live because we’re used to picking up on each other’s cues. We might run the amps directly so as not to bleed into the room, tracking the rhythm section first, then going back over the guitar, harmonica, and vocal parts. Playing together in the same room remains the most natural choice for us.
On the track Purpose, you feature the vocals of Suzie Vinnick and Jared Samhain. How did this gospel-style collaboration come about?
It’s a song I wrote for my daughter. I always say I started writing it the day she was born, holding her in my arms and imagining the world she would live in. It unfolds over four verses representing four stages of life. While deeply personal, I wanted to make it universal for anyone who has ever held a child close, thinking about their future. I felt that having multiple people sing the song would broaden its reach. I brought in Suzie Vinnick and Jared Sowan. I had played with Jared in the band Jimmy and the Sleepers, and we had shared several tours. Suzie and I hit it off playing at the Baltic Blues Festival in Germany, and we later collaborated at other events in Canada. The combination of their voices gave the track the strength I was looking for.
The title track closes the album with a stripped-down acoustic approach, recorded using just two vintage microphones. Why did you choose this setup to capture the core concept of the record?
It was an intuitive choice. The rest of the album has a polished, layered production, whereas for this track, I wanted a stripped-down setup to convey a simple truth: three chords, three musicians standing around two early 1970s RCA microphones, performing a song live. When my daughter was little, she would often ask me to make up stories on the spot rather than read them from books, and that unlocked something in me as a songwriter. In the lyrics, I acknowledge that for most of my life I sang other people’s songs, but there is still time to sing my own story off the beaten path. I wanted a stark contrast with the rest of the record—a moment where the words and meaning could stand front and center.
The tracks cover a wide emotional spectrum, from intimate atmospheres to the joy of My Heart Explodes, which is dedicated to Tim Williams.
I dedicated that song to Tim Williams because he was a mentor to me and to many others. Originally from the United States, he lived and worked in Canada from the ’70s onward, carrying his music forward with integrity and a deep love for the blues and roots music. He was the one who introduced me to the Hornby Island festival scene, acting as a guide and leaving a significant mark on my journey. I shared wonderful moments playing with him. Tim had an immense musical knowledge and was incredibly generous in sharing it with younger musicians. With his passing, we lost a pillar of our community, but his spirit lives on in every note we learned from him and in the passion he passed on to us.
A great master and a great legacy for you all.
Absolutely, Gianni.
Ethan, thank you so much for your time and for this wonderful chat. It was a true pleasure.
Thank you, Gianni. Big hug and see you soon. I hope to see you again soon, either here or in Italy.
