Photo by Norman Wong

With Situation Critical, we present artists with various life situations—some joyous, some terrible, some bizarre—to find out which songs, albums, or bands they would turn to under those specific circumstances. This time, we spoke with Broken Social Scene leader Kevin Drew, whose new solo album Darlings is out now via Arts & Crafts.

It's the middle of the night and you can't fall asleep...

I used to live alone in the top-floor turret of this Edward Scissorhands-style house that overlooked the highway a few years back. It was a cauldron for me, a beautiful little cocoon. When I couldn't sleep, I would sit by my window and watch the cars. I started playing a game called "No One's Going Anywhere", where I would count out the stretches when no cars were on the highway whatsoever. Maybe it would be 20 seconds, and then 30 seconds, and suddenly you're at a minute. But I wouldn't get back to sleep because my heart would start pounding, thinking that no one's going anywhere. And while I would do this, I was obsessed with Jónsi & Alex's Riceboy Sleeps.

I set a goal for myself where I wanted to reach over a minute, which was very hard to do. But one night, when I was about to move away from this apartment and was upset about it because I really loved it, I reached two minutes and 47 seconds—no one was going anywhere for two minutes and 47 seconds. Along with the sense of peace that I felt with that record playing, it was a wonderful send-off from this place that sheltered me for a while.

You're in the car with your grandmother...

Because she was a lady of the Lord, I would play Pastor T.L. Barrett and the Youth for Christ Choir's Like a Ship... (Without a Sail). She was religious in a way that she understood that there are all kinds of other religions, but the church gave her a community. She was a terrible singer, but she was in the choir for 20 years. The priests were like rockstars to her, and she would really try to get a VIP pass to their lives. I never made fun of the Lord when I was around her. 

I did two songs with my grandmother: That's her and her boyfriend on Feel Good Lost's "Stomach Song", and then we did a song together called "Apology", because I always feel so sorry for so many things all the time. I sort of wrote it for my ex-wife, for the idea of splitting up and not being able to make it; there's always these things that haunt you because of the 70,000 films and songs and books and opinions that you have to take in everyday when it comes to being in relationships. It puts a pressure on your mouth and eyes and fingers, and it's an undertone that you can't even really call out. I did a little interview with my grandmother and mixed it into that song, and she said, "Love is love, nothing alters it. Just because you go from here to there, you don't forget the love you have for someone." I thought that was so simple and beautiful, just recognizing that that's the truth, even though we all want to fight it and change it and make it work to our advantage and have it justify everything. I admired her for that. I miss her dearly. 

"People are beautiful and people suck.
You have to choose which side you want to be on."

You're awaiting results from an important medical test...

I would dwell in the anxiety. Stars of the Lid's Brian McBride made a record called The Effective Disconnect, that I've listened to 197 times. I like music to invoke emotion in me, and I do believe that sadness can be a wonderful thing—I've always believed that everyone has it inside of them, and you have to make an extreme effort to be happy. The first time I heard I heard this record, it moved into my stomach. It gives you the ability to have some time with your thoughts without all the static, which dominates now, like, "Who texted? Who called? What's going on? What's happening? Check your phone. Brutal news, brutal news, brutal news—aw, adorable little cats!—brutal news, brutal news." And all your friends who you thought were quiet have massive opinions and they're going to town on them! There's a cheapness to it. I don't discredit anyone's opinions, and everyone should have a platform, but it's interesting to see the power that some of the people feel with it. As I've always said: People are beautiful and people suck. You have to choose which side you want to be on. 

You're doing a CrossFit workout...

I've worked out to Explosions in the Sky's The Rescue more than I can tell you. There's an emotional side to pushing your body as far as you can; when you're trying to go to the limit, it's dramatic. Exercising is necessary for me because of the lifestyle I lead. I live at the drinks table—and my credit card and my liver and the people who helped me get in the cab the other night could show you that I live at the drinks table. But I'm slowly finding myself there less and less, which, obviously, is called growing up.

You're at the bar right at the very end of the night...

You want to hear the anthems: "Better Be Good to Me" by Tina Turner, or "Heaven" by Psychedelic Furs, or "Move on Up" by Curtis Mayfield. Or New Order, or Grateful Dead, or the Pharcyde—if you end the night with hip-hop, you'll go to bed happy.

You've just broken-up with somebody...

I got a box set for that! [laughs] Not really. But a profound record for me is Dirty Three's Whatever You Love, You Are. Anything that has a soundtrack quality to it—that has a sense of sadness and joy within it, which most instrumental bands carry with them—works with any sense of mourning. When I was a kid, I would go buy [The Cure's] Disintegration on cassette and give it to anyone who got dumped.

But I can't help but look at the women I have been with and be so grateful for every single one of them. Sometimes things don't work, but the core of why we were there always remains, and you can't lose that friendship, admiration, and respect. The love doesn't really go anywhere.  

You're having a dinner party with everybody in Broken Social Scene...

You've got to play reggae. You got to! A go-to of mine is Sly & Robbie Meet Bunny Lee's At Dub Station. That just sets the tone. It's the most positive universal music out there.

Also: Good Vibes by Horace Andy, who is a king. He's done a lot with Massive Attack, and we played a festival with them in Croatia, and Horace Andy was there, and I was starstruck. So I'm in catering talking to myself, "This is it! You get to meet Horace Andy!" But I thought, "No, no, no, he's eating. Just be cool, Kevy, come on." Then, we were about to go on, and I realized I left some piece of gear in our dressing room, so I ran back to get it and came tearing out of the dressing room... and I just floored Horace Andy. I knocked him down. And this is not a young man. He was not happy. I started to say, "Oh my God!" and he just looked at me and was like, "Get away, it's fine, continue on with whatever it is that's so important." I was heartbroken!

You're running away from home as a teenager... 

I actually did split one time, when I was 16. I was like, "I'm going to stay at my girlfriend's! I can't handle this anymore!" And next thing I know my mother was giving me food and my dad was driving me to the subway, so I thought, "This is not as dramatic as I thought it was going to be." I had a case of CDs, and J Mascis was dominating at the time. 

But I couldn't stay away for long. My mother made an outstanding risotto, so I was home in about three days. I just needed a break. And quite frankly, I think they needed a break, too. There comes a point where you get tired of yourself—you feel isolated and you can't explain it. You're your own worst enemy and you're causing more problems than you need to. Then you realize it's just a waste of time. I admire my folks and I love them very much and I try to make them as much a part of my life as I can to say thanks for the crazy years: "Sorry about running away and doing all those drugs, but here I am. It's good, we're good."

You're setting your alarm with music to wake up to in the morning...

Mornings are something that I've discovered in the past two years. I don't really stay up that late anymore. When it's 4:30 in the morning and everything is still, that's the best time. At that hour, you don't have the distractions of everybody's shit.

After my friend bought me a record player as a housewarming gift, I got really obsessed with all the orchestrated polyphonic stuff from the 50s and 60s, anything that said "RCA Victor Stereo Action". There's something beautiful about waking up to Hawaiian music, like Leo Addeo and His Orchestra's Hawaii in Hi-Fi. And for some reason Burt Bacharach didn't mean anything to me until I got over the age of 35 and thought, "This guy's absolutely incredible!" Anything anything with bongos, flutes, guitar—that's what I like to wake up to.

You're a music supervisor for a soap opera and you're trying to increase the drama on the show...

Maybe I would take Elton John's "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", put it in reverse through a looping pedal, shove it through a reverb unit, and we're golden!

A meteor is about to hit the Earth, wiping out all humanity...

I probably wouldn't be listening to anything. I'd just want to grab the ones that helped me become who I am and say thank you one last time.