By Jim Barber
For more than 30 years, Canadian alternative rock band Econoline Crush has pushed and prodded the boundaries of popular rock music, infusing their ever-evolving sound with innovative elements of industrial, electronica, alongside incendiary vocal performances and compellingly cinematic lyrical depth from frontman/songwriter/founder Trevor Hurst.
Best known for hit songs such as ‘Sparkle and Shine,’ ‘You Don’t Know What It’s Like,’ ‘Wicked,’ ‘Home,’ and ‘Dirty,’ the band went on hiatus for a few years in the early 2000s before reforming to make the Ignite album in 2008. In recent years, even after taking on a very intense, very fulfilling second career as a psychiatric nurse working in Indigenous communities near his home in Brandon, Manitoba, music has re-emerged as a serious priority and powerful draw once again for Hurst, as Econoline Crush has released a new single, ‘New Gold Magic,’ less than two years after issuing their most recent full-length album, When the Devil Drives. The new single is the first of many coming over the next months, with Hurst saying they will be leading to another new Econoline Crush album soon.
‘New Gold Magic’ as well as a couple other songs currently under construction, was co-produced alongside ex-pat Canadian Kane Churko, who’s part of a family of noted, well-respected, and prolific rock producers, which includes his father Kevin and uncle Cory.
“I just love Kane’s backstory. There’s his father and uncle, and they’re all from Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. And I love the fact that they’re these prairie boys, and they can understand where I come from, but now they live in Las Vegas. They have a state-of-the-art recording studio. And Kane has been raised in this environment his whole life. I have been following his career for a while. I don’t know how old he was when he started doing stuff with some pretty big bands, but he was pretty young. And I remember he was a working on a Papa Roach record, while his dad was working on Five Finger Death Punch and Ozzy Osbourne. And I’m like, ‘look at these guys go! They’re from Moose Jaw, people!’ And I just loved it. So I knew that he would understand me,” Hurst said.
“It was really wild because we played Cranbrook, British Columbia, and after the show, signing stuff at the merch table, I ran into this woman, Julie. And she asked me something about whether I was going to make a new record and who I would like to work with? And I said, ‘oh I would love to work with Kane Churko. I love the guy, he’s innovative and he’s new and he’s an artist. Like, he’s never not been an artist in some ways.’ So, she was the one who connected me. We talked. It seemed like it was going to work, and sure enough, it did. And I’ll tell you how committed I was. I drove to Winnipeg from Brandon. I was going to get a Flair Airlines flight to Las Vegas to record. It was snowing and Flair said they couldn’t fly to Vegas in this snowstorm. I was so mad. I drove back to Brandon, and then drove from Brandon to Vegas in, I forget how many hours. It wasn’t that many, but I got there in a day and a half, I think. I was not going to let a stinking snowstorm stop me from recording with Kane. I was not going to let the flight cancellation stop me, but I knew it wasn’t going to work out unless I just got in the car and drove. So, I just powered through the snowstorm and got down there and got it done.”
There is a full album projected at the end of this process, although Hurst said in terms of physical it’s probably only going to be released on CD for the time being. Likening a full album to a multi-course meal, Hurst said he’s always looked on LPs, be they on vinyl, CD, cassette or even just in a digital format, as encapsulating the emotional journey the band or artist was on over the time period during which they were creating.
“I guess a single can speak to a small moment in time, but I don’t think it captures the emotional journey an artist or band was on over that time period. When we went in to work on our last record, When the Devil Drives [2023], it was an introspective record. It was deliberately thoughtful. It was deliberately addressing some heartfelt moments because that’s where we were as a band. We were in the middle of a pandemic, and we didn’t know what the world was going to be like on the other side of it. And I think that’s important to consider. I think that as artists our job, and I don’t know who said it, but somebody said it was the job of the artist to hold up a mirror to society and in some ways to ourselves, and analyze what we’re seeing and to give our voice to it in order to, you know, give the public, the listeners, a way to understand, or to just vent their frustration or whatever it is that’s going on. The album, for whatever reason, that full length of time, that 45 minutes or whatever, it just seems the right amount of time to completely cover an emotional period in history – the artist’s history or what’s going on in the world – the way they see it and interpret it. I don’t think a single can do that. It just doesn’t quite cover it,” Hurst said, adding that the snapshot in time being covered during his current creative outburst, which includes ‘New Gold Magic’ was filled with emotional tumult, deep soul searching, and a renewed sense of himself and his inner rock and roller.
“It’s happened to me on more than one occasion where the process came at a time when I was really going through something. Do you remember when VH1 had that ‘Storytellers’ show? I went to one of the ones with Ray Davies of The Kinks and Ray was talking about the songs that he had written, and he was saying how he though he was ‘sticking it to his brother [Dave]’ and then he realized years later that he really wasn’t writing about his brother – he was writing about himself. And I had that moment when I went down to Las Vegas with Kane. I was working on these songs and there was something amiss in my personal life, but I couldn’t put my finger on it, and I wasn’t ready to even address it. But my subconscious was active. And in these first two songs, the second one is going to be the next single, when I go back now and listen to them, I’m like, oh my gosh, in the back of my mind I knew what was happening. And it’s a wild thing as an artist the way that things work. It boggles my mind.
“And I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s just that, deep down, somewhere in there, you just know that’s something’s up, and it’s coming out through your creative process. Even though you don’t want to bring it to the front of your mind because maybe it’s too painful to deal with or whatever, it finds ways to squeak into your art. A word will pop up and you go, ‘oh, that’s interesting,’ and you just follow that trail. You go down that path and then you finish the song, and you think, this is wonderful, but what’s it all about? Well, I was writing about these feelings I have about this and that. But really, when you dig deeper, you can see that, holy crap, this was some subconscious message to myself. And I found that really interesting when Ray Davies talked about that same thing when he was talking about it in that Storytellers show.”
So, what was Hurst’s subconscious trying to say? Was he able to eventually figure it out and bring it to the surface for emotional and psychological processing?
“Well, yes. I mean I did, actually. I’m going through a divorce and some issues related to that. And it hit me like a plank. And it’s tough, but it’s one of those things where life goes on and you’ve got to pick yourself up by the bootstraps and carry on. It was a shocking thing, and it’s been overwhelming, but yeah. And hell, life is always a work in progress,” he said, adding that ‘New Gold Magic’ is what came directly out of the process of working through the feelings associated with such a significant life change, and realizing that some internal retooling was needed.
“I think, subconsciously, I was pushing back on my situation and the people around me. I think that I felt like I was maybe making myself small to fit in. And, you know, you go through a lot of mind games as an artist. You question certain things. Why did this work? Why didn’t this one work? What did this change? What was it about that certain thing that people connected with? So, when I went into the studio with this song, the way that the riff was and everything, I actually felt kind of lippy and kind of, like, cheeky. And I wanted to make it like that. When I read those lyrics, I was thinking, it’s so damn tragic and stuff, and I realized I was kind of this overwhelming character to be around. And I also realized that, just like certain plants, you can’t grow in some places if you don’t have enough light, if you don’t have enough water, if you don’t have whatever. I was just not in the right spot, and I can see that now, but I couldn’t at the time. But at the same I was kind of complaining. I don’t know how to explain it. I needed that guy, that rock and roll guy to show up and go, ‘dude, come on. What are you doing? Go and let your light shine. Go kick some ass. Go rock!’ I needed that swagger.”
In other words, while the self analysis was good, and productive and educational, ultimately what Hurst’s subconscious was telling him was to get out of his own head, to reconnect with his mojo, and get to work being a badass rock and roller.
“It’s weird because as you age as a human being and as you age as an artist, you do get this level of confidence and maybe a greater understanding of how the world is around you. So, you would think that things would become easier and in some ways they are. But at the same time, you still have that stuff that always comes with being an artist and putting music out. You let the baby go, you release it to the world, and you hope they’re kind to you and you hope for the best. I guess that never goes away. Plus, I think it’s good that that feeling doesn’t go away because it keeps us humble and keeps us honest and it keeps us working hard to make the stuff we’re making. If it were easy, everybody would be doing it, right?”
Hurst said he knew things were special about the process because there were times of real musical magic when working on the new songs alongside Churko. It made the whole process not only revelatory in terms of what he learned and how he processed the emotional trauma of previous months, but also in how freeing it was to take the leash off and just go with the artistic flow.
“We were sitting there working on the song and I look at Kane and we were like, okay now we’ve come to the bridge of the song, now what? We were both sitting there thinking and then I started making these faces and trying to make guitar sounds with my voice, and he just picked up what I was kind of putting down and he said, ‘oh, so we’re going to turn this into some sort of Rob Zombie twisted thing.’ And I’m like, ‘yeah, yeah, yeah!’ It was an alchemic element, synthesized for human imagination and just saying all these weird things. And he just kept recording. Those are the sort of moments of impromptu weirdness where you don’t know if it’s going to work or not, but who cares. Just press ‘record’ and let’s just try. And it turned out wonderful. It was fun. And I remember when we finished that day’s recording, he looks at me and says, ‘thank you for that,’” he said, adding that even though the song is about his own personal journey, what he’s gone through, and listening to what the little voice inside his heart is saying, that the sense of empowering swagger of ‘New Gold Magic,’ has the spin-off effect of lifting up listeners who are enduring their own challenges.
“I think it was Eddie Vedder, back in the 1990s, who said that once you release the song out there into the world, then how it’s interpreted and how people embrace it and the parts of the songs they embrace, you can’t control. That’s their thing. And what it means to them is no less significant that what it means to me as the person who wrote it. So, if ‘New Gold Magic’ becomes a fight song that people love, where people say to whoever, ‘I’m going to give you all the pain I feel’ and throwing it right back in their face, then, yes, I embrace that fully and want that. But it’s also something that has to happen naturally, like it did for these new songs. For me, it’s very difficult to sit down and start with the concept that I’m going to magically write a protest song and then write a protest song. I need to wait. In the studio, I’d show up and wait for the songs to show up. The music gets played and then all of a sudden you feel this download of information where you’re like, ‘okay this is what we’re going to go for,’ and you just start writing. I envy the people who can just sit down and say, ‘oh I think I’ll write a symphony today that invokes the thought of fall and crunching leaves on the ground.’ I just can’t do it.”
Most fans of Econoline Crush know that the band is a significant if not preeminent part of his life, as it has been now for more than 30 years. But over a decade ago, Hurst embarked on another, simultaneous career path, studying and eventually earning his degree and accreditations as a psychiatric nurse. Much of his work is done in high-risk situations, particularly in Indigenous communities near his home in Brandon, Manitoba. What he has learned and experienced from the intensity of his interactions with his clients, the successes, the tragedies, the visceral pain and depredation and the moments of love and despair have definitely influences the music he creates – and vice versa. It’s as if one facet of his life relies on the other for inspiration and emotional evolution.
“This is a key point you just touched on, because music enables me to be a better psych nurse and a better counsellor and a better wellness worker. And it’s because of the fact that music is an outlet for all of that pent-up frustration and energy, and it gives me an opportunity to address the things like suicide, which is a big deal in our community – it scares all of us and we don’t want to see any of it. I give a talk every single night on stage about the importance of checking in on your friends, about saying honest things when you’re feeling scared and when you’re feeling like you have some suicidal ideation. I bring that up every single night. So, I get an opportunity to talk about it through a PA to a bunch of people and have them cheer about it. And that feels good,” he said.
“But at the same time, it also feels good to get that PSA out there, and I can just beat my body up the whole time, like just jump and smash and jump around the stage and get out those frustrations. If I didn’t have music, God forbid, I’d probably be in some beer league hockey thing slamming people up against the boards and dropping the gloves every five months. I use it as an outlet to get this stuff out because it is a lot to process. And I think that music helps me do that through songwriting and performing in particular.
“I’ve been doing this for 10 years and there’s a lot – there’s a lot of emotion. There’s a lot of harsh reality that I’ve been exposed to and a lot of beautiful moments too. I think it just makes me a better human and that therefore makes me a better musician. You know, it just informs my life. I am really, really, really grateful that I have worked in the places that I’ve worked, in Indigenous communities, in the areas where there’s marginalized people within that community and working with those people and trying to help get people into a better spot, into a better life. There’s nothing more rewarding than being able to help somebody that’s in a very tough spot to get to a place that’s safe, that’s comfortable and that brings them joy. I think that my musical side, having done interviews and having performed, I do little maneuvers, do things like dance, jump, whatever it takes to get a giggle, to get everybody to lighten up and then to move towards the goal which is, how do we fix this? How do we make this better? Every day, that’s what I do, I wonder, ‘how do I make this better?’ And I love the people that I work with, the clients. And I love the dedicated staff that I work with. I think it just makes me a better human. And by being a better human, I have greater empathy and greater understanding of a larger swath of people. Instead of this sort of small, myopic kind of group, I see people from the very marginalized to very wealthy and all points in between. And I get to hear stories, good and bad. I am exposed to a lot, and I think that it’s great. I love the fact that it impacts my world in a way that makes me a stronger and better human.”
The community in which Hurst does most of his wellness work is called Sioux Valley, about 40 kilometres from Brandon. There are about 2,700 people living there, mostly Dakota.
“I used to work at Canupawakpa, which is also Dakota. I was better with the language when I worked there because I was working more with the elders. Now that I’m working with the young people, they don’t use the language as much, but I’ve learned a few interesting things like, for instance, me. I’m a wasi’chu. That’s the name for white people. But when you actually translate it, it means fat stealer. They told me when General Custer had everybody kind of penned up in the States, the army would come with a sledge of a side of beef and a bunch of potatoes and vegetables and stuff. They were so scared of the Dakota, they would pull the sledge into the middle of the community and they would just cut the rope and ride off. The local farmers around, they would come down with guns and they would take all the good stuff off the sledge and leave the Indigenous people with gristle and rotting vegetables. So they got skinny, and they called us the wasi’chu – the fat stealers. And I can’t blame them,” he said.
“It’s such a fascinating culture. When my mom died of cancer and I was grieving so hard and struggling, a nurse asked me how I was coping with things. I said I was struggling and I asked her for advice and she said she really got into their culture and it changed her. She said I should go with her to a sweat. I went that night and it was amazing. And it changed the way I felt about the Creator and … well, let’s just say I believe in a higher power now, more so than ever. I felt the presence of the Creator, and I felt her come into that sweat and I felt her presence and I felt the elders and I felt my ancestors and I felt very connected to my soul, if that makes any sense. I felt connected to my spirit and to other spirits. In that sweat, I could feel the oneness of all of us, how we are all connected and how this is all just one thing. It changed my life and I feel indebted to the Dakota people. And that’s why I love working with them, and that’s why I love the community.”
Econoline Crush released its first album Affliction in 1995. There have been four full-length albums since, including the aforementioned When the Devil Drives. There have also been three EPs and one greatest hits compilation, and thousands of shows over the intervening three decades. Even without the lessons and experiences gleaned from his career as a wellness worker, there is always going to be a natural evolution of an artist/musician thanks to experience, and maturity. Hurst has worked with a number of top-line producers and within the confines of many excellent studios. All of this adds up to an accumulated level of wisdom and knowledge that has made him, technically and stylistically, a better writer.
“What’s really wild is I will be in the studio and I’ll hear a phrase or a line that some producer in the past has said to me. Whether it’s Bob Rock, Bob Ezrin, Sylvia Massey, Ian Alexander Smith, John Wozniak [Marcy Playground] – I hear all of that direction, all of that knowledge still bouncing around inside this cranium. And I think it makes every recording experience better, more efficient and less tense in a way. I’ll be writing the lyrics and I’ll hear John Wozniak saying, ‘didn’t you just say that in the line before? Can we move forward? Can we punch that up?’ Or like Ian Alexander Smith encouraging me to choose a different, more unusual melody, and Sylvia saying, ‘sing it like you mean it.’ Like, I still hear those voices, right? I hear them in my head. And it does, it impacts how I do things now. I can still see Bob Rock’s smile when you nail it and it feels good to get that approval. It’s weird because we’re like performing monkeys and if I can make the producer happy, then I’m happy.”
There is a sense the music is starting to gain a more and more traction in Hurst’s life, in terms of the amount of time and energy he spends on it, to the point where he is pondering stepping back from his wellness work, at least for a season.
“I have this feeling that music may become more. And I’m okay with that if that is the case. Because music is like bottling lightning or something. If you get a chance and you catch it, then keep it and go. I can always come and work in these communities. I can always come and help. And I will always be connected. Maybe I shorten my hours, or maybe I’m doing a different role. But I think it was important for me to go down this path, to spend five years in school and learn. It was a challenge to get from where I was and getting into the school mode. I had this great internal debate. I didn’t think I could pull it off. Then when I didn’t really have a choice, I gave myself this kind of ultimatum and said I had to do this. Overcoming that fear and persevering through that challenge made me a better human. And I love it. I’m so grateful that I went there and I’m so grateful that I stuck with it,” adding that even if music does become a larger focal point and eats up more of his emotional resources and time, he won’t allow it to take over his life like it did during Econoline Crush’s heyday in the 1990s, when it was a constant grind of album, tour, album, tour, album tour, with loads of promotion in between.
“When you’re in that mode, which was unfortunate for myself, because the downside is that I’m always looking for the next thing. You’re always looking down the road. You get this tour book, and it’s thick and it’s got all the information about all the dates and the routing. And you’re never in the moment. It’s always looking ahead. ‘What’s next? Should we try and hop on this other tour. Is that tour overseas going to happen? What about that big Lollapalooza thing? It was awful. Now when the night ends and if we’re lucky enough to get an encore, and it’s all over, I take a second and look at every face that I can see. And I try to memorize them because I remember what it felt like when it stopped. And that was horrific. So now I sit there and I soak that in. I think that the audience understands what I’m doing because I’ve talked about it a lot. I think there’s this mutual thing where they’re looking up at us going, ‘I’m so glad you guys showed up. Thank you for coming back and playing these songs that give us such joy.’ But I am looking back at them going, ‘thank you for coming and letting me play my songs.’ So there’s this mutual admiration, this mutual connection and understanding. And it’s beautiful.”
What is also beautiful is the opportunity for those connective moments with music lovers that Hurst is so passionate about engaging in. Econoline Crush, which also features David Swart on drums, bassist Troy Zak and guitarist Graham Tuson, all of whom have been in the band for a decade or more, is going on tour this fall, in support of ‘New Gold Magic, starting Oct. 25 in Fort MacMurray, Alberta, with that run ending Nov. 23 in Oshawa, Ontario. Dates for early 2026 are also in place, for a slew of Canadian shows opening for American alt-rockers Live, alongside fellow Canadians Big Wreck.
For more information, visit https://econolinecrushmusic.com.
- Jim Barber is a veteran award-winning journalist and author based in Napanee, Ontario, Canada, who has been writing about music and musicians for more than 30 years. Besides his journalistic endeavors, he works as a communications and marketing specialist and is an avid volunteer in his community. Contact him at bigjim1428@hotmail.com.
