The Insight of John K. Samson

John K. Samson is the lead singer of the rock band The Weakerthans, as well as an accomplished singer-songwriter with a few albums released under his own name, as well as an adjunct professor at the University of British Columbia.

He is my favorite writer.

Samson's songs are witty and sensitive, often culling the adult world for jumping-off points to discuss more heady subjects like death, identity, compassion and fear. Often he doesn't use broad strokes, but creates a zoomed-in, detail-oriented assessment of what makes a person tick. John's writing connects with the listener by forcing you to encounter your own empathy. When a lot of writers are keen to obfuscate, or hide meaning in cryptic and vague lyrics, Samson, more often than not, offers plain-spoken and simple tales of regret, optimism, turmoil and Canadian pride. 

A writer like Samson can be taken for granted. A song exemplifying the earnest nature of a bus driver who is forced to drive by the apartment he once shared with a former partner, recounting the happiness and sadness their relationship faced and assessing the damage he inflicted, carries a lot more weight because the narrative is couched in reality.  In a believable narrator. (The Weakerthans - Civil Twilight)

Samson's three-song arc about a cat named Virtute, (the Latin word for 'strength,' which Samson borrowed from his hometown motto, Unum Cum Virtute Multorum), is what first captured me. And I know it sounds like exaggeration, but the only song that can make me cry at any time is "Virtute the Cat Explains Her Departure." But, we'll get to that later.

I'm not a cat person. I never have been. I'm not really an animal person at all, let alone cats. My first serious relationship featured the adoption of two cats.  Despite any efforts to break through the frost, I was never able to connect to them in a meaningful way. And that's not for lack of trying. I tried. I don't blame them, or my ex-partner.  I understand that what I came to that relationship with (in both senses), was the seeking of something which just wasn't available. And that's ok. 

But, cats. The judgmental, standoffish prudes of the animal world. Theirs is a companionship of cold distance and litter. Cats withhold. They assess. They do not forget, they do not forgive. They hedge their bets and, for all their furry cuteness, what you're left with is a reminder that, to many, your existence is less a concern than a side effect.

The cat doesn't put you on a pedestal just because you exist. It does not award a participation trophy for having unlocked a door, poured a bowl of food and merely shared a home. A cat may value the effort you put in. They do not show appreciation, but that's exactly why that tiny pink nose nuzzling against you means as much as it does.

These three songs are about a cat. The evidence above illustrates that I'm not susceptible to the romance of cat ownership. 

Part One: Plea From A Cat Named Virtute

Why don't you ever want to play? I'm tired of this piece of string You sleep as much as I do now And you don't eat much of anything. I don't know who you're talking to. I made a search through every room. But all I found was dust that moved. In shadows of the afternoon.

The song is, as it says, a plea from the perspective of a cat.  Coping with an owner who is seemingly struggling with depression. She reminds her owner that they are letting their life slip away for nothing.

You're only getting older. Your self-doubt, your fear, you'll either reckon with them or you'll die with them. How is it possible that your own happiness is worth less than the comfort brought by complacency and predictable depression? It's a constant, sure. But it's unsustainable.

And listen, about those bitter songs you sing? They're not helping anything. They won't make you strong

Virtute sees a life falling apart and can't understand why anyone would choose to be miserable when they do not have to be. Sometimes those demons look a lot bigger when you're face-to-face with them. But whether you're facing something daunting or not, it does you no good to feel sorry for yourself and dwell on the chosen or unchosen.

So, we should open up the house. Invite the tabby two doors down. You could ask your sister, if she doesn't bring her basset hound. Ask the things you shouldn't miss: tape-hiss and the Modern Man, The Cold War and card catalogues to come and join us if they can. For girly drinks and parlor games. We'll pass around the easy lie of absolutely no regrets and later maybe you could try to let your losses dangle off the sharp edge of a century and talk about the weather, or how the weather used to be.

Today can be the day we change. Let this moment be the blade that severs you from your past. Start your new life. Take it on.

And I'll cater with all the birds that I can kill. Let their tiny feathers fill disappointment. Lie down; lick the sorrow from your skin. Scratch the terror and begin to believe you're strong.

This is my favorite part of this song. Not because it's cute -- well, partially because it's cute. If you've ever experienced depression, you understand that it's not just difficult to express to someone what you're going through. It's literally impossible. There's no understanding to be had when the problem is that you don't understand yourself. 

Virtute is left to the tools in her toolbox. Just as I am left to the devices I possess when trying to be supportive to those I love. The point isn't that a cat catching birds to find a way to lift their owner's spirits isn't ultimately going to succeed. The point is that Virtute cared. Virtute cared, even when her owner couldn't. We would all be better off if we recognized the love, appreciation and sincere admiration in those around us.

All you ever want to do is drink and watch TV. And frankly, that thing doesn't really interest me

I swear I'm going to bite you hard and taste your tinny blood if you don't stop the self-defeating lies you've been repeating since the day you brought me home.

I know you're strong.

I can't tell you how many times I've heard that last line. It's far fewer than the times I've muttered it to myself in moments when i knew i could do better by the people around me. It's put its foot in the door and established itself as a mantra, whether I like it or not.

Recognizing your weakness is a valuable skill.  Being able to see above your shortcomings and value yourself in light of your weakness is daunting. That's what this song means to me.

It's not a song about a cat. It's a song about you. It's a song about how you encounter the dark parts of your nature, whether you're available to their pleas or not, they will whine.

Part Two: Virtute the Cat Explains Her Departure

I remember where I was the first time I heard the second song in the Virtute series.  It comes from The Weakerthans fourth album, Reunion Tour.  I'd already been a fan of the band for a few years, and the first entry, Plea From A Cat Named Virtute was the first and last song on my running playlist.  It was a well, which I would listen to multiple times a week to remind myself that, somewhere down there, is a person who deserves to be treating himself better than he has been.

Sitting at the desk, in the living room of the first apartment I was responsible for paying the rent in I encountered it. 

It had something to do with the rain

Leaching, loamy dirt

And the way the back lane came alive

Half moon whispered, "Go"

For a while I heard you missing steps in the street

And your anger pleading in an uncertain key

Singing the sound that you found for me

That impulse. The dissolving hope of running away. How many problems does it solve? All of them. If only I could get out. 

The shameful thoughts that cross your mind, if only I could get what I want and be rid of this place, this person, this situation. You know deep down in your heart that it's wrong. But that impulse is real, and sometimes we act upon it.  

When the winter took the tips of my ears

Found this noisy home

Full of pigeons and places to hide

And when the voices die

I emerged to watch abandoned machines

Waiting for their men to return

I remember the way I would wait for you

To arrive with kibble and a box full of beer

How I'd scratch the empties desperate to hear

You make the sound that you found for me

I remember dropping my head to the desk and a wave came over me. I started sobbing. I could not stop. It cut me. Virtute gave up. 

Virtute longed for the tenderness she'd eschewed. The cold of the real world was the only companion she'd found. And she knew she wasn't built for this world. And now the only thing she wanted was to hear her owner's voice. 

After scrapping with the ferals and the tabby

I'd let you brush my matted fur

How I'd knead into your chest while you were sleeping

Shallow breathing made me purr

Is there anything we wouldn't give to have the pure security of what we've lost? How foolish we were to give it away willingly.  

But I can't remember the sound that you found for me

I can't remember the sound that you found for me

I can't remember the sound

And there it is.  That's the price.

I broke down.  I cried on the couch, thinking I was mourning a non-existent cat, too naive to see that what I was missing was innocence. For hours I thought about this song. Days. Weeks. A few months after, I decided to write John a letter. 

At that point, I did not write. I didn't make it a habit to say thank you to the people who affected me.

I tried to dig draw something from inside to show that I understood something because of this song, but I don't know if I ever found it. I told him that I didn't see how I could maintain the relationship I was in. I told him that, deep down, I felt like I knew what the inevitable held. I didn't know, but that's the best way I could handle those feelings.

In the years following, we did break up.  Looking back now, I can see clearly why it wasn't functional.  I can see that there's only so And while some understanding about human nature may have come from this song and the words about managing relationships in the face of depression and struggle. The lesson that, no matter how much you grow as a person, you'll always be able to grow more. No matter how deep your well of empathy, you'll find that it goes a few feet further down. 

I regret my unkindness.  I regret my selfishness.  I regret that the lessons I learned took such a long and difficult time to learn.  I regret that I didn't cherish more the moments and people in my life who truly brought me joy and turned me into a better man. 

I celebrate that we both grew to be better people.  And I can recognize that I really admire her for the person she is.  It's enormously difficult to grapple with the loss of a person who changed you, whether that's due to true loss or just the shifting sands of relationships and how you must cope with moving on from a shared life.

Virtute had to break it.  There was no way out.  It may have seemed foolhardy, and maybe it was.  It may have seemed like a regrettable mistake, but it was an inevitability. 

She forgot her own name.

But she remembered the love, and that's why it hurt so very much. 

Part Three: Virtute at Rest

So here we are, seemingly a thousand years later.

When Samson released his second album, Winter Wheat, in 2016, my life had changed. I had changed. As I scrolled the tracklist, my heart sank. "Virtute At Rest." The final song on the album.  I quickly debated about ignoring it. Am I ready to encounter this? I tapped the song.

Now that the treatment and antidepressants

And seven months sober have built me a bed

In the back of your brain where the memories flicker

And I paw at the synapses, bright bits of string

You should know I am with you, know I forgive you

Know I am proud of the steps that you've made

Know it will never be easy or simple

Know I will dig in my claws when you stray

So let us rest here like we used to

In a line of late afternoon sun

Let it rest, all you can't change

Let it rest and be done

I don't think I can say anything that the fake cat hasn't said better.  There's a defining characteristic of loss that you can't learn second-hand.  I don't know if I can capture it, but I commend Samson for creating the closest approximation to what true love feels like. It isn't Disney. It isn't meant to be. It's the struggle toward making yourself a better person for the sake of those who care for you. 

Love is cherishing those who have made you a better person, even if it's only in the back of your brain when you look back and consider all the happy moments -- and the sad moments -- and draw your finger over the map to see just how far you've come.

I think about Virtute at least once a week. I consider her admiration of a dumb human. I consider his aloofness. I'm struck by how, years and years on, I dwell on what it means and why I still consider what this all means to me -- it's a song about a fake cat, after all.