How music made me return to my French language — and see it as a badge of honour

Looking back, I admit it felt strange to be standing in Government House, shaking hands with the Lieutenant-Governor of Nova Scotia after receiving his annual Award of Excellence for l'Acadie and Francophonie of Nova Scotia.

It wasn't so long ago that I felt I was not even capable of stringing together a full sentence in French. 'Capable,' actually, doesn't fully capture the feeling. 'Willing' is closer. 'Confident' is more accurate. So how did I get here?

Born in Yarmouth, N.S., I grew up in a small Acadian village called Surette's Island, which along with other Acadian villages in southwestern Nova Scotia, is known as Par-en-Bas. 

Literally translated to "Down Below," the regional term divides communities across geographical lines. Yarmouth is the central point, north of the town is the municipality of Clare. We call that Par-en-Haut or "Up There." South of Yarmouth is the Municipality of Argyle, aka Par-en-Bas. That's where I'm from. 

Par-en-Bas is home to some of the oldest Acadian communities in the world. It is a place with a rooted cultural history that spans more than 400 years. Its connection to the French language is just as deep. 

From Grade 3 to Grade 12, I went to French-language schools, and I spoke French around the house. My mother's family – Surettes – can trace our Acadian lineage back more than seven generations. My mémère (grandmother) was a staunch French speaker. 

Our way of speaking French was more about the dialect than the proper language. A mix of old world French, hyper-regional slang, words borne out of Mi'kmaq, and a healthy dose of anglicized expressions. It's so unique to the region we even have our own term for it: Acajonne. 

The truth is, I didn't know how important all this was. The history, the dialect, the place. And the even deeper truth is, I was both afraid and ashamed to speak French in a setting outside of this small corner of the world.

So rooted in the dialect and the accent, I grew up with the feeling that this wasn't 'real French' — a feeling that was confirmed time and time again.

Like when the school curriculum was anchored by textbooks written by Québec authors, when I spoke French in communities outside of the province, when I would get weird looks from people who heard me talk as if they couldn't even draw the parallel between the words I was saying and the French language.

In the face of all this, it wasn't only easy to leave it behind, it felt almost necessary. Like shedding a burden.

It wasn't until I started touring across the country in a band called Sleepless Nights that my perspective started to change.

Three members of the band — all Acadian — came from Par-en-Bas. We delighted in meeting new people and telling them about the history of our culture. We were shocked to find out that many people knew next to nothing about Acadians.

Soon after, my best friend Josh Pothier and I founded an independent record label called Acadian Embassy. Named after the house where we were living, practicing, and working, the label became a way for us to explore our cultural identity in a novel way. 

We wanted to use music and art to tackle this question.

Our first major foray into this exploration was an instrumental album. Written and recorded by Josh's band, Kuato, The Great Upheaval was an album framed with the theme of the Acadian Expulsion. No lyrics, just compositions. Was this Acadian music? We thought so.

Engaging with these ideas felt like an act of rebellion. Like taking everything we inherited about our culture, what it was and what it should be, and throwing it out the window. Rediscovery on our own terms.

The more interested I was in researching the history of Acadians in Nova Scotia, speaking about my own experiences, and understanding how truly special the place I came from really was, the more I found my own path back to speaking French.

The first real leap for me personally was translating English lyrics into French for my band Quiet Parade. Taking that project on was a conscious choice to dive into the deep end.

It wasn't just about having the skills to speak French, it was about having the confidence and the desire to do so. 

The DIY punk-in-attitude of Acadian Embassy helped me frame this confidence. It gave me the courage to say: If you don't like the way I speak French, I don't care.' Again, it became an act of rebellion.

The translated Quiet Parade album, Nous Étions Icitte, was released nearly nine years ago. I haven't looked back. 

In 2021, I debuted Sluice, a new project through which — for the first time ever — I wrote songs in French. 

In 2023, I became the President of the Fédération culturelle acadienne de la Nouvelle-Écosse (FéCANE), an organization with a mandate to support and promote Acadian and Francophone artists across disciplines throughout the province.

Acadian Embassy is still going strong, now with a decidedly new focus on working with Acadian artists making French-language music. I am an outspoken and visible advocate for Nova Scotian Acadian culture both here at home and across the country. 

Coming back to the French language took work, practice, and volition. I had to find my own way there and the hill to get back was steep. I have shed the shame and the embarrassment that I once felt about the way I speak and embraced its novelty. I wear it like a badge of honour, a mark of an identity that I rediscovered and reshaped on my own terms.

What is your motto?
"We're lucky to be here, doing things we love, with people we care about."

What is your favourite activity on the East Coast?
I love a camping trip at Kejimkujik National Park, no matter the season. It's an extraordinary place with deep history and some of the most gorgeous landscapes in all of the East Coast. As a kid, I started going with my aunt and uncle and as the years have passed, my wife and I — alongside our friends and that very same aunt and uncle — have continued to build memories there. It's a really special place for me.

What is your greatest extravagance?
Records! Over the years I have amassed hundreds of vinyl records for my personal collection. I believe that buying a record is one of the best ways to support an artist, so I tend to buy lots of newer stuff and local stuff, but I am also perpetually on the hunt for classics. My most beloved subsection of my personal collection are LPs by 60s girl groups such as The Ronettes, The Shirelles, and The Crystals. 

Who are your favourite writers?
L'Acadie has some incredible, thought-provoking, reflective, boundary-pushing, and (sometimes) hilarious poets in our midst. Céleste Godin, Xénia Gould, and Guyaume Boulianne have all released new works in the last couple of years that are fantastic. I am currently reading a new book called Les Voyageurs de Par-en-Bas by Noé Bourque and Cody Donaldson – a sci-fi time traveler novel set in the Acadian villages of Par-en-Bas. The dialogue of the main characters is written in Acajonne, so it's like having a conversation with someone from back home. It's a great feeling to see that represented in literature. 

Can you share a recent experience that gives you hope for positive change?
I was fortunate enough to participate both behind the scenes and as an artist in the 2024 Congrès mondial acadien (CMA 2024), which took place this past August in Southwestern Nova Scotia. As an Acadian who grew up in the region, it was really inspiring and emotional to see tens of thousands of people come together to celebrate Acadian culture in that place. I think it's hard, sometimes, for people in those communities to wear that pride on their sleeve or to know how to celebrate that identity. I think hosting CMA 2024 will change that while also giving a younger generation their own avenues for self-expression.

Where can people connect with you?
Instagram: @acadianembassy
Website: www.acadianembassy.com and http://acadianembassy.bandcamp.com