For most of his career, singer-songwriter Ron Sexsmith has sounded like a fellow with the weight of humanity on his shoulders. But when he had a health scare two years ago, the Canadian’s flights of introspection were replaced by something far more substantive: a real and present fear for his life.

“They found a lump on my throat,” says Sexsmith, rested up at his downtown Toronto apartment. “There was a three or four month period where I was in limbo. Going for tests and more tests, not knowing what was happening. I didn’t have any sense as to how serious or not it was – whether I should be worried or take it in my stride.”
In the end, the lump turned out benign. However, as he sat down to write his next album, Sexsmith remained haunted by his brush with mortality. Where his previous record, Long Player, Late Bloomer, had been a brassy pop affair, his new tunes were dark and contemplative.
“It’s not as if you never think about that sort of stuff,” he reflects. “At some level it’s something you worry about from when you’re a kid. At least I did. However, when you have something that could maybe be fatal it brings everything into focus.”
The way he speaks, you expect Forever Endeavour to be a downbeat affair. In fact, it’s calm and celebratory – a project that finds joy in the small things in life (one of the most moving tracks, ‘The Morning Light’ sees Sexsmith waking up at 6am and noticing, for the first time, the beauty of the dawn).
The LP arrives at a strange moment in Sexsmith’s career. In the early 2000s, he was lionised as the next great singer-songwriter. Elvis Costello, Terry Wogan and Paul McCartney were fans, when Coldplay’s Chris Martin became famous, one of his first acts was to invite Sexsmith to tour with Coldplay as support.
However, there followed a long-term slump. Media interest dwindled, sales dried up. Sexsmith wondered how much longer he could go on earning a living from music. In 2011 he tried to arrest what he felt was a worrying decline by hooking up with LA hit maker Bob Rock for Long Player, Late Bloomer.
“My sense was that my career was going down the tubes,” he reflects. “I thought there was a bigger group of people out there who might be interested in what I do. So I tried to make a record that might appeal to them. It was glossy, although the lyrics were actually quite moaning and negative, which was a first for me.”
With a documentary crew chronicling the making of the LP – and the resulting film Love Shine a hit on the festival circuit – Long Player, Late Bloomer received a high-profile release and put Sexsmith back in the spotlight. Which brings us to Forever Endeavour. Does he worry if his new fanbase will be open to a heartfelt suite of ballads chiefly concerned with illness and mortality?
Sexsmith shrugs. He has always pushed against the caricature people have of him. Why stop now?
“I got signed at 31 and thought I knew the business,” he proffers. “Oh man, I had no idea what I’d let myself in for. On our very first record we had to fight and fight to get it out. The label hated it. They wanted me to do the whole thing over. It was incredibly stressful. I had naively believed that, because they signed me, they must like my music. I thought I’d get whatever I want. That wasn’t the case. It was a wake-up moment. Now, every time I release an album, it feels like a triumph just to get the damn thing out!”

Forever Endeavour is out now. Ron Sexsmith plays the Dublin Academy on February 21.