“Success is random—all you can do is keep improving”: Max Kerman of Arkells on his new memoir, Try Hard

Arkells frontman Max Kerman doesn’t see himself as a rock star. Instead, as he writes in his new book, Try Hard, he’s just a guy with a few skills and the will to keep refining them. It’s the kind of down-to-earth humility that pervades his memoir on work, writing and music. The book touches on his early life in Kensington Market, the birth of the band in Hamilton and the banner years that followed. We caught up with Kerman to talk about the golden age of Canadian indie rock and why he’s really not so different from the average Joe.

How did this book come about? People kept telling me, “You’re in a band; you should write a book.” But I don’t care about rock and roll stories. I do care about the inner workings of daily life, and I found that when I talked about the ins and outs of songwriting and the music business, people’s eyes would light up.

Related: Inside the Beaches’ rise to rock stardom

How was book-writing different from songwriting? There’s a lot more real estate in a book. With a song, you don’t have long to get the point across. On the other hand, working with an editor wasn’t so different from working with a producer. In music, I start with an idea and a vibe, and they help me make sense of it. An editor will tell me when I’ve missed the point. It’s similar.

Arkells are known as a Hamilton band, but you grew up here. Does that mean you’re one of ours? I grew up downtown, and I love the city. My childhood home was just a few blocks away from Lee’s Palace. My first job was as a rink guard at Trinity Bellwoods, and I live in that area now. But I called Hamilton home for 16 years—basically half of my life—and it’s a huge part of the band’s identity. Our bassist, Nick Dika, and I even own a bar there called Odds.

How did Toronto influence your music? I was born in 1986, so I was the perfect age to see all of the world-class bands coming out of the Canadian music scene. As a teen, I saw the Constantines, the Weakerthans, Broken Social Scene, Metric and Stars at Lee’s and the Horseshoe Tavern. I used a fake ID to get into the Opera House and the Phoenix. So much of how the band thinks about songwriting and connecting with the crowd is inspired by those shows. Related: Inside the rise of the Tragically Hip, Canada’s most beloved rock band

Toronto has lost a lot of great venues recently. Does that music scene still exist? It’s evolving. Venues took a hit from the pandemic: there have been big, global changes in how touring works, and rents are high. But I’m optimistic. I see brilliant artists making amazing music from their bedrooms. That wasn’t happening when we were coming up. We needed to rent studios, which was expensive. Also, with all the time we spend on screens, seeing a live concert is that much more meaningful. When someone is performing live in front of you with real instruments and the crowd is dancing and singing along—that physical experience is so powerful. I’m hopeful that people will lean in to that.

You’ve been involved in growing the band’s digital profile, including filming lots of TikToks. Is that what you have to do to make it as an indie band these days? When we were coming up, the path to getting heard was way simpler. Not easier, but simpler. If you were fortunate enough to get played on the radio or get a good review in the press, people would listen to you. Now, there are more than 100,000 songs being uploaded to platforms like Spotify every day. Getting the word out about your music is incredibly difficult, but the algorithms will reward in-your-face content. That can be hard for introverts, but what I’d say to any artist is: think about the things you find interesting and just talk about them. Authenticity cuts through. Everyone has emotions worth discovering and discussing, and if you can be comfortable expressing them, that’s what people want.

You write that what some would consider luck was really the product of hard work. Is being a rock star just a matter of work ethic? Luck comes in different forms. I’m lucky that two of my high school teachers were married to folks in the music industry and that they helped me get an internship with Jack Ross at the Agency Group. Now he’s my booking agent. Success is also random in a lot of ways—all you can do is improve your craft. I got better as a songwriter when I started working with the band. Then, after a few years, I wanted to improve more, so I went to LA and learned from first-rate producers and songwriters. That’s the point of the book: How do you get better?

You write about pushing for the band’s growth while also putting a lot of trust in your team. What’s the balance between being hands-on and letting go? I’m in awe of the people I work with because they can do things I can’t do. I get off on people who love what they do, and it’s easy to get things done when you’re surrounded by passionate people. Mike ­DeAngelis in the band likes to joke, “Max, no one delegates like you.” And it’s true. I know what I’m bad at—which is everything except for songwriting and performing.

The people of Hamilton voted to name a new city snow plow “the Max Kermanator.” What’s it like being a hometown hero? It’s amazing. I get so many text messages from people stuck behind that snow plow. Things like that just light me up.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.