Archive for the ‘Feature’ Category

CC CHRONICLES: Mission NOT Accomplished / #29

Published by cctadmin on March 21st, 2015

light of a clear blue morningI tried tried to record a vid for youtube today and all I got was this selfie.  :-)

The song I wanted to record: Light of  Clear Blue Morning.  The reason:  its one of the first tunes I ever learned on guitar and its a song I personally find meaning in.  Try as I might to record it today I couldn’t do it!  Not for the camera at least.  Oh well.  C’est la vie!

I thought the least I could do was capture the moment, after all the star is the #29 grey sweatshirt I’m sporting.  It was my dads.  Its its all I ever have I will be happy.

Stay tuned for more music tho!



CC Featured in Winnipeg Free Press: Flin Flon has changed, escapee finds / “Everyone’s searching for something I believe they already have within…Resilience.”

Published by cctadmin on September 27th, 2013



Below is a Winnipeg Free Press article : Click here for direct link.

Story By Jonathon Naylor

Photography by Darren Holmes

FLIN FLON — C.C. Trubiak would have a hard time convincing fans one of his most popular songs, Prairie Boy, is anything but confessional.

“Head hung down in shame, it’s plain and clear you ain’t welcome here,” the 34-year-old croons on They Say I’m Different, his 2011 debut indie-folk album.

So sums up Trubiak’s childhood in Flin Flon, a normally welcoming community that failed to live up to its billing for the awkward gay youth.

Relentlessly bullied, Trubiak reached his tipping point while on summer break between grades 7 and 8. Twelve years were enough. He was out of here.

“I did not want to die,” he recalls. “I wanted to live, but I wanted to do so without the fear of threat or violence on my life, without the crippling feeling of shame, isolation and loneliness — all which seemed impossible. In my 12-year-old mind, I deserved the shame because I was constantly aware of my defect, my sexual orientation.”

And so Trubiak tried to end his own life. After fate struck him down, he began a family-supported journey of healing and self-acceptance.

In high school, he started seeing a guidance counsellor, who would let him use her phone to call a social worker at Winnipeg’s Rainbow Resource Centre, which supports gay youth and adults.

Trubiak also escaped into a world of music. The teen who could sing before he could talk spent hours in his bedroom crooning, writing songs and listening to records.

“I saw musicians as teachers, experienced in life and able to voice who they were through lyric and song,” says the gentle, warm-voiced man with the thin beard and black-rimmed glasses.

When life grew overbearing, Trubiak would remind himself that once he was done with high school in 1997, he would leave homophobic Flin Flon in his rear view.

Which he did, moving first to Prince Albert, then to Winnipeg and finally to Ottawa. It seemed the further from home Trubiak got, the more comfortable in his own skin he became.

It was in Ottawa he finally summoned the courage to unleash his latent vocal gift, packaging it with a very personal message of hope and tenacity. Playing clubs and caf©s, he slowly fostered a fan base.

But music wasn’t all that was on his plate. Compassionate to the core, a virtue that his harrowing childhood only strengthened, Trubiak studied social work at Carleton University.

After graduating in 2010, he scoured Ottawa for a job but found no takers. He was still pondering his next move when the phone rang. It was his sister. There was an opening for a social worker in Flin Flon.

Career-wise, it made all the sense in the world. Life-wise, the thought of going back home made Trubiak sick to his stomach.

When the inner conflict settled, he sent in his resum©. When he got the job, he promised himself he would stay for just one year, get the experience and get the hell out. But arriving in the summer of 2012, Trubiak discovered the Flin Flon of old existed only in memory. People seemed open-minded, thinking nothing of the growing number of men and women who were living out of the closet.

Just as impressive was the vibrant musical community that welcomed him with open arms. Soon he was performing at Flonstock, Flin Flon’s big outdoor music fest.

In between work and gigs, Trubiak pieced together a followup to 2011′s They Say I’m Different, an album called Tiny Army: The D. Holmes Sessions, due for an iTunes release soon (follow him on Facebook or at

Having slayed his share of demons, Trubiak is as visionary as ever. What would it be like, he wonders, to enjoy that rarest of careers as a full-time musician?

It’s not that Trubiak is eager to give up his day job counselling people. It’s just that there is more than one way to change lives.

It’s not that Trubiak is eager to give up his day job counselling people. It’s just that there is more than one way to change lives.

“Everyone’s searching for something I believe they already have within,” he says. “Resilience.”

Jonathon Naylor is editor of the Reminder newspaper in Flin Flon.

Republished from the Winnipeg Free Press print edition September 26, 2013 A15


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CC CHRONiCLES: ‘Prairie Rebirth’ After a few years in the big city, CC Trubiak barely recognizes his tiny Manitoban hometown / by Kaj Hasselriis / Xtra! National / Thursday May 9, 2013

Published by cctadmin on June 2nd, 2013


When CC Trubiak sat behind his assigned table at the Living Books event in Flin Flon, Manitoba, his mind raced about the questions he might get that night and whether or not he was ready to open up. As an “open book,” that was his job for the evening, to talk about his life as a gay man to anyone who cared to sit down and listen. But considering Trubiak had just moved from Ottawa to Flin Flon three weeks earlier, he had no idea what might come his way. 

“I was floored at the response,” says Trubiak, a short, slight, scruffy 34-year-old with wide, welcoming eyes.All night long, townspeople old and young flocked to his table, sat down across from him, and quizzed Trubiak about coming out. “In some ways it felt like I was getting the red-carpet treatment,” he says. “People kept saying, ‘We’re so happy to have you here. Flin Flon needs you.’”Trubiak was shocked to hear such welcoming words, especially considering his painful history in the small prairie town, a day-long drive north of Winnipeg. He was born and raised in Flin Flon, and if anyone had ever said he would return as an adult, he would have called them crazy. “Familiar with the expression ‘When hell freezes over’?” he jokes. “For years that was my initial thought on ever returning to Flin Flon to live and work.”

When Trubiak was growing up, he says, his hometown revolved around three things — mining, hockey and fishing — and he could have cared less about any of them. He was small and unathletic, an obvious sissy, and that made him the target of taunts from other boys. Every day, he feared they would turn violent on him, so he stayed as invisible as he could. “I wanted to connect and be accepted,” he says, but when he realized he was gay, he felt he had to hide even more. During the summer between grades 7 and 8, he decided to kill himself rather than face another year at the only high school in town. “In my 12-year-old head, life was better in another realm,” he says. “I was taking my ticket out of there.”

When Trubiak woke up in the hospital he found out he had support, after all. His family recognized his suicide attempt as a cry for help. He returned to school in the fall, got permission to skip gym class and eventually started seeing the guidance counsellor. Every week, she let him use her phone to call a social worker at Winnipeg’s Rainbow Resource Centre. Trubiak also started sending letters to his mother’s gay brother, Sterling, who had escaped Flin Flon years earlier and settled in Ottawa. Sterling responded with envelopes full of gay-themed DVDs, books and magazines.

“That’s when the dreamer in me was born,” Trubiak says. He started writing songs and performing them alone in his bedroom. He didn’t dare sing in public, though.

For the next few years, he endured high school knowing that as soon as it was over, he would get the hell out.And so he did — first to Prince Albert, Saskatchewan, then to Winnipeg, then finally to Ottawa, where he earned a bachelor’s in social work from Carleton University. Trubiak started singing in clubs and cafés and, in 2011, put out an indie-folk album called They Say I’m Different. One of the songs is called “Prairie Boy,” and it doesn’t paint a pretty picture: “Head hung down in shame, it’s plain and clear you ain’t welcome here.” Trubiak found a boyfriend in Ottawa, and they settled into an apartment together, but he couldn’t land a position in his field. Then one day his sister called from Flin Flon to say there was a job opening for a social worker. His mother got on the line and said, “You can have your old room back.”Trubiak’s first response was resistance. “The thought made me physically sick,” he says. But after weeks of sleepless, sweaty nights, he started seeing a return to Flin Flon as an opportunity to gain work experience, go off the grid, and get to know his family better. Trubiak scored the job, promised to stay for a year, and assumed he would keep a low profile. That lasted for exactly a week, until someone from the new Flin Flon Arts Council asked him to perform at a music festival called Flonstock. There, one night on the prairie, Trubiak met a gay guy in his early 20s who shocked him with how out he was. “He was unabashedly, overtly gay,” Trubiak says. “The hair, the clothes, the short shorts, the total sense of style, owning who he is. I could never have been that brave.”

Since then, Trubiak has met other Flin Flon gays he could have never imagined meeting as a teenager — and he started singing with a folk band called Five Easy Pieces. Flin Flon has shrunk, he says, thanks to a declining economy, but he doesn’t see that as a bad thing. “Now it’s embracing an arts culture,” he says. “Even though it’s become smaller, it’s strangely more inclusive.”

Opening up at Living Books and performing at festivals and cafés isn’t the only way Trubiak has been a positive queer influence on his hometown. Working as a mental-health worker, he turns over his office every week to a young client so she can call the same Rainbow Resource Centre that helped him two decades ago. And just the other day, his old guidance counsellor invited him back to his high school to speak out against bullying.

“I have the feeling of being a valued member of the community,” he says. “Professionally, I have never been more invigorated. Creatively, I have never been more alive.” He still plans to leave again this fall, to return to his boyfriend and (hopefully) a social-work job in Ottawa. In the meantime, his music is being inspired more than ever by prairie sunsets he once looked at and thought he would never see again.

CC CHRONiCLES: “Anybody that misses this group should wonder, because they are awesome” / Five Easy Pieces featured in the Reminder (Monday, April. 29, 2013)

Published by cctadmin on May 1st, 2013




Having lost family members to the disease, Leona Kemp knows all too well the pain caused  by cancer.

But rather than dwell on the sense of loss, she is doing her part to finally eradicate the dreaded c-word.

Kemp was a driving force behind a recent coffee house mini concert in support of the Relay for Life cancer-fighting fundraiser.

“Coffee houses are getting more and more popular,” she notes.

“It’s just a fun atmosphere to be in – relaxing and fun.”

About 110 people – a sellout – gathered at the Lutheran Church hall for the coffee house on Saturday, April 20, with local band Five Easy Pieces performing.

Formed last fall, the talented band consists Ann Ross, Doug McGregor, Chad Pabianek, Derek Kemp and CC Trubiak.

“…we blend several sounds together, including blues, folk and country, ” says Trubiak.

Trubiak called it “amazing” to be a part of the evening.

“I have never felt this welcomed or involved with a community before in my life, ” he says.

From the opening song, it was clear the audience was enamoured by this new musical act.

“Anybody that misses this group should wonder, because they are awesome,” said Leona Kemp, whose son Derek is one of the members.

“There’s so many different styles of music that they play, and they’re just perfect – their voices, their music, their instruments.”

Leona was impressed when band members declined a small honorarium for their performance, donating the funds back to the cause at hand.

Through a modest admission fee, dainty sales and donations, the coffee house brought in about $1400.

That will be part the contribution that Leona’s Relay for Life team, Northern Rainbow’s Chicks, will make at the relay this September.

Other than Leona, the Chicks include Dorothy Quaal; Linda Skipper; Sandra Barr; Alvera Koop; Karen Chaisson; Carrie Stinton; Crystal Peever; Nicole Reykdal; Jana Kozeka; Amber Hay; Rella Dubie; Corrine Kerfont; Linda Lowe; Valerie Wasyliew; and Trish Thompson.

They consist of past and present employees of Leona’s store, Northern Rainbow’s End, as well as friends.

The Chicks are hoping to have another coffee house, this time at the Rotary Wheel, but no final date has been set.



Published by cctadmin on February 17th, 2012