COVER
CAMERON WHITCOMB
By Sophie Cino
Publishing date: Dec 05, 2025
C
Cameron Whitcomb doesn’t glorify his past, but he doesn’t hide from it either. “If it wasn’t for music,” he says, “I’d probably still be messed up, or dead.” He says it lightly, like he’s just relaying the weather, but the honesty of his words sit heavy in the air.
His debut album, The Hard Way, is built from that truth. Not the polished version; the honest one. It’s the sound of someone who didn’t take the easy road because he never had the choice to. Someone who has finally stopped running from himself long enough to turn around and tell the story.
Cameron Whitcomb doesn’t glorify his past, but he doesn’t hide from it either. “If it wasn’t for music,” he says, “I’d probably still be messed up, or dead.” He says it lightly, like he’s just relaying the weather, but the honesty of his words sit heavy in the air.
His debut album, The Hard Way, is built from that truth. Not the polished version; the honest one. It’s the sound of someone who didn’t take the easy road because he never had the choice to. Someone who has finally stopped running from himself long enough to turn around and tell the story.
"I needed something to get me out of bed...Music became that something.”
A record born from wreckage and resilience. The path to The Hard Way didn’t start in a writing room. It started on a sidewalk, a night that Cameron couldn’t speak or stand, the night his mother found him slumped and barely conscious. She picked him up, put him in her car, and took him to a hospital.That moment became the backbone of “Call For You,” the track Cameron fought hardest for. “We rewrote it so many times,” he says. “It mattered. I needed to honor her. She’s the person who always picks up.”
Most people have a story about the one person who answered a call they didn’t have to, which is what makes this track so relatable. The album is full of moments like that, unpolished truths wrapped in genre-blurring production. Folk edges. Country bones. Punk spirit. Nothing forced, nothing overthought. “I don’t write in genres,” he shrugs. “I just write songs.”
Cameron left Nanaimo at seventeen, chasing pipeline work like it was the key to adulthood. Too young to be hired, he washed motorcycles at a Harley dealership instead, pretending he was tougher than he felt. Pipeline work came later. So did his routine: wake up, work, get drunk, sleep, repeat. “People underestimate how easy that loop is,” he says. “You blink and it’s your whole life.” Music was never supposed to save him. It was just something he did on porches, in trucks, over cheap speakers. Then American Idol came knocking. He quit his job. Ran out of money. Failed. Went back to work. And then the music called again, louder this time. “I needed something to get me out of bed,” he says. “Music became that something.”
In the writing rooms for The Hard Way, Cameron didn’t try to impress anyone. He wasn’t chasing a sound. He was chasing honesty. “Options” came from the version of him who could’ve slipped back into old habits if the wind blew hard enough. The version who still felt temptation like a hum under the skin. Now, when he sings it, it comes from someone with purpose, someone who understands that connection is responsibility. “The people listening… that’s what keeps me straight,” he says. “It’s not just about me anymore.” He says it without self-pity, without ego. Just truth.
Winning Breakthrough Artist at the 2025 CCMAs should’ve felt like validation. Instead, he just felt… sweaty. “I looked back at the video and thought, ‘Man, I look like such an idiot,’” he laughs. “I didn’t know what to do.” Then they called his name again, Fans’ Choice. “After the first one, I panicked. After the second, I was like… alright, let’s party.” He smiles, but the awe is still there, quiet, tucked into the corners of his voice. “You don’t feel it when you see numbers online. You feel it when your parents hold the award.”
Cameron’s success reads like a fluke on paper: the kid from Nanaimo with the cracked voice and a rough past whose songs hit 100 million streams without warning. But nothing about it is accidental. He puts himself back inside every old wound when he performs. He relives it. Sometimes he twitches onstage, not out of nerves, but because he’s feeling the weight of who he was. “You’ll see me tweaking out up there,” he laughs. “I’m reliving it. Honestly, I think it helps.”He walks offstage thinking he can do better, he thinks that every time. “That’s okay,” he says. “I want to always be learning, unless one day I’m hiding behind pyro or something.”
The version of Cameron who exists now is happy. He says it like he’s surprised by it. There’s a girl he cares about. A dog waiting at home. A career that feels like purpose instead of escape. For the first time in years, life isn’t something he’s bracing against. “A couple months ago I was still pretty beat up,” he admits. “Now? I’m good. I’m in a good spot.” He’s even talking about writing “some happier songs,” though he says it like he’s not quite sure how. The hard way tends to be the honest way. Cameron Whitcomb didn’t choose the hard way. He just survived it. His debut album is the sound of a life cracked open and examined under real light. It’s the story of someone who hit the ground, told the truth about it, and decided not to stay there. It’s not a redemption arc, It’s a life. A loud, messy, honest life that’s finally moving forward. For the first time, Cameron Whitcomb is walking it with both eyes open.
Photographer: James Barker
