DAMN COYOTE CHRIS RELEASES “BETHY’S GIFT” — A QUIET GOODBYE WRAPPED IN STARS AND SONG
With a guitar in his hands and a story etched deep in his bones, Damn Coyote Chris returns with “Bethy’s Gift”, the soul-stirring fourth track from his 2025 album Departures — a record he describes as “an honest and personal collection of comfort-food songs from my Private Reserve.” “Bethy’s Gift” is a love letter, a farewell, and a reflection all at once — a gentle lullaby for those learning to live with loss.
“Stars out tonight / Dreams in my eyes / Wishin’ I could fly up to that cloud and give it a bite…”
From the opening lines, “Bethy’s Gift” floats like a whisper across the night sky, full of memory and moonlight. The song is sparse but rich, tender but grounded — a snapshot of grief, wrapped in practical philosophy and unshakable human warmth.
For over 35 years, Chris Nikiforuk-Rhyason — a.k.a. Damn Coyote Chris — has been a fixture in Alberta’s cultural scene, whether fronting Them Damn Coyotes in the ‘90s, making award-winning tattoos, or creating visual art that resonates just as deeply as his music. With Departures, he turns inward, writing what he knows: mortality, resilience, and the quiet strength of enduring love.
“The end of the line / A celebrated life / And I could do worse than using a song for saying goodbye…”
Chris doesn’t dramatize loss. He honours it.
“Bethy’s Gift” is not a mourning — it’s a moment of presence. “It’s about accepting that we’re all heading for the same horizon,” Chris explains. “And if a song can help us make peace with that — even for a moment — then I’ve done my job.”
The road to Departures was not easy. In 2015, after a year of heartbreak, near-death experiences, and months of homelessness, Chris found himself living in his truck with his dog, searching for a spark. He booked studio time with longtime friend and producer Stew Kirkwood. What came out wasn’t what he expected — it was something new.
“Does this sound like Blues or Outlaw Country to you?” he asked. “That’s Outlaw Country,” Stew replied. “Shoot. That’s what I was afraid of,” Chris laughed.
He embraced it. Departures became a patchwork of lived experience, laughter through tears, and stories you tell to keep going. Every track was built piece by piece, often recorded between long stretches of real life.
“When I run out of reasons not to take the next step,” Chris says, “I take it — whether I’m ready or not.”
Bethy’s story is tucked gently into this larger mosaic. There’s no explosive chorus, no theatrics. Just lines like, “Pinholes of light / Burn in my mind / It’s a beacon that’s leading me safe off the edge of a knife.” The song walks the fine line between vulnerability and hope, carrying listeners toward the light without rushing the darkness.
Chris calls his songs “100% human generated” — a tongue-in-cheek nudge at AI trends, but also a serious declaration of intent. There’s no algorithm behind “Bethy’s Gift.” Just one man, a guitar, and the will to remember someone dearly through melody.
With tour dates on the horizon and a growing community of listeners connecting with his blend of folk, blues, outlaw country, and quiet philosophy, Damn Coyote Chris offers something rare: music that feels lived in. And “Bethy’s Gift” is his offering to anyone learning to say goodbye with love instead of fear.
Because sometimes the greatest gift is a song that lets you hold on — and let go — at the same time.
Hi, Chris! Good to meet you! Care to introduce yourself to the readers for those not familiar with your music?
Thanks for the interest!
My name is Chris Nikiforuk-Rhyason. I am a singer/songwriter based in Grande Prairie, Alberta, Canada.
I have been involved with various musical projects throughout the years. The longest stint was just shy of 20 years with my Psychedelic Blues Rock outfit Them Damn Coyotes (which is where I got my moniker). All my social media since the TDC days were Damn Coyote Chris, so it felt simpler to use that than to have people spell my actual last name. Hahaha
“Bethy’s Gift” feels incredibly intimate. Can you share who Bethy was to you, and what moved you to write this particular farewell?
Bethy is my niece.
In 2004, (when she was about 8) my maternal Grandmother Joyce was in the process of crossing-over due to lung cancer. My family members and I tried to make sure that we were always together when we weren’t at work so that if the bad news came, we wouldn’t be alone.
My sister Lethe, Bethy, and I were playing cards and having that same-old conversation about what we would do if we ever found ourselves unexpectedly wealthy.
While my sister and I had the usual predictable schemes, Bethy seemed to be daydreaming about other things when she piped up: “if I ever get to fly in a plane, I am going to open a window and take a piece of a cloud to see what it tastes like.”
We both roared with laughter, and my sister says, “I feel like that belongs in a song!”. At the time, I was working on this gentle, reflective guitar part, and sure enough. It ended up inspiring the first line.
The first and second verses were finished immediately.
Shortly after, I was visiting my Grandma in the Hospice. I brought in my guitar and told her how this piece came. I asked if she wanted to hear it, and of course, she said she couldn’t wait.
Until this point, I had rarely sung at all, especially for my family and NEVER for my grandma, so I was nervous.
I figured that I better do it, though, since I may not get another chance, and with just her and me in the room, what could go wrong?
I started playing for her and just started the second verse when my family barged into the room like a herd of bison. I got so rattled I lost my hands and the song fell apart.
The family demanded I start over, and I refused, “this wasn’t for you guys.” I snapped.
Grandma was a vision of pure joy. It could have been the painkillers, but I choose to think it was the song. Hahaha
Of course, she beamed about how much she loved it and told everyone she could about it.
My family kept up with the pressure, so I told them that if they wanted to hear it, they could chip in on recording a demo, and they could all have a copy. They did, and it has always been a source of pride for my family.
In 2004, I recorded the demo with Stew Kirkwood in Edmonton. I added it to a pile of unfinished demos and forgot about it. Stew didn’t, though.
In about 2022, I was walking my dog and thinking about ways to finish some of the songs in my catalog.
The third verse of Bethy’s Gift always stumped me.
On that walk, it occurred to me: it could talk about my singing it for grandma in her last days… and with that, the last verse just fell out of my hands.
When we were recording the songs that would become Departures, Stew decreed that we had to record Bethy’s Gift.
Although I wasn’t against it, it is a song that I have always felt very vulnerable over. It is so close to my heart, and I literally would only pull it out and sing it when I was going through a loss that reflected how I felt back then.
All the “what-ifs” were daunting. Putting something like this out there can be scary- but I decided that if the only reason to keep it from other people (who may feel alone in their grief) is because I am vulnerable… that is a “me problem” and it isn’t a good enough reason to deny this song a chance to positively affect others.
I tried every angle to talk myself out of making it a single. I tested the album out on a few friends and colleagues to see which tracks stood out for them. Everyone liked different tracks, BUT everyone brought up Bethy’s Gift. So I chose vulnerability.
You call your songs “100% human-generated.” In an age of AI and automation, why is that human element — imperfections and all — so important to you as a songwriter?
At its simplest, I want to be able to pick up a guitar wherever I am and accurately represent the songs I make.
To get more in-depth: There are endless shortcuts to making something polished, and some people are amazing at using those tools.
If I need digital wizardry, I will humbly hire a digital wizard.
I think I COULD learn to make stuff that way if I were interested, but doing so would take time away from doing the part that I really love.
Having emotion fall out of my hands while I listen on and ‘steal’ from them is rewarding in a way that is tough to quantify.
Taking nothing, and using time to erode it into something people can find joy in is one of my favorite ways to decompress.
I come home after a day of total focus and let my brain unwind on a tool deliberately made to speak emotionally.
All musicians have a unique relationship with music, and I have to take the good with the bad or else I feel like I am showing others a limitless version of myself, which is dishonest and boring, frankly.
I mean, if the world actually looked like it does digitally, everyone would have 6-pack abs and levitate.
The real world is far more interesting than that.
After years of making music, tattoos, and visual art, what does Departures represent for you creatively at this point in your life?
The title comes from the first song on the album Distracted By Departures, but as I listened and meditated on the tracks, I wasn’t able to think of a more fitting title.
Like, over the years, I accumulated these tunes that I wrote in tough times, which I could sing to myself, or lose myself in while I played them.
It was a different approach to an album for me, since, in my younger days, I would “set out” to write an album.
This one was a compilation of songs that were already (mostly) written.
It is a departure from my regular processes, style, and motivations for making an album. It is a selection of songs that even lean away from each other sonically at times.
I have kept them to myself, some for decades. They have given me comfort and have pushed me over the edge.
It is also a departure from my comfort zone since it is the most personal stuff I have released to date.
If someone listens to “Bethy’s Gift” while grieving, what do you hope they walk away with — or feel — by the time the last note fades?
Grief is harder to predict than the weather.
I hope Bethy’s Gift can give them something comfortable to help decorate the slow passing of time, and when they are ready to embrace the sun again, I hope it helps them push their way through the clouds… those tasty clouds. Hahaha
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