On a cold Nashville morning that “felt like Canada,” as he laughed into the camera, Dallas Alexander sat down (virtually) with co-host Jena Colbourne and me for a conversation that wandered through hockey rinks, war zones, songwriting circles and the kind of personal turning points that redesign a life from the inside out.

If you grew up in the Lakeland, chances are you’ve heard bits of Dallas’ story — the record-breaking sniper shot, the special operations career, the country music pivot — usually told in half-whispers and missing a lot of the truth. But hearing it from him, even over a glitchy Zoom and a few frozen camera frames, brings the whole thing into focus in a way that feels unmistakably… local. A kid from Elk Point who laced up late, fought hard, and followed every chapter with full commitment.

A Hockey Kid at Heart

Before the military, before the headlines, before Nashville, Dallas was just another Lakeland kid trying to chase down the puck in cold arenas. He didn’t even start playing until he was nine or ten — practically a late-bloomer by Canadian standards — but hockey became the first real dream.

“I wanted to play in the NHL like everybody else,” he said. “I played in Elk Point, the MJHL in Manitoba, spent time with the Wolves in Slave Lake, the Canadiens in St. Paul… a little bit everywhere. I never got the NHL part, but I learned everything I needed to know about adversity and teamwork.”

Jena, smiling, told him she absolutely loves coaching his son. “He’s unreal,” she said. “Just a natural.” Dallas laughed. “He’s already better than I was at that age. The kid can fly.”

Their connection actually came through the kids — Jena’s son and Dallas’ son, Madden, both on Bronson’s U8A Panthers. The first time Madden told them who his dad was, Jena admitted she thought he was exaggerating. “Then I Googled you,” she teased. “And I was like… oh. He wasn’t kidding.”

Into the Shadows: Seventeen Years in Special Operations

When junior hockey wrapped up, Dallas found himself working in the oil patch, wondering what came next. A coworker who’d served in the military told him about JTF2 — Canada’s elite special operations unit — and the spark lit instantly.

“That was it,” he said. “I thought: that’s what I want to do. I joined the army basically with that one goal.”

The training was exactly the kind of brutality you’d expect from a unit that rarely sees daylight unless something has gone very, very wrong in the world. “Selection was like a Navy SEAL hell week,” he said. “No sleep, huge loads, constant pressure. They want to know if you’ll quit. Everything after that — the 10-month course, the deployment work — that’s where the real learning happens.”

He eventually specialized in sniping. The skill came from a mix of curiosity, capability, and the kind of calm under pressure most people can only dream of. His world record shot — 3,540 metres across a firefight in Mosul — came during a brutal stretch of the battle. It wasn’t glamorous, he said. It was chaos.

“We had the right gear. That prism we used… I told the guys before we deployed that we were going to break the record with it,” he said. “But in the moment, you don’t think about records. You think about the men around you and the job you’re there to do.”

The stress was constant. The decompression was deliberate. “I trained hard. Meditated. Breath work. Journaling. You’ve got to be proactive about coming home a whole person after that job.”

And yes, he joked, a dark sense of humour got him through more than once. “We were pinned down one time, bullets snapping past us, and I just started making coffee. You cope how you cope.”

The Exit They Didn’t Expect

After 17 years, Dallas didn’t leave quietly or ceremoniously. He was kicked out.

“I kept getting into administrative trouble,” he admitted. “I wouldn’t wear a mask. Then the vaccine mandate came down, and I couldn’t get a straight answer about whether it was safe with past injuries. And the more they pushed, the more stubborn I got.”

The consequences were career-ending. “It was a weird way to finish, after everything. But it also set me on the next path.”

A Guitar, a Brother, and Nashville

Music didn’t show up in his life as a hobby — it arrived as a lifeline. During a military dive course, he saw live music that lit something inside him. But it wasn’t until he lost his musical brother, Jay, in 2019 that he began playing seriously.

“I started writing songs to process grief,” he said. “I spent the last couple of years in the military playing in every pub and open mic I could find. I needed to learn the business, too. It’s a whole different world.”

On the day he retired, he hopped on stage with Gourd Bamford at an afterparty, played until four in the morning, and walked away with a mentorship that would reshape the next chapter of his life. “Gourd took me under his wing. He’s a killer businessman and a great guy.”

Today, Dallas lives full-time in Nashville — writing, recording, collaborating with top writers, and touring with Bamford.
He laughs when people warn him Nashville is a “10-year town.”

“This was my first full year, and I feel like I’m doing alright,” he said. “I’m writing every day, recording, booking shows. I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

A typical day mixes workouts, songwriting sessions, recording demos, and the nightly songwriter rounds that fuel the city’s creative heartbeat. “You’ve got to show up. Shake hands. Play everywhere. That’s the job.”

Bringing It Back Home

Before signing off, Jena nudged him on something the Lakeland will want to hear:
“You going to come play here or what?”

Dallas grinned. “I’ve got a call with my manager this week. I want to play Bonnyville. I want to play the Lakeland. It’s home.”

Plans are already moving — including the hope of a show at Bonnyville’s new theatre.

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