It is almost three years to the day that I first covered the Polaris Music Prize Gala for The WholeNote.

I’ve spent my creative and journalistic career in the classical, contemporary concert and various world music camps. Founded in 2006 by Steve Jordan, a former A&R Executive with Warner Music Canada and True North Records, Polaris seemed to me to represent an alternate – and in many ways much more mainstream – picture of our national music scene. Embedded in the Canadian music industry and notwithstanding its inclusive-sounding mission statement – “A select panel of [Canadian] music critics judge and award the Prize without regard to musical genre or commercial popularity” – I must admit Polaris was just not high on my personal radar.

That was until Tanya Tagaq’s brilliant, overtly political album Animism made the 2014 Polaris shortlist. Joined onstage by her band (including violinist/producer Jesse Zubot and extraordinary drummer Jean Martin) and Christine Duncan’s 40-voice Element Choir, Tagaq’s Animism album was awarded the Prize later that September 22 night.

The video of their exhilarating 10-minute performance eventually garnered a record number of online Polaris views. Tagaq’s win marked an even more significant Polaris milestone – the first time the Prize was awarded to an Indigenous musician. (The album also took the JUNO Award for Aboriginal Album of the Year the following year.)

My report When Tanya Tagaq Won the 2014 Polaris Music Prize mentioned the importance of sonic mindfulness in her work, privileging not so much music as an entertainment commodity, but sound as a universal human experience, a force for good in this world. Animism embodied those notions, and more. I saw in the album “a musical, political and cultural act of great bravery, [as well as] a provocative confrontation on colonial and ecological fronts…[and] a platform from which to continue discussions of social reconciliation and healing.”

Fast-forward to the Polaris 2017 shortlist.

What immediately caught my attention was that four of the ten albums chosen this year directly reflected current Indigenous realities. A Tribe Called Red, Lido Pimienta, Tanya Tagaq, all Indigenous artists, were joined by Gord Downie’s Secret Path, a powerful concept album about Chanie Wenjack, the young Anishinaabe boy who died in 1966 after escaping from a residential school. Secret Path acknowledges a dark chapter in Canadian history – and offers the hope of starting our country on a road to reconciliation by facing up to some very troubling truths. “We are not the country we think we are,” wrote The Tragically Hip’s frontman and lyricist Downie. “It will take seven generations to fix this.”

Arriving at the seventh floor foyer of Toronto’s The Carlu for the Polaris Gala on September 18, 2017, I was met with a room full of very loud music industry buzz. I bumped into a friend, Lido Pimienta’s percussionist Brandon Valdivia. It was Valdivia’s first Polaris and he seemed a mix of bemusement and excitement. When I mentioned the sometimes-sketchy sound system in the hall, he adroitly replied, “but Glenn Gould called the Eaton Auditorium’s acoustics among the best in North America,” before rushing off to set up.

Of the performances at the gala, Tanya Tagaq’s performance, of songs from her album Retribution, stood out – and stunned the audience. She ended with a cover of Nirvana’s Rape Me, during which a number of women in the audience rose dressed in red, fists held high, reminding us of the tragedy of the multitude of missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls.

A Tribe Called Red was represented not by a live performance but a music video, as was Leonard Cohen and BADBADNOTGOOD. Feist sang I Wish I Didn't Miss You solo, accompanying herself on guitar; Leif Vollebekk sang his loose-limbed ballad All Night Sedans with his band; and the band Weaves rocked the house.

The Colombian-born Canadian singer-songwriter Lido Pimienta, who identifies as Afro-Colombian with Indigenous Wayuu heritage on her mother’s side, sang an explosive set, animated by a group of white-clad dancers in the final minutes. In addition to her acrobatic voice, the sound of the tambura (Colombian bass drum), snare drum, electronics and a four-piece horn section dominated the music. Her album La Papessa “has no guitar! I feel like there’s too much electric guitar in music, and it’s just so dude, so guy,” Pimienta said in a 2014 Musicworks interview.

At the concert’s end, last year’s Polaris Music Prize winner Kaytranada revealed this year’s winner, calling up an excited Pimienta, her mother and her 9-year-old son to the stage.

Pimienta’s acceptance speech was peppered with references to themes she explored on her self-produced, independent, label-less album La Papessa (meaning The High Priestess, a card in the tarot), including racism, patriarchy, spousal abuse, resilience, independence and issues facing BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Colour) communities. She made a point of acknowledging that we were guests on Anishinaabe and Haudenosaunee land, and also the significance of winning Canadian music critics' top prize for an album sung mostly in Spanish, and not in English or French. She thanked “all the single mothers out there who inspire me.”

Pimienta’s 2017 Polaris win was a reminder of one powerful direction Canadian music is traveling today. Indigenous musical creators such as Tagaq, Pimienta, A Tribe Called Red and 2015’s Polaris Prize winner Buffy Sainte-Marie are being acknowledged by the mainstream not only for their artistic achievement, but also for their central contribution to the ever-evolving conversations about past, present and future Canadian identities. Like those forebears, Pimienta’s music is an act of political and cultural bravery, confronting mainstream white/settler status quos with fiery sounds and words.

The Carlu, in its previous incarnation as the Eaton Auditorium, was certainly an impressive and influential place – one that Glenn Gould described in the mid-20th century as one of the best acoustics in the world. But the 2017 Polaris Prize gala at the renovated and rebranded Carlu, unlike the Eurocentric music culture that the Eaton Auditorium once represented, points to a different reality. As Gord Downie framed it, the only viable way forward is to listen closely to one another, and to the many diverse voices among us – particularly those who were making music on this land thousands of years before countries like Canada were even imagined.

Andrew Timar is a Toronto musician and music writer.

My earliest memories of Fort York are of spending Saturday mornings when I was about ten years old learning how to make musket balls and apple pie, how to fire cannons and plan fortifications. How magical then to see how, in last weekend’s new music theatre production Miigis by Red Sky Performance, the Fort was overtaken by Indigenous dancers and musicians reclaiming the space and adding to its history – and making it that much richer in the process.

Artistic director of Red Sky Performance, Sandra Laronde, spoke about this juxtaposition in her introduction to the evening: how disconcerting at first and then how ironic it was for the company to be rehearsing in Fort York's Blue Barracks to the frequent sound of cannon fire, and surrounded by young people in the uniform of British soldiers during the war of 1812, but how as they listened to an elder retell in this setting the epic story of the movement of the Anishinaabe peoples from the sea to freshwater – the mythic prophetic history known as the seven fires prophecy – it became an increasingly positive merging of energies, a reclamation of Haudenosaunee (Toronto) “where trees grow in the water,” and a strong message of hope.

When I talked with Sandra Laronde back in August she spoke passionately about wanting to immerse audiences in nature while sharing with them this story. I was attracted by her passion for the project and was curious to see how it would manifest in the physical production of Miigis. How much of this story would be tangibly conveyed by the choreography? How much would it be storytelling and how much a more abstract reflection of the story and prophecy and the emotions that arise from it?

For me it felt to be a fascinating combination of the tangible with the evocative, with some elements of literal storytelling but other, more abstract depictions of an epic journey.

The opening movement, where male and female traditional dancers in full regalia made their way along the southern barrier wall of Fort York into the stage space (to recorded music), set the tone for Indigenous peoples’ reclamation of the land and acted as a cleansing of the palate (from urban Toronto) before the magic of the Indigenous-influenced contemporary dance and music of Miigis began.

Truly it did feel magical. In a natural historical oasis, against a stunning urban backdrop, six supremely fit contemporary dancers, dressed in flowing water-like silk costumes designed by Julia Tribe, led by choreographer and soloist Jera Wolfe, focused their condensed forces of energy and emotion to carry us on a journey of creation, travel, challenge and hope.

To a powerful, varied, original score played live from the side of the stage, the story began with hands and arms emerging sinuously from under the bare skeleton framework of a miigis (cowrie) shell – as if the people were being born, then flowing out of the shell onto the earth. Next the shell became a boat, a coracle shell to carry them from the sea to the first of the prophesied Promised Lands marked by miigis, the symbolism of shell, boat and prophecy intermingling.

The choreography then became more abstract. In solos, duos, trios, and movements for the full ensemble, the story of a journey unfolded – one that began with great hope but that was also filled with struggle, hard work and challenges. All of it was choreographed in a unique language combining Indigenous movement with non-Indigenous contemporary dance, creating a new vocabulary that felt specially invented for this work and subject matter.

I wish I could play back the full piece to capture again all the intricate detail. I am sure I missed some references more clear to the Indigenous members of the audience, and I couldn’t anchor all the movements to specific points in the epic story, but I did feel carried along on the journey.

What was very clear toward the end was seeing the dance enter the territory of the eighth prophecy, where a choice is laid before mankind to choose either the path of working with the natural world or against it. Emerging from the hard work and harsh challenges of the earlier stages, the dancers’ movement grew more lyrical, with one female dancer, raised up by the others, reaching out to humanity to join her in hope for the future – and suddenly the accompanying song was in both Indigenous languages and English, opening up to let me more fully into the story, and all around me I could sense the audience feeling energized and inspired by the experience.

What would have made this experience even stronger would have been the opportunity to have access to that same moment the creative team had at the beginning of their rehearsal process, of hearing a community elder tell the stories before watching them come to life. Perhaps another time, at a future performance, this might happen. The eighth of the seven fire prophecies really speaks to all peoples as well as the First Nations of North America.

Sandra Laronde has been called “a force to be reckoned with.” She is a force we are lucky to have if she can keep creating works like this that bring people together.

Music theatre production Miigis, created by Red Sky Performance, was premiered in Toronto at Fort York, on September 15 and 16, 2017.

Toronto-based “lifelong theatre person” Jennifer (Jenny) Parr works as a director, fight director, stage manager and coach, and is equally crazy about movies and musicals.

On September 3, I had the pleasure of experiencing an absolutely breathtaking performance. Led by dancer Lia Grainger and comprising guitar, flute, vocals and cahon, Canadian/Spanish ensemble Fin de Fiesta Flamenco appeared at the Small World Music Centre that night, in the final Toronto date of a summer-long, international tour – bringing their powerful interpretations of Flamenco to an intimate, local stage.

Initially, the musicians entered the packed performance space with an aura of reverence and hyper-focus. The performance space itself is superbly designed for essentially acoustic artists – the lush drapery, excellent sound engineering, comfortable seating and intimacy of the room lend themselves to an authentic experience for both the audience members and the performers.

As the trio began the evening, the audience was reminded of the extreme antiquity of this musical form, as guitarist/composer Dennis Duffin introduced a “Palas” – a song of mourning, which is the earliest form of Flamenco – performed with voice and percussion only (guitar was a later addition). This heartrending vocal narrative seemed steeped in the mists of time and reminded me of other ancient musical forms that incorporate a similar scale and “recitative”-like phrasing – Celtic “Keening” (a chant of deep mourning), Christian liturgical chanting, the Muslim call-to-prayer and the chants of Jewish Cantors. Following that, a true musical highlight was the group’s rendition of Pedro Sierra’s Alegrias (Joy), which featured a lovely flute solo by Lara Wong. Acoustic guitarist Duffin is a facile and gifted musician. The tone of his instrument and his masterful playing were the spine of the performance, and vocalist Alejandro Mendia has a sinuous and powerful baritone voice – full of colours and dynamics, which perfectly captures the intensity of the form.

When Flamenco dancer Lia Grainger took the stage, things reached a supreme level. Not only was she technically thrilling, but her portable, wooden dance floor allowed the audience to hear every nuance of her complex footwork. While the rest of the ensemble shouted out words of support and enthusiasm, it was impossible to keep your eyes off of her – such control, stature, emotion. Although not Spanish by birth, I’m inclined to think that Grainger may have been a Flamenco dancer in a past life! After four mesmerizing dance numbers (including Bulerias and Guajiras), the first half of the program concluded, and Grainger left the stage dancing.

The second half of the program was enhanced by the inclusion of Derek Gray – a soulful, skilled cahon player, who brought a sensual, percussive energy to the proceedings. Also a delight was the group’s take on the Chick Corea classic Tomatito, as was the intimate, acoustic moment with vocalist Mendia and guitarist Duffin. The two musicians pulled their chairs away from the microphones and performed a traditional song of love and longing. Mendia explained that the Spanish lyric translated as “I want to be like the Jesus figure on the Crucifix that hangs from the chain around your neck – so that I can be closer to you.” Needless to say, the wave of passion created by this musical moment was palpable.

The term “Fin de Fiesta,” from which the group takes its name, refers to a kind of open “jam” that occurs at the conclusion of every Flamenco festival in Andalusia. In a heartwarming and timeless display of openness, oneness and joyful inclusion, many audience members joined the group onstage and performed alongside the performers through dance and music. Duffin danced, vocalist Mendia danced and played guitar, and flutist Wong danced and sang while Grainger kept the rhythm of Mother Earth going throughout by leading the clapping, and joining in the dance. A fitting and uplifting end to a thoroughly marvelous evening.

Fin de Fiesta Flamenco performed at the Small World Music Centre in Toronto on September 3, 2017.

Lesley Mitchell-Clarke is a Media Consultant, Therapist and Music and Arts Writer based in Toronto and NYC.

come early
make sure you get a seat
they say

so i do
there’s no one else here

i sit
and wait
and drink

–

Two beer, two bourbon – I’m half drunk and the show hasn’t even started yet, but nothing sobers you up faster than Bach.

I’m in the Dakota Tavern, a subterranean bluegrass temple, icons of Willie Nelson and Jim Cuddy on the walls, lit dimly by hanging bulbs, their haze interrupted occasionally by blasts of light as the front door opens at the top of the stairwell. The bar is well-stocked, the stage empty except for a honky-tonk piano against the wall and a chair in the centre, in which our entertainer will sit momentarily.

It’s a small venue, seating 40 or so, but most of the seats are full and, although not a bluegrass crowd (more than half the people are baby boomers with their families), there’s an energy in the air. There are some young adults here, in their mid-twenties to early thirties from the looks of them.

There is no program to be found, no performer biography or souvenir shop, just a menu with three items on it: tacos, baked beans, and nachos. I like the minimalism and appreciate it as a conscious departure from our art music norms. Maybe it’s just cheaper, but I’m feeling decidedly anti-establishment this evening, drunk on beer and culture.

At 7:15 the show starts, and Toronto Symphony Orchestra cellist Roberta Janzen takes the stage. She’s nervous and slightly gauche, plucked from her usual gaggle of celli and put on solo display in this musical exposé. (Theatrical people talk about the fourth wall, but for solo musicians it’s a more cage-like experience, I think, like tigers at the zoo.)

She introduces the first piece, Bach’s Cello Suite No.5 in C minor. Maybe I’m imagining it, but there’s an increased sense of reverence within the audience once Bach’s name is mentioned, like the naming of a great religious figure or pagan deity.

Jesus Christ, Baal, Bach
you can take the composer away from the church
but you can’t take the church away from the composer.

The suite is comprised of seven movements: Overture, Allemande, Courante, Sarabande, two Gavottes, and a Gigue. Janzen plays on a modern cello, which suits the venue and fills the space with its rich, warm tone. Her overture is sharp, slow, and stately, the following fugue contoured and, although fast and demanding, always controlled. The allemande, courante, and gavottes are well played, too. Bach’s writing for cello is so rich and complex, it’s often a challenge to identify the intrinsic characteristics of each dance – I know they’re there, but I sometimes can’t find the forest through the trees. The gigue, however, is unmistakable, resplendent in its minor-key exuberance.

Everything changes with the Sarabande, described by Rostropovich as “the essence of Bach’s genius.” Here, Bach creates a beautiful, angular line that, although only one voice, cries out with the sound of many. I immediately think of the warworn works of Eastern composers, Schnittke and Ustvolskaya, even Shostakovich. Whether she knows it or not, Janzen has given us a taste of what is to follow in the savagely delightful, delightfully savage music of Zoltan Kodály.

Kodály’s Sonata is an undeniably Classical work in its form, three movements (fast - slow - fast) beautiful in their lyricism, yet feral and untamable in their vagrant tonality. Janzen plays from memory, ties her hair back between the first and second movements (oh, the wailing of the Adagio, yearning and lamenting and screeching from the depths of the instrument’s soul!), takes a deep gasp of air before the third, an incessantly vigorous folk dance.

i am sitting close enough that i can hear her breathe as she plays
her thoughts as she labours for the silent audience
feel the friction of horsehair and rosin on gut and steel.

The applause at the end feels restrained and insufficient, and I think we should be dancing a wild pagan dance, rioting in our excitement like that first Rite of Spring audience, but we are a civilized people – two curtain calls will suffice.

why are we not more moved by our art
where are the mosh pits of western art music?

Outside the bar is the bus stop, a dirty, crud-filled street corner where hipsters muddle about, oblivious to the magic that has taken place in the nearby basement. As I stagger home on the bus and subway, I know I’m not the same as I was an hour before – I look the same, feel the same – but a transaction has taken place.

All art is a transaction, if done properly, as people come together with their own thoughts and feelings (baggage, therapists call it) and wring themselves out, filtering themselves through the sieve of the composer’s and performer’s offerings, giving something up and taking away something new.

art won’t change the world
but it can change a person –
and maybe that’s enough.

Presented as part of ClassyAF’s September lineup, cellist Roberta Janzen performed at the Dakota Tavern in Toronto on September 13, 2017.

Matthew Whitfield is a Toronto-based harpsichordist and organist.