The stage was a clear cultural divide. To the left, African American dancers hopped and skipped, leapt and spun. To the right, their Irish counterparts kicked out a fury of flailing legs, steps heavy and arms tight. It was a dance-off: African Juba vs. Irish stepdance. Their movements were the storytelling vessel; telling the audience that while different, these people were indeed the same, united by different sides of the same hardship and grief.

Set in Civil War-era Manhattan, Paradise Square is based on a true story of a place where whites and blacks co-existed (mostly) happily together during a time when that seemed impossible. We traveled to Berkeley, California, to see it and it’s also a play that my brother stars in. I hadn’t seen him on stage in a very long time, and witnessing his performance live was an incredibly proud moment for me. It’s a powerful play, one that lingers long after the curtain falls.

Great art should spark an emotional response. It should piss you off, or inspire you. It should bring joy and challenge you. A few days later in Oakland over dinner, the conversation subject matter was still firmly rooted around racism and how, sadly, the work is nowhere near complete. It veered to our own country as we discussed our Great Shame: residential schools and Canada’s horrible treatment of Indigenous culture. We certainly didn’t solve anything, but we were inspired to examine these issues with gusto.

It must be gratifying to know that the art you produce gets people talking. I know my brother is proud, but how does that feel? To know you’ve provoked that kind of depth of conversation. Paradise Square made me question some of my own choices. My musical tastes have veered away from hip hop for some time and I feel the need to ask myself why and what does that mean? In response I’ve tried to seek out some new hip hop and came across Third Root’s Thrill Pedagogy: Winter Flex. The sound is 90s hip hop, shades of The Roots, but the message is very 2019, criticizing MAGA America. It makes me wonder if hip hop is the true platform for today’s protest songs.

I love it when a song ends and you instantly wish it was longer. Adia Victoria’s “Nice Folks” is carried by the drumbeat and right before it ends, the drums explode, horns sweep in and her vocals take a back seat to this perfect unsettling mess. When it’s over, you’re begging for more. Silences of full of confident songwriting in tracks like “Dope Queen Blues” and “The Needle’s Eye.”

Perhaps as a way of making up for no Field Trip this summer, Broken Social Scene released Let’s Try The After (Vol. 1). It’s a nice little EP. “Remember Me Young” and “1972” crackle and swoon, galloping towards hands-in-air crescendos reminding you that very few bands can capture that sense of elation better than BSS.

Blending elements of post-punk and 90s shoegaze, FEELS’ Post Earth pulses with feedback and reverb.  Their sound is muddy and dark but the call-and-response chorus of “Find a Way” and the clean harmonies on “W.F.L” infuses their songs with energy and lightness at the right times.

Singles of the month: “Song for Winners” by Nick Waterhouse, “Cherry Bloom” by Club Kuru, “Lighthouse” by Doc Robinson, “Time Rider” by Chromatics, “Sisyphus” by Andrew Bird and “Fools” by Drugdealer.

Thanks for reading and happy listening.

I’m not a thrill-seeker. The notion of jumping out of a plane or rappelling down a mountain is totally absurd to me. My idea of risk usually involves a big board game. 

Earlier this month we travelled to Panama. We were staying in the pristine valley of Hortino, a dormant volcano to the north and lush rainforest to the south. We took a ride to a secluded waterfall—not on any guidebooks, but not by any means secret either. When we arrived, there were no signs, just a weathered trail through the forest. But what a sight! Crystal clear water, thundering down a 30-foot cliff into a lagoon. And, it was all to ourselves. No crowds or tour groups. A young boy who lived on the private property followed us, most likely to ensure the gringos didn’t crack their skulls on the slippery rocks. 

There were no illusions of safety: handrails or guides or emergency phone numbers. If we slipped, that little boy was our only lifeline. After splashing in the water, letting the current propel us around the lagoon and under the waterfall, we perched ourselves on some rocks and readied a picnic. That first foray was pretty timid, every step measured, watching for signs of danger.  

A local family arrived an hour later, they fearlessly hopped and skipped across the rocks like gazelles. The appearance of more people made us feel safer, we rushed into the water. One teenager disappeared up a hill and emerged on a ledge just below the cliff above. Then he jumped. Then he did it again. And again.  

I will say I considered it. But alas, there was to be no cliff jumping for me that day. However, it did inspire me to think about what it means to be taken out of your comfort zone. To assume a little risk, with the hope of gaining an outside perspective I would not have otherwise seen. I’m not certain if that’s even the goal, perhaps the end result doesn’t matter as much as simply doing it. I can tell you, at the moment, I’m still safely in my comfort zone on most fronts. But it’s on my mind. 

If only Weezer could have taken a risk when they recorded their surprise cover album. (Teal Album) should be titled the beige album. I was hoping I could add a track to my 2019 cover playlists, but the record is blander than white bread. I remember I played my mom Eddie Vedder’s version of “Last Kiss” a long time ago and her response was perfect: it sounded like a weather report. There are no stormy skies brewing on Weezer’s version of “No Scrubs,” likewise for “Africa.” If you want to hear unique reinterpretations of old songs, check out Whitehorse’s The Northern South Vol. 2 instead.  

Sharon Van Etten has released the first great album of 2019. Remind Me Tomorrow bursts with so much deep production noise seeping just below the surface of her melodies, but there’s also restraint—a clear mark of confident songwriting. “Seventeen” hums with intensity and punches out a great chorus. “You Shadow” is dark and booms like a thunderclap. 

Deerhunter’s Why Hasn’t Everything Already Disappeared? is his most accessible release to date, but because of the message of the album that’s probably a good thing. Images of crumbling rust belt towns dot the lyrics, infusing the songs with a steady dose of unease and helplessness in his trademark way. “Element” and “No One’s Sleeping” are great tracks. 

Rock n’ roll can be a joyous thing and Mattiel celebrates that fist-pumping ferocity on Customer Copy. Equal parts Jefferson Airplane and White Stripes, this is an album meant to be heard loud. Crank up “Detroit Riot.” 

Is it a cop out to classify Toro y Moi as “modern music”? Probably. You be the judge. 

I would be remiss to communicate my excitement for Vampire Weekend’s first release in six years. The new record arrives in April and the band are releasing two tracks a month. “Harmony Hall/2021” shimmers and sways, but leaves me wanting more. Both Radiohead and Broken Social Scene have also teased new releases this year, so 2019 is shaping up to be a good one.