Her touching story begins with “Stonemilker,” a duet between Björk and a melancholic cello, as she laments the lead-up to her romantic collapse. “We have emotional need/I wish to synchronize our feelings/Show some emotional respect,” croons Björk. The cello returns several tracks later – even more prominent than before – in “Black Lake,” where Björk masterfully illustrates her pain as she sings of drowning in her own ocean. The sheer length of this track, a full ten minutes, indicates the never-ending agony that inspired it. The song plays with volume, fading and then rising with an ebb and flow that mirrors the process of sadness: sometimes you think it’s over, but then it comes back. The cello is a perfect complement to her vocals in these tracks, its deep, sorrowful sound mirroring her words. The string arrangements are not always used to express sadness, however. In “Notget”, the sixth song on the album, Björk begins her healing process, accompanied by a fast-tempo violin. The increased tempo in the strings section reflects the singer regaining strength.

The minimalistic nature of the first half of Vulnicura largely focused on sorrow and string arrangements, is followed by a much more vibrant and upbeat second half. In “Atom Dance,” an uplifting dance is discernible in the call and response of the synths and the blend of Björk’s soaring voice with that of collaborator Antony Hegarty. In “Mouth Mantra,” she layers the synths on the percussions to create a hip hop tune. It is in these songs that the artist shines the brightest: her charged lyrics are complemented by her skilled production, creating an orchestra of synths that surrounds you with a plethora of sounds.

Although Vulnicura is emotionally rich, it somewhat lacks the innovative musical touch that Björk is known for, particularly in its first half. That said, this is the first time Björk has gotten up close and personal in her music, and the result, while not as musically challenging as her previous work, remains innovative through its humane depiction of falling out of love.

Vulnicura is available for purchase on iTunes.

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Bath House, the first segment of the show, is a ten-minute piece that showcases three performers’ representations of imprisonment. Laurence Racine, Genevieve Gauthier, and Maude Parent flex and bend their bodies within a rectangular area delineated by white tape on the ground, sometimes trying to close the gap between each other and sometimes widening that space. Audience members are asked to stand around this boxed area to create a closed, almost claustrophobic experience for both performers and onlookers. The performers use this rectangle, a physical representation of their prison, to illustrate confinement, alluding to how female bodies are controlled by our patriarchal system. One of the girls contorts around the closed-off area, trying to get out of her ‘prison,’ while another lies on the floor helplessly with ‘chains’ (red ribbons) around her hands and feet. The expressions on their faces combined with their contorted motions give the impression that they are actually imprisoned and trying to break free.

The authenticity of this scene sparks uneasiness in the crowd, all too aware that they are the ones creating this prison.

The second segment of the show, Cherepaka, is a 55-minute performance that similarly uses movement to explore personal and social struggles. Inspired by Gilles Deleuze’s Logique de la sensation and Francis Bacon’s paintings, the piece is choreographed and performed by Leclerc. Cherepaka illustrates the dichotomy between the shell and skin of a turtle. Leclerc uses turtle imagery to represent the symbolic shell that surrounds the self, exploring the universal struggle of being in touch with oneself. The contortionist confines herself to a small circular platform upon which she displays her skill by doing backbends in every possible position. She uses the turtle as a symbol for the dichotomy of inside and outside the self: her clothes and body language are animal-like, a leather bra and light green pants representing the shell, and her bare skin indicating the inner self. Her hands and feet are also covered by brown fabric to hint at the turtle’s feet. Interestingly, her back – the actual location of a turtle’s shell – is left bare.

Leclerc effectively uses her body to represent the struggle of breaking your shell to find what is inside, spending most of the performance with her chest to the ground, moving her legs.

Every time she sluggishly tries to pull herself upright, her body gives way and she falls back onto the ground.

Her performance explores the limits of bodies, and how bodies are limited by the world we live in, demonstrating a struggle that is not just internal but also deals with universal questions of life and death. Accompanying her contortions is Leclerc’s loud, haggard panting and the looks of defeat she gives the audience, indicating that this struggle is an eternal one.

Beyond Leclerc’s individual vocals, the use of sound for atmosphere is key to the audience’s experience of both shows. In Bath House, there is no sound at all, which establishes the mood of the performance. While the audience surrounds the contortionists on the ground, all that can be heard is their breathing, creating a nearly intolerable tension between the contortionists and the silent spectators. As for Cherepaka, the sounds range from birds chirping to eerie, ambient music, allowing the audience to truly believe Leclerc’s depiction of the turtle and its struggle. While it does make the performance more immersive, however, the music is rather stagnant, emphasizing the piece’s already unnecessary length.

The contortion of Bath House and Cherepaka, while somewhat experimental as a form of dance, is expert and precise – every performer seems in control of the slightest tremble in their body. The nearly naked women convey powerful human emotions and experiences, depicting serious struggles but also empowered by the control of their bodies. This show proves that contortion is an art that goes beyond the circus ring, and that some struggles cannot be articulated in speech – sometimes, actions really do speak louder than words.

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Archaeology, the study of past human practice, has uncovered mysterious items dating as far back as 30,000 years ago in the unglaciated portions of the northern Yukon, Canada. The type of archaeology discussed at this workshop, however, focused on objects dating forward to 2050.

According to the CCA, the workshop was supposed to “test the creativity, rationality and linear-thinking skills of participants, who will each design a new and technologically advanced artifact, object or tool based on a future world scenario.” At the event, participants were not asked to design a new futuristic device – instead, they were asked to choose from a list of future scenarios already written out. Surprisingly, there was also a very important emphasis placed on promoting the rights of non-human objects or “non-humans,” which was a difficult concept to grasp. These “non-humans” ranged from vegetables to labour robots to anything else you could think of. Yael Filipovic, the organizer of the event and the head of the education department at the CCA, said that one of the goals of the event was to have participants “reflect on the important role that non-humans will play in the future.” She said that in today’s society, people are too centred on themselves and are too preoccupied with their own business that they forget to ponder the importance of the things around them.

During the event, participants were asked to imagine themselves as a lobbyist group for a non-human entity. The possible categories of non-humans to choose from included vegetables, bikes, animals, umbrellas, clothes, and electronic devices. Once their group was chosen, they then had to choose a future scenario that reflected their lobbyist group’s interests. Although it is disappointing that the participants were not tasked with creating the scenarios themselves, the ones that the education department came up with were very entertaining to read through and imagine. One unlikely scenario, for example, described a world where recording and uploading memories from the human brain as well as photographing dreams are all possible thanks to the progress of physics. With these strides in science and technology, it is possible to create a new tool called the “brain pacemaker” for Alzheimer’s patients, making their memories obtainable at the push of a button.

After being attributed a scenario, participants were then asked to analyze what concerns their non-human group would have with the selected future scenario. They were also asked to come up with a slogan for their lobbyist group. In the case of the former scenario, individuals highlighted privacy rights problems as well as issues of memory tampering as potential risks. The slogan chosen was “Memories are for us to keep.” A couple of participants said they enjoyed this part of the exercise in particular because it made them “question the influence of technology in our daily lives and it highlighted the negative repercussions that may arise if technology is not properly managed.”

Overall, “Reverse Archaeology: A Design Challenge” was a fresh idea that could have been better presented and explained. The purpose and objectives of the event were too vague. Many participants, for example, were confused as to why the future scenario had to be associated to a non-human group. This being said, having to think about the rights of non-humans was definitely a unique experience, since it is an area of the law that is not often explored. Laws are generally created to respond to the needs of living individuals, not inanimate objects. The future scenarios were also very creative and thought-provoking. There were many good ideas that arose from the event, but unfortunately their lack of cohesion left participants scatterbrained.

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After seven albums, Dan Snaith is beginning to make his accomplishments seem effortless. In Our Love, his latest release, Snaith, who goes by the stage name Caribou, creates a dense forest of electronic patterns, proving himself to be a true master of the dance floor.

The album opens with “Can’t Do Without You,” the perfect summer dance single. Although it appears uncomplicated at first, with lyrics that simply repeat the title over and over, this opening track dives deeper through sonic levels than any typical club song. As a single, “Can’t Do Without You” is beautiful and hopeful – bouncing and rising, with the listener’s heart following close behind. In the context of Our Love, however, the track is tragic. In interviews, Caribou has explained that the constant loop of the words “can’t do without you” points to the dysfunctional traits of love. The album as a whole presents the stark contrast between an idealistic view of love and its melancholic, sometimes obsessive, realities.

In keeping with his particular style of hypnotic dance melodies, Caribou launches his listener into the full sound of “Silver.” “I wish I never met you,” insists Caribou, his voice behind thick layers of trance. In the middle of the album comes “Second Chance,” a key moment in which trance church bells tumble down and form the backdrop for featured artist Jessy Lanza’s pleas of love. “Our Love,” which lends its title to the album, is Caribou’s most uplifting song as it exclusively presents the goodness of love. It’s also full of surprises, such as an outro of violin mixed with digitized beats matched to the bow strokes, all put together by none other than indie hero Owen Pallett.

Near the close of the album in “Back Home,” Caribou breaks out into strikingly honest lyrics: “I know that there’s something missing / does it mean you’re leaving me?” His dismal words segue from a jolting techno rise into an echoic ode as he asks,“Why is this what we’ve chosen?’

In this dance album, Caribou’s sound goes beyond movement; the warmth of Caribou’s crescendoing synths offers an escape from everything corporeal. His closing lyrics in “Your Love Will Set You Free” shift the album’s title from a past feeling to a present one and back again. In this conclusion, Snaith finally exposes the true heart of his album: a man who is powerless to the unpredictability of love.

Tinashe – Aquarius

Aquarius, the debut album from R&B singer Tinashe, is a whirlwind of big emotions and big names. Named after Tinashe’s zodiac sign, the album features well-known collaborators and producers like rappers ScHoolboy Q, A$AP Rocky, and Future. Tinashe began her music career in 2012 with the release of two mixtapes In Case We Die and Reverie. A year later, she released her third mixtape Black Water.

Aquarius explores the ups and downs of being in love. With melodic crooning over a groovy bass and chiming notes, the eponymous first track establishes the tone for the album. “Welcome to my world,” she whispers as the song’s percussive layers fade out. The song is a strong start for an album that only gets murkier as it goes on. Tinashe takes us on an emotional rollercoaster of falling in love, breaking up, and making up. She sings about the profound joys of love in “How Many Times,” then shifts to heartbreak on “All Hands on Deck.” This rollercoaster, though musically pleasing, lacks a peak – we never get a gut-wrenching lament nor a euphoric proclamation of love like Beyoncé’s “XO.” Instead, the album is more of a collection of radio-ready singles, which compromises the logical progression between songs. This is not unforgivable, however, for a young artist trying to establish herself – concept albums can wait.

In Aquarius, Tinashe experiments with quite a number of industry veterans, and does so with mixed results. Chart-topping producers Mike Will Made It and DJ Mustard both offer excellent tracks. But, her album pays the price for its superb production and luscious beats with a jarring incoherence, the result of its array (or disarray) of musical styles. In the end, this disjointedness makes it hard to define Tinashe’s style.

The track with the most potential, “Indigo Child (Interlude),” is cut short after only a minute and a half. While it lasts, it captures the listener with a build-up of distorted bass haunted by trickling piano keys and capped off with reverberating drums that never quite climax. Tracks like these show that Tinashe could, possibly, become an excellent artist. Aquarius has the elements of a great album – vocal passion and quality production – but an effective synthesis of the two has yet to be achieved.

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