Around this time in 2012, Concordia’s annual Art Matters festival included a performance piece entitled Hey, Um, I’m Sorry that I Killed You: A Performance Piece of Mourning, Guilt and Disregard, in which Caleb Feigin submerged himself in a pool of everyday objects that he’d collected. “I’m performing my feelings of guilt,” said Feigin in a 2013 interview with The Daily. “The performance is about mourning […] a friend who [had] committed suicide.” Feigin’s piece, as part of the larger exhibition entitled “Citation,” asks the question of how one can look at the body given the complications of visual identification. Five years later, Art Matters continues to explore the boundaries between art and politics within a space that aims to subvert our understandings of the two.

Since 2000, Art Matters has provided a space for artists to subvert normative narratives around identity through cunningly innovative artistic techniques. The student-curated festival began with five Concordia Fine Arts students who were disenchanted with the lack of recognition their work had received in mainstream festivals. Now, Art Matters is the largest student-run art festival in North America. The focus of the festival has shifted over time, establishing not only dialogues between student artists and professionals but also wider conversations about art itself in relation to such themes as ontology, fetishization, and environmentalism.

Art Matters is back at it again with a 2017 edition, featuring a highly-anticipated lineup of events. From installations to fibres to electroacoustics, the majority of the exhibitions juxtapose different mediums within the same space to complicate how we experience and understand art. This year, the festival has revamped its structure for an anti-oppression focus, both within the exhibits themselves and among festival staff and volunteers.

The Daily sat down with Michael Martini, outreach coordinator of Art Matters, to discuss accessibility in the arts, the festival’s mandate, and the value of art.

The McGill Daily (MD): Did you find any dominant themes, mediums, or concepts in the submissions this year?
Michael Martini (MM): Overall there was a bigger push to diversify the artistic mediums in the festival. Last year, there was a lot […] more traditional studio art. This year, we as a coordinating team really made an effort to reach out to other students – to music students, to performing students, to dance students – and to really encourage people to think outside the box […] We got nearly double the submissions from last year. In terms of themes, Art Matters’ mandate is inclusivity, diversity, and accessibility, and these are what we’re constantly striving toward. So when people submitted proposals for exhibitions, we really did take extra consideration when looking at themes of feminism, queer identity, queer sexuality, race, issues of marginalization […] We’ll see a lot of interesting queer performance art this year. In terms of other themes that had a surprising amount of interest behind them, a lot of people are really into kitsch and retro. A lot of people are looking at [these themes], especially in the context of Quebec.

MD: You mentioned the prioritization of accessibility – how will the festival be working to achieve this goal?
MM: Unfortunately, it’s very difficult for every space to be wheelchair accessible, but it’s something we definitely took into consideration for event planning, and all our big parties will definitely be in an accessible space. We’re also featuring diverse, accessible content at our parties. […] But we’ll definitely make [accessibility] information available online. Extending beyond wheelchair accessibility, for example, we have a speaker series where people come and talk about various topics at Concordia. Something else we’re excited about in our collaboration with the Fine Arts Student Alliance is to make those events more accessible by finding ways to offer whisper translation, or finding ways to record the events for people who cannot arrive at them, so we’re in that brainstorming phase right now. I think the biggest step taken toward accessibility, which was actually initiated last year, was making the art submissions anonymous, so that the people jurying the art – whom are all peers – can’t be playing favourites, or discouraging certain people for applying. I think that’s another reason we have so much turn out this year.

MD: What pieces are shaping up to be this season’s highlights?
MM: At this point we know what the shows are looking like. We had our call for submissions over the break, and this week we’re going to be jurying with the curators to determine what artworks will be featured in the festival. There will be about 100 [pieces]. But we do have a good idea about some of the shows and how they’re looking. There’s going to be a show on Concordia campus that specifically features artists of colour at the VAV Gallery, which is something that’s really important to us because there’s been a huge demand on our board of directors and people connected with the festival who want to see more of their work represented on campus. There’s also going to be a really cool underground queer performance zine exchange night […] that we’re really excited for.

MD: When you’re in the process of selecting pieces and deciding which work goes in what space, what do you look for in a valuable work of art?
MM: Within my job as the outreach coordinator, I would say that […] it’s not important that the art pieces featured in the festival are super polished or complete. What we’re trying to do is to foster opportunities for people, whether it’s putting their art in a space they wouldn’t have access to otherwise, or putting their art in a space that other students from different departments will see, and giving people a chance to talk. I think Art Matters has a huge learning curve for everyone involved – from those behind the scenes on the board, etcetera, to the people putting their art out there. It’s often about a chance for people to talk to others. In terms of successful pieces, we really value risk-taking, and artworks that are in dialogue with other students’ interests and politics.

MD: How have you seen students using the festival and the spaces it provides as a bridge in their careers?
MM: I’ll speak on behalf of my own experience, as I have curated with the festival in the past. Art Matters is about bringing together people from different disciplines – with video in the same space as sculpture, for example. Learning the language of other disciplines is incredibly important in moving forward with your own practice. Often when you’re studying one discipline, you can get tunnel vision and only understand that vocabulary, but when you start to see what other people are doing, it’s a great reminder that you can be borrowing from other techniques and looking at the way other people are thinking. In terms of success stories, there have too many to mention. A lot of people in the festival met someone they were showcased with, talked, and went on to collaborate. And many people who developed connections, for example, to people running the space, and they developed a great relationship, and are able to do something again in that space. For example, we had a show called “We, ‘Other’” last year […] and POP Montreal took interest in that show and actually remounted it […] the next year.

MD: Considering our readership largely pertains to McGill students, why do you think it’s important that they attend?
MM: My understanding is that McGill doesn’t have an opportunity like Art Matters [for McGill students] to display their work, [which has obtained] such a great level of attention […] But even though the opportunity isn’t there to exhibit artwork, there’s still opportunity to go and meet interested people, and talk to [the artists] about what they learned from their experience exhibiting artwork. There’s no doubt that there are people at McGill who have artwork that they want to get out there, and who want to talk and exchange ideas between people of different artistic backgrounds. In that sense, the more the merrier. McGill students can also volunteer […] Our events extend beyond Art Matters, like our speaker series, where we bring in artists and scholars to speak about art, or our festival parties – fun filled with music and dancing – are the events that people don’t really know about. You just show up!

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Exhibitions are located throughout Montreal until March 31. Free admissions. Check here for the full events schedule and accessibility info.

The post Accessibility in artistic spaces appeared first on The McGill Daily.

The Herbivore Society for Peace and Justice kicks off the year with Veganuary, an event series exploring the ethical and cultural aspects of veganism. Self-described as an “anti-colonial, inclusive, and intersectional” political activist group, The Herbivore Society for Peace and Justice recently celebrated their first year of being an official club and is currently the only vegan club on campus. The group aims to educate students about the political and personal benefits of abstaining from or reducing one’s consumption of animals products.

Running from January 13 to 27, Veganuary boasts an impressive line up of events, including potlucks, panels, and hands-on workshops addressing both practical and theoretical concerns. Highlights include “Veganism on a Budget,” a workshop that aims to challenge the Gwyneth Paltrow brand of veganism with specific advice on making the lifestyle sustainable and affordable; “Veganism and Privilege,” a panel discussion exploring the ways in which veganism intersects with specific identities and axes of power; and “Veganism x Feminism,” hosted in collaboration with the F Word, a biannual feminist publication, which addresses the opposrtunities and problematics of joining the animal rights and reproductive justice movements.

Veganuary combines theory-heavy discussions with practical lessons, from budget-planning to kombucha-brewing, making the festival an ideal primer for anyone who is curious about the vegan lifestyle. With a mandate that acknowledges veganism’s colonial, racial, and class-related implications, The Herbivore Society for Peace and Justice promises to make the move away from animal products accessible to a marginalized audience and essential to one’s activism.

We Can’t Make The Same Mistake Twice For McGill University: Film and Panel Discussion

We Can’t Make the Same Mistake Twice seeks to uncover the ongoing legacy of colonial discrimination towards Indigenous peoples: violence that McGill’s administration not only fails to acknowledge, but continues to perpetuate. In 2007, The Child and Family Caring Society of Canada – led by Cindy Blackstock – and the Assembly of First Nations filed a human rights complaint against the federal government. They argued that the child and family welfare services they were being provided – inadequate, underfunded, and deployed of basic human rights – discriminated against Indigenous children. The trial, however, was dragged on for six years by the government, though the court eventually ruled in favour of the Indigenous activist groups. Director Alanis Obomsawin’s documentary is set within the court hearings: detailing the various testimonies and revealing the Canadian government’s “mind-numbingly bureaucratic approach to a human crisis.” However, the court battle is not an isolated instance, but is embedded within a legacy of discriminatory government practices whereby Indigenous peoples were forced to leave their land and families in order to access basic services. On January 19, We Can’t Make the Same Mistake Twice will be screened at Cinema du Parc, with opening remarks by the director herself and a panel discussion moderated by Allan Downey, assistant professor in the department of history and classical studies at McGill. In a city founded through the colonization of Indigenous land, it is important to recognize, understand, and resist these histories and their present-day implications.

The Rap Battles for Social Justice

In response to racial discrimination, the hip-hop movement gained momentum during the 1970s in New York City’s South Bronx. African-American, Caribbean-American, and Latin American youth used music as a vehicle for self-expression, empowerment, and resistance. Since then, hip-hop has evolved considerably – but The Rap Battles for Social Justice, a Montreal-based collective, shows how music remains a powerful form of activism. On their Facebook page, the group emphasizes the importance of including People of Colour (POC) on stage “especially in hip-hop” – a racialized art form created by those who were, and continue to be, systemically marginalized. The collective strives to challenge these systems of inequality. Bringing together “hip-hop heads and activists,” they aim to “showcase the wide range of talent in the MTL scene while educating the masses.” The Rap Battles for Social Justice is funded by various grassroots, community and student groups from McGill and Concordia universities. They also collect donations door-to-door in order to support the performers and raise money for valuable collectives such as Aamjiwnaang & Sarnia Against Pipelines.

Since March 2015, the collective has produced numerous rap battles centred on themes such as climate justice, gender freedom, and austerity. Over 800 people have attended so far – and the organization is still in its early stages of development. Spring 2017 includes two highly-anticipated rap battles: one against Police Brutality on February 15th, the other against consumerism on March 29th. The use of hip-hop provides not only a means of resistance but a platform for dialogue, self reflexivity, and teaching.

Festival Nuits d’Afrique

Celebrating their 30th anniversary last year, Nuits d’Afrique will be continuing the party into the new year. Nuits d’Afrique is primarily recognized for their summer world music festival – which boasted over 700 artists in July 2016 – but the collective produces events throughout the rest of the year as well, including the 24th edition of Festival de musique du Maghreb. From March 31 to April 2, the festival will melodically transform the Théatre Fairmont and Club Balattou into spaces reminiscent of  Tunis, and Marrakech through North African beats such as chaabi music and gnawa rhythms. Until then, Club Balattou on Saint Laurent will be hosting two to three events per week; the exciting lineup features music that ranges from gospel to funkadelic to Cuban. In 1985, Lamie Touré – the president and founder of Nuits d’Afrique – opened Club Balattou, after his previously owned club, Café Creole, closed down. Touré launched Café Creole after immigrating to Canada from Guinea in 1974 with the desire to “create a space for Africans.” In an interview with the Montreal Gazette, he recounts a day where there were “twenty immigrants waiting at the [club’s] front door with their suitcases.” Through Nuits d’Afrique, Touré continues to provide an indispensable space for voices of the African diaspora: a platform that fosters self-expression while showcasing the creative, diverse, and complex history of African music.

The post Spring into festival season appeared first on The McGill Daily.

At only 28, Jordan de Souza may seem an unlikely superstar in the genre of opera, an art form widely perceived as belonging to an older generation. Nonetheless, he is one of Canada’s most acclaimed young maestros. The McGill alum, now based in Berlin, joins Opera de Montreal this season to conduct Mozart’s iconic – and controversial – Don Giovanni. The 18th century opera tells the story of a young and arrogant nobleman and includes accounts of sexual violence. The Daily had the opportunity to sit down with de Souza, who, despite bringing up interesting points about opera as a contemporary art form, shows a lack of understanding about Don Giovanni’s complicity in condoning violence against women.

“Mozart was 31 when he wrote Giovanni,” de Souza told The Daily. “I did a piece by Franco Faccio, Hamlet, in Austria; he was 24 when he wrote that […] This has always been an art form [created] in the hands of young people.”

According to de Souza, the notion that opera is the music of an older generation is simply a myth. “I think what we hear so much in the media […] and what I experience actually working in the business, are two completely different things,” he stated. “Take this Giovanni we’re doing, for example. The whole cast is young Canadians, and all of us have this passion and this kind of adoration of opera and what we can do together through this form.”

According to de Souza, young people’s attitudes toward opera are shaped by a misunderstanding of the art form. “If I have a lack of understanding of something else, that if I met the right person that I had a chance to chat with, they could kind of open a window to that world, and all of a sudden you find something that resonates with you. And I think music, in such a deep way, is a great demonstration of that,” de Souza said.

De Souza himself realized his passion for conducting at a very young age. As a student at a Toronto choir school, de Souza worked as a piano accompanist and church organist; the latter role helped him learn to improvise and think on his feet. “Already as a young guy, I always had this kind of desire to lead musicians,” he explained. “I always had a kind of idea of how I thought music should sound, and how we might go about realizing that together.”

“If I have a lack of understanding of something [and] if I met the right person that I [could] chat with, they [could] open a window to that world […] I think music […] is a great demonstration of that.”

—Jordan de Souza

Those early musical interests eventually led de Souza to study conducting at McGill, where he encountered what he calls the “esprit” of an arts-loving city and province. The greatest resource de Souza experienced at McGill, however, was its people. He explained, “I think the best thing about my time at McGill was the interactions I had with so many great professors and so many great students that never tried to put us in a box, and they kind of allowed us to find ourselves as musicians and not try to fit us in a mould.”

Today, in addition to returning to Montreal for a four-show run of Don Giovanni, de Souza heads the music staff at the Komische Oper Berlin, which specializes in avant-garde interpretations of operas, and continues to serve as conductor-in-residence for the Toronto-based Tapestry Opera, which focuses on performing new and contemporary operas through close collaboration with living composers. This broad range of sounds and styles, from a 1787 Mozart staple to a Canadian world premiere, poses a stark contrast, which de Souza believes offers a learning experience.

“To then go back and work on a piece like Don Giovanni – which, obviously, it’s been the same way it is for 250 years – but to come in with that mindset of still trying to find the beats, of trying to see what’s behind the notes […] I think that’s the great parallel that I enjoy [working] with contemporary music and […] staples of the repertoire like the great Mozart.”

For de Souza, this process of “trying to see what’s behind the notes” is one that is purely artistic. He focuses solely on the formal elements of the opera and avoids addressing its reception, even when the opera has harmful social implications for marginalized groups.

Don Giovanni has received much criticism for its misogynistic values. Partway through the play, female love interest Donna Anna takes her solo, singing: “with one hand he tried to silence me, and with the other gripped me so tightly that I thought I must succumb.” Anna’s story may resonate with some survivors of sexual assault. However, in this opera, violence against women is both normalized and romanticized. The narrative focuses instead on Don Giovanni’s pursuit of his desires, frames him as almost heroic, and completely dismisses the lack of sexual agency attributed to its female characters.

Some contemporary interpretations of the Mozart classic address this aspect of the story. While Don Giovanni has been portrayed as a benign, suave seducer, other productions make it clear that he is a perpetrator of violence against women. De Souza doesn’t recognize the latter.

[Jordan de Souza] avoids addressing [the opera’s]reception, even when [it] has harmful social implications for marginalized groups.

“Giovanni is not an opera about sexual assault,” he says, “although sexual assault is a part of what is the departure point of the opera. To think of Giovanni as an immoral piece is to get lost in the details and not to see really what the totality of the message is […] Giovanni’s weapon is also not seduction as much as it is desire, and seduction as a byproduct of this desire.”

De Souza’s dismissal of the harmful implications of Don Giovanni, and the politicization of art as a whole, shows a fundamental misconception of the ways in which systems of oppression function. Even if an artist chooses to focus only on a piece’s formal elements, they cannot erase the social context in which it is created, especially when the piece perpetuates existing violence against disempowered communities.

In an effort to defend both Giovanni’s actions and his own directorial decisions, de Souza insists on putting the character’s actions “in the culture of the 18th century.” However, this does not absolve de Souza of the responsibility to address the opera’s harmful aspects in a contemporary context. By dismissing Giovanni’s actions based on societal values, de Souza refuses to hold the perpetrator accountable and to recognize that misogyny continues to run rampant today and manifests itself in the form of rape culture.

Though de Souza admits that the opera “puts us in a position […] to ask the right questions,” his passing nod to the controversial nature of Don Giovanni is a passive response to serious and rightful critique. Art cannot be untangled from its social context. Ignoring art’s participation in politics is itself a political act, as it obscures the role of art in reproducing systems of power. At the same time, art has the potential to reveal injustices and act against them. Even the opera, an art form so steeped in history and seemingly resistant to change, can surely be mobilized to this end.

Opera de Montreal’s Don Giovanni runs on select dates from November 12 to 19 at Place des Arts.

The post Opera, you can do better appeared first on The McGill Daily.

Sporting a baby pink top bun that matches her sweatpants, gothshakira exclaims, “I love it!” as she steps into the apartment where our interview will take place. “So cute and cozy.” She lounges on the couch while discussing creating Girl’s Club, a blog that arose out of a need for women and femmes of colour to own creative spaces. In other equally impassioned moments, she delivers an in-depth analysis of the rivalry between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump based on their astrological birth charts.

gothshakira is best known on Instagram for “intersectional feminist meme-making,” a description that publications and fans alike have coined to try and encapsulate her work. What began as a self care practice during a challenging Montreal winter evolved into a semi-career, with over 36,000 Instagram followers as of this writing. Initially an attempt to process her vulnerabilities through laughter, her memes gained traction as they connected and represented marginalized voices. As a nonbinary person of colour, gothshakira’s memes represent a new wave of “internet activism.” They create dialogue around the nuanced nature of identities – the ways in which they are shaped by history, personal experiences, and perceptions of others – in an easily consumable way.

Memes, by definition, are shared content; they exist to be reproduced, reacted to, and altered in online communities. Thus, they can be studied as a way to gain insight into the politics of the communities in which they circulate. For instance, in the recent U.S. presidential elections, candidates from both parties have tried to capitalize on the viral power of memes, leading to Hillary Clinton declaring Pepe the Frog a hate symbol due to its appropriation by Trump supporters. For gothshakira, meme-making reconstructs the complexities and contradictions of society in a format that is accessible and allows for dialogue. Her large following shows just how influential these seemingly innocuous images can be. She regularly receives private messages of gratitude from people who see their identities and experiences validated through her memes.

However, her work is not without controversy. This June, gothshakira came under fire for a photo published in the Fader that showed her with blonde hair and pale skin. The accompanying article hailed her as “The High Priestess of Intersectional Feminist Memes.” Black feminists on social media took issue with the fact that a white-passing, middle-class content creator – was being idolized as a trailblazer, while Black people have been making politically conscious memes “way before” gothshakira came along.
gothshakira emphasizes that she is proud of being Latinx and a child of immigrants, but acknowledges that those aspects of her identity are complicated by her privileges. Growing up, she saw her father, speaking English in a thick accent, deal with racist violence. Witnessing how immigrants are othered and punished is a key motivator for her anti-oppressive politics.

Critical self-reflection is difficult, but it is necessarily involved in understanding the power imbalances woven into the framework of society. gothshakira creates a shared sense of belonging among marginalized communities, while highlighting the complexities within one’s personal experience. Her memes evoke learning and healing – for not only herself, but also the wider community.

The McGill Daily (MD): What is it like being a “double Aquarius” [having both Sun and Moon signs as Aquarius]?
gothshakira (GS): Being a “double Aquarius” means that I vacillate between being a robot with no emotions and being really passionate about the world. Although Aquarians may have difficulty relating to people emotionally on a one-on-one basis, we find it very easy to be emotionally attached to causes, and bring up the underdog, and give people voices. But we are very eccentric – the weirdo sign. There’s a joke that says that if aliens ever came to earth, the first people we should thrust at them would be Aquarians, because they’d know how to communicate with them.

MD: Do you consider your work a form of activism?
GS: That’s a good question. I’m not sure. I would call myself an “internet activist” but when that goes through my head I begin to think, is that a thing? Is there activism on the internet? Is it activism if it’s not done in real life? But, at the end of the day, at a time when more parts of our existence are lived through the internet, what is real life? Is what’s happening on the internet not “real life?” I don’t know what I would label myself at this point, and a lot of my interests coincide with those of activists, and I do participate in acts of activism in my life, but I’m still not sure.

MD: Are you involved in any other artistic projects?
GS: I’m involved with quite a few creative projects right now. I’ve been doing commissions for galleries and events, and I’ve just started branching out into digital art. I did a piece, that’s not a meme, for a book that’s curated by Molly Soda. The book is coming out in November, and I’m really excited about that. But I’ve always been a writer, and I’m working on some pieces for different publications right now, and that’s kind of what I want to branch out into. But I mean, I love memes and I love making them. I’m not making as many as I did before because I have a lot of stuff on my plate, but I think I’ll always love memes, you know! “I’m married to the game,” as a great philosopher once said.

MD: Do you find that there are differences between these different platforms you mentioned – your writing, your memes – with regards to how they facilitate discussions on intersectionality?
GS: The main thing about memes is that they’re accessible, and that’s what attracted me in the first place. The reason I started introducing more complex ideas like intersectionality is because I thought I should use this platform to say something productive about what I believe, the way I’ve thought for a really long time, and the reality of my lived experiences. It wasn’t super intentional. “Intersectional feminist memes” was kind of a label that other people put on me. I was just making memes about my life and what I’ve been through as a person who’s identified as a woman, as non-binary, as a child of immigrants, as Latina.

“I don’t know what I would label myself at this point, and a lot of my interests coincide with those of activists, and I do participate in acts of activism in my life, but I’m still not sure.”

— gothshakira

MD: You’ve talked about representation of people of colour in memes before. Can you elaborate on the complexities of this kind of representation?
GS: It’s always been really close to my heart to represent the voices of people who aren’t otherwise heard, because I’ve felt like that person at a lot of points in my life. I know that I am white-passing, and I know that I have privileges that a lot of people don’t have, like how I speak English fluently with no accent. My dad doesn’t. He has experienced so much discrimination over the years, and I saw that from a really young age. I try to only speak for myself and my experiences, because I’m not trying to claim that I know anything about the experiences of other people of colour. I have come under fire for being privileged. There’s a lot of critique about this one press photo in which I happen to be blonde, and I looked very pale because of the photo editing, and there was a lot of dialogue on the internet about it. People were saying, is it okay that this person is being called an intersectional feminist meme creator, when a lot of Black people have been making political, intersectional memes for a really long time.

MD: You’ve made memes before about being white-passing and middle-class, and having friends with similar identities. How do you navigate your positionality?
GS: I grew up in Calgary, which is predominantly white. A few years ago, a lot of my friends were people who grew up in smaller cities and moved to big cities like Vancouver, Montreal, and Toronto. We were all kind of into the same thing, and our social circles were white in a lot of ways. It’s been difficult learning to critique different aspects of this culture, which are things that I’ve seen my entire life: marginalization of people of colour in different communities, as well as women in creative spaces. That’s why we created Girl’s Club. It’s really difficult trying to critique these things in a way that’s funny, but not slanderous – but still incisive and still constitutes social commentary. I just feel like, if nobody says it, I gotta say it. When I first moved here two or three years ago, I was like “the new kid” and I did feel a very cold front, like I wasn’t cool enough. But now, since I’ve somehow gained this big Instagram following, and most of the people in these communities are down with what I’m saying, I’ve found that people’s attitudes towards me have changed, and that’s really unfortunate. But that just goes to show that what I say is important if it’s my personal lived experience, and I see that people like me have gone through the same feelings of being an outcast, and I do it for them. I do it for us. We deserve to be heard, right? We deserve to be heard in creative spaces as artists as POC, as women, as non-gender conforming individuals.

MD: A lot of your memes address dating in Montreal. What is the dating scene like, in your experience?
GS: A lot of those memes were about experiences I had from 2013 to 2015. I was a lot younger then and was going through a lot of partners – both lovely and questionable ones – and I was noticing certain trends. I don’t know if there’s a definitive dating scene. I don’t date a lot anymore. I’m pretty introverted and have become even more reclusive since the Instagram thing happened. This sounds weird coming out of my mouth, but people will actually want to fuck you just because you have a lot of Instagram followers. It’s really weird, and it makes me suspicious of everyone’s intentions now. I used to be a lot more free-spirited because I was allowed to be, but now I feel like there’s something I have to protect, so that’s a little sad. Sometimes I wish I could be as free and gloriously slutty as I used to be.

MD: Have you learned to care for yourself through Instagram?
GS: When I started making memes, I was going through a really rough winter and was feeling like a loser in a lot of ways. I realized I had a lot of self loathing that I needed to work through and I figured – well, that my tactic was always to laugh at myself – and I love memes. I think they’re hilarious. I love the absurdity of them. I figured that If I were to write all my feelings in this relatively innocuous format then I’d be able to see myself more as who I actually am – someone who is strong and beautiful and powerful, and that’s exactly what has happened. Every day I’m learning to love myself more and take care of myself more. I’m also really getting into cooking for myself more, and I’m not really a big cooking person. But I’m really getting into the ritual of preparing a meal and nourishing my body. And letting myself feel things.

“It’s always been really close to my heart to represent the voices of people who aren’t otherwise heard, because I’ve felt like that person at a lot of points in my life.”

— gothshakira

MD: You’ve mentioned the kind of stages that you’ve gone through. What stage would you say you’re at right now?
GS: “Ethnic aunt!” When I first moved here, I was in my early 20s and I was still a kid. Now, I just feel like I’m slowly coming to this stage of my life where I’m like: “I wear loose pants, and cook to Erykah Badu, and I found that I’ve accumulated children.” I always happen upon people who are like 18, 19, 20, who’ve just moved to Montreal. They’ve started to call me “mom,” or “auntie,” which I think is really cute. There’s so many amazing, young, artists of colour who are just killing it! I feel like I’m transitioning into a more mothering, nurturing role which is really new to me but really exciting. Though I still try to live life like a teenage girl, which I think is the secret to life.

“I see that people like me have gone through the same feelings of being an outcast, and I do it for them.”

— gothshakira

MD: Memes are supposed to be silly but have become increasingly politicized. Can we analyze them in a serious way?
GS: I think that’s what’s most important and powerful about memes. They’re pretty light in a lot of ways, but there’s always some social commentary within them. I do think that memes should be open to analysis, just like pop lyrics should be open to analysis, just like the Kardashians should be open to discursive interpretation. These fast things that we consume for immediate gratification – they constitute a big part of what entertains us. And the lowest common denominator of what entertains the generation – that, I believe, is indicative of the culture as a whole. In that sense, if a meme can make people discuss, “hey, how are we portraying certain communities of people?” then that’s incredible. And in that case, I’m so happy to be alive in 2016.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

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Music was Fela’s tool of resistance against the corruption that persisted after Nigeria’s independence from Britain in 1960. Combining poetry with politics, Fela’s lyrics opposed the systems of oppression that Nigeria inherited from British colonialism. However, Fela didn’t simply identify these structures, but created a collective call to action through his pan-African worldview. Pan-Africanism, a movement that seeks to deconstruct the physical and internal borders created by colonialism and foster solidarity throughout the African continent, unites African people in the shared struggle against colonialism.

Fela also pioneered the Afrobeat genre: the convergence of jazz and Yoruba music. Through juxtaposing modern music – largely influenced by his trip to the U.S. – with precolonial music, Fela demonstrated how modern innovation can coexist with the art forms that colonialism attempted to erase. Typically, his songs involve large ensembles with an elaborate horn section and complex rhythms to create individual pieces that can last up to 45 minutes in concert.

Fela demonstrated how modern innovation can coexist with the art forms that colonialism attempted to erase.

The song “no agreement” exemplifies the fusion of old and new. The song begins with a techno-style synth solo – improvisational and spacious, backed by a steady guitar riff. Then, the song introduces various percussion instruments and an explosive saxophone section with harmonies reminiscent of cuban jazz. After 12 minutes, the horn section takes a break; a call and response section takes its place, layering the language of Pidgin English over the original techno beat.

Fela was inspired by the Black Panther movement in the U.S. and the writings of Malcolm X, exploring ideas of Black nationalism and negritude among the Black diaspora in his music. His song, “Who No Know Go Know” critiques the lack of “togetherness” in Africa, implying that fragmentation creates unnecessary conflict that thwarts the fight for freedom.

As an outspoken Pan-Africanist, Fela strove to reclaim African identity as Nigeria healed from the trauma of colonialism. The militaristic Nigerian governments of the 1970s and 1980s and the exploitative racial hierarchy were lasting effects of colonial rule. One of his goals was to dispel the racist idea that Africa was destined for internal conflict, by reconfiguring the idea of African unity. This is especially important considering how colonialism sought to exercise control by politicizing Indigeneity. African intellectual Mahmood Mamdani explains how colonists created small groups based on their racist and shallow interpretations of African cultures, and assigned these groups to specific territories, governing them through “chiefs” under “customary law.” This also pitted groups against each other to distract from the root struggle against colonialism, fostering Eurocentric propaganda that portrayed Africa as an inherently corrupt continent.

As an outspoken Pan-Africanist, Fela strove to reclaim African identity as Nigeria healed from the trauma of colonialism.

The emphasis on unity present in Fela’s music shows that decolonization doesn’t simply mean to dismantle economic and political structures – but also to reclaim identity. However, it’s important to recognize the complexity of individual experience and the danger of creating one homogenized narrative. Fela Kuti’s activism was far from perfect – and many of his political stances generated, and continue to generate, great controversy.

“Zombie” was not only considered one of his most influential albums, but the spark for intense political controversy that led to Fela being banned from entering Nigeria. In the title track, Fela used the metaphor of a zombie to criticize the Nigerian military-run government, saying they still had to wake up from the colonial framework from which they were entrapped. Moreover, through the song’s repetition of military orders, Fela simultaneously condemns the way the armed forces don’t even question this structure – obeying orders like zombies. The voices echoing the word “zombie” throughout the track are hypnotic as well as taunting – criticizing, whilst pointing out the absurdity of it all.

August 2, 1997 may mark the loss of a revered leader, but the continuation of his revolution demonstrates the power of his activism.

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The event began with an episode of Strolling that featured Kokab and Gladstone, two Jamaicans, who discussed the disproportionate amount of American media in Jamaica and issues of language in standardized testing. Emeke followed the episode with a short talk about her work, describing the motivation for her various projects – including the series Ackee and Saltfish, which is and a collaboration with the BBC. The artist also gave a behind-the-scenes look at Strolling.

When asked what motivated her to create the video series, Emeke explained that she started it in response to the realization that there was “something [she] needed to express” and urgently. For Emeke, Strolling was an attempt to “open up the conversation” about racism and identity in order to connect members of the Black diaspora. Emeke hoped that her project would encourage members of the Black community to celebrate their identities.

The majority of the event comprised of a lengthy question and answer period – but there was something extraordinary about it that made it feel more like an intimate discussion between the artist and audience on crucial topics. Instead of pointing and selecting raised hands, Emeke greeted everyone with a cool “hey.” This casual atmosphere led to discussions about race and identity in which individuals felt comfortable sharing their own stories.

For Emeke, Strolling was an attempt to “open up the conversation” about racism and identity in order to connect members of the Black diaspora. Emeke hoped that her project would encourage members of the Black community to celebrate their identities.

Emeke talked about the beauty of self-expression, her travels, and emphasized the importance of nuance in conversations about identity. “Even talking about Black Britishness, that means nothing, really,” Emeke said in her talk. “Because I’m […] actually talking about Black London, and then I’m probably talking about my part of Black London, Black Bristol.” Emeke said that although she understands why people generalize when talking about race and identity, she stressed that the only way to understand the complexities within the Black diaspora is through an emphasis on nuance to the point where “generalizations are almost useless.”

Strolling aptly illustrates this idea. In one of the episodes focused on the Black diaspora in the U.S., an interviewee Gabrielle spoke about her “Americanness” and the privilege it may give her over others within the diaspora, which Emeke said led her to re-evaluate traces of privilege within her own British identity.

After the event, Jamaican student Shannon Chen See spoke to The Daily about her reactions to the event and the screening of Strolling in particular. She said there were some aspects she understood but some that seemed foreign to her. “I’m not Black, so I know it’s not ‘for’ me, but at the same time, it addressed the questions of race that I’ve grown up in, or those things that we take for granted,” she said. “It undercut three areas all at once: race, nationality, and class. I thought, ‘Wow, there’s certain questions you really just take for granted.’ […] And this has really opened up dialogue for that.”

There’s no shortage of stories within the Black diaspora; the challenge is to use online platforms in ways that empower these voices, fostering connection and appreciation.

In order to portray the deeply personal experiences shared by the people she interviewed, Emeke emphasized the need to examine the role film plays in the outcome of these global conversations. Emeke stressed the need to act with meticulous sensitivity in order to authentically portray Black voices. “I’m always learning,” she repeated many times throughout the evening. She also emphasized the powerful dynamics present in the process of discovering the stories of others, as well as discovering oneself.

Emeke never appears or speaks in her videos, instead allowing the individual being interviewed to tell their story organically. The videos feel more like intimate conversations rather than interviews set-ups. And as Emeke mentioned in her talk, “conversations are healing.”

Near the end of her presentation, Emeke said that “even if [she] made 1,000 episodes of Strolling, it would still be just a drop in the ocean.” There’s no shortage of stories within the Black diaspora; the challenge is to use online platforms in ways that empower these voices, fostering connection and appreciation.

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Since The Daily last spoke to Hayatian in 2012, Flower Press has continued to treat each manuscript submission equally, and continues to prioritize writers genuinely passionate about developing their craft.

Flower Press was created because Hayatian, author and Concordia creative writing graduate, grew frustrated with the bureaucratic workings of the printing business and its high rejection rate. The publishing business proved to be cold and impersonal to the founder, spurring the creation of a press that rejects just that.

Since The Daily last spoke to Hayatian in 2012, Flower Press has continued to treat each manuscript submission equally, and continues to prioritize writers genuinely passionate about developing their craft.

“Many [writers] have emailed feeling [that] their writings are not something any publisher [would] want,” Hayatian told The Daily in an email. These concerns reflect the consequences of the big business model in mainstream publishing, prioritizing marketability over talent, and subsuming artistic liberty to mass appeal.

Hayatian’s writers-first philosophy has resulted in the continued success of Flower Press’ writers. Jolanta Baczynski, Michael Phillips, and Amadi Arua, to name a few, have put out diverse works ranging from fiction to poetry to children’s books since the press’ establishment.

One challenge Flower Press Publishing has faced in the past five years has been writers who expect quick financial success. Hayatian challenges this idea, attempting to help writers earn money while still enjoying developing their craft; in some unfortunate circumstances, Hayatian explained, writers see celebrity-written memoirs with great financial success and expect the same outcome. However, Hayatian wants to instill first and foremost a dedication to writing.

Hayatian’s writers-first philosophy has resulted in the continued success of Flower Press’ writers.

Hayatian’s emphasis on the emotional journey that writing can bring to others — as opposed to the sales it can bring to a big corporation — displays a refreshingly optimistic stance that not only has allowed her to achieve success, but also to gain the respect of her writers. It is these mentorships sustained over these past five years that she considers to be the most valuable outcome of her endeavours.

To all writers looking toward the future with uncertainty, Hayatian offers advice as how to stick to their passion: “You have the talent. Show your writings. Listen to yourself.”

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Indie music fans demand a constant reconstruction of music in an attempt to discover a sound that’s never been heard before. Most bands stumble in the process, as the desire to stay current in the industry can result in overly experimental, obscure textures, creating the disingenuous sound that is ‘too indie.’ Upon hearing that SHYRE’s release of their new chamber pop album Atlas Flag featured interpretive dancers, apprehension abounded among fans. However, SHYRE quickly demonstrated that they had discovered nuance where many bands had oversimplified: the sweet, innocent vocals and careful way each note was handled at the release showed the band’s immense reverence for their craft. Their presence led the audience to not only feel the authenticity in their music, but to truly fall in love with the sounds they heard.

However, SHYRE quickly demonstrated that they had discovered nuance where many bands had oversimplified: the sweet, innocent vocals and careful way each note was handled at the release showed the band’s immense reverence for their craft.

The set opened with the beautiful, spacious vocals of Sarah Rossy coupled with her soft piano melodies. Slowly, the string instruments emerged with gentle wisps of classical phrases as the dancers began their performance. However, most of the focus was on the expressions of the musicians; from the eternally smiling drummer to the focused manner with which the string instruments were played, each musician told a story with with their approach to their instruments. Natalie Yergatian – the Schulich School of Music’s first graduate female jazz drummer – told The Daily that their band had “discovered such beauty that is rarely, if ever, spoken of” from touring around Quebec. This beauty captured each audience member in its dream-like essence. These atmospheric influences emerged through the way the band was able to utilize every facet of their instruments – the scratching of the drumstick against the cymbal, sporadically plucked notes from the violins, the singers’ lilting scats – to create natural earth tones that fell softly into place.

Partway through the performance, the horn section from Busty and the Bass took the stage along with McGill’s a cappella group Effusion, in conjunction with increasingly intricate dance choreography, furthering the immersive experience. The smooth vocals, classical chamber instruments, and a jazzy percussion and horn section avoided sounding disjointed together by creating a balance: with softly plucked strings and tender voicings, the instruments played in respect of each other instead of struggling to dominate. Though the stage was completely filled, the complex harmonies created were unifying instead of overpowering. The musicians layered sounds to create a new texture, where jazz, indie, and classical were all able to exist simultaneously.

Partway through the performance, the horn section from Busty and the Bass took the stage along with McGill’s a cappella group Effusion, in conjunction with increasingly intricate dance choreography, furthering the immersive experience.

The title track “Atlas Flag” – which combined dreamy lucid vocals with a pounding drum beat – proved to be a standout of the evening with its multidimensional texture of instruments. Before the song began, Rossy held the audience in thrall with spine-tingling vocals, instilling a sense of tense hope and optimism as she repeated “I see it, I see it now.” As the song ended off with a unified crash, the vibration remained suspended throughout the room, the audience set in momentary awe before erupting into thunderous applause.

SHYRE, with charismatic stage presence, mixed soft, layered tones in conjunction with a bold new approach to music. “A lot of what we do,” Yergatian told The Daily, “is an expression of what we have experienced, reflected on and then forged into our own dreamscape/universe”.It’s these pure elements that demonstrate SHYRE’s masterful understanding of their instruments, allowing them to bend classical genres around sounds as varied as the landscapes by which they were inspired.

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On the evening of October 4, Arteaga took the stage at the House of Jazz, wrangling the ritzy atmosphere down to earth with a repertoire of soulful Latin jazz. The set opened up with a bright salsa bebop. Interpretive percussion set against smooth piano and saxophone solos woke the lulled audience. The band’s start was a bit disjointed initially, but after a few hand signals, eye contact, and encouraging claps, it managed to get into the groove. Arteaga then took the mic. His voice wavered slightly, displaying a beautiful authenticity in contrast to the pretension of the restaurant. He spoke to the audience about his Cuban roots and the way Cuban street jazz made him reminisce about his childhood.

The audience continued to sip its wine, swimming in his smooth confidence, and the Connexion’s bass player continued to chew his gum – casually, relaxed, as if he were home, jamming in Cuba. The group’s unpretentious stage presence deconstructed the faux-riche décor of the room, forcing the high-class audience to leave their opulent comfort.

The group’s unpretentious stage presence deconstructed the faux-riche décor of the room, forcing the high-class audience to leave their opulent comfort.

Arteaga’s range showed as he switched effortlessly from saxophone to flute, to backup vocals. The genre transformed at the same frequency at which he switched instruments. Speaking to The Daily, Arteaga said, “I guess jazz is a vocabulary, so you have to get it. Sometimes I know that I don’t have my answer, so I try to mix it with the Cuban jazz [and] the West Coast jazz.”

The predominant genres of the night were Afro-Cuban and jazz, with traces of chacha, rumba, and timba. The band also delivered a Latin-style Stromae cover, which garnered an enthusiastic reaction from the audience. However, rarely was one style showcased on its own: the piano played in smooth classical modes underneath bright Spanish vocals, whilst the percussion adopted an improvised sound, reflective of vibrant street music. However, all diverse sounds were brought together seamlessly, always ending precisely in sync. If the technique of the musicians had wavered even in the slightest, the genre-mashing wouldn’t have survived, but that was no concern thanks to the immense talent on stage.

Partway through the first set, Arteaga invited a guest vocalist to join him on stage. By the second song, the effortless charm of the Connexion and Arteaga plus the new vocalist had every audience member swaying along to the music, with their heads nodding to the beat.

The predominant genres of the night were Afro-Cuban and jazz, with traces of chacha, rumba, and timba. The band also delivered a Latin-style Stromae cover, which garnered an enthusiastic reaction from the audience.

After the second set, Arteaga told The Daily the secret behind the band’s chemistry. “[We] used to have a band group back home in Cuba. And this is part of that same band – different name.”

Arteaga was born and raised among the music and folklore of Guanabacoa, an eastern township in Havana, Cuba. His musical journey began with the flute – following the footsteps of his musician father – but he eventually switched over to the saxophone. After leaving his hometown, Arteaga had a difficult first encounter with the music industry.

“It’s a hard and difficult world for the artist,” he said. “It was hard in the beginning. […] I guess [for] anybody who has moved from one country to the next: you have to adapt, you have to speak the language, you have to live out in the country. And then you have to study like you’re born again and that’s how I see myself: born again into the new world with the beautiful people.”

Arteaga was born and raised among the music and folklore of Guanabacoa, an eastern township in Havana, Cuba. His musical journey began with the flute – following the footsteps of his musician father – but he eventually switched over to the saxophone.

Arteaga has since gained tremendous success: he has been on a national tour with the Buena Vista Social Club, received his degree in jazz interpretation from the Université de Montréal, and performed at many prestigious jazz festivals across the country, gracing the world with his imperturbable stage presence and captivating skillset.

As the night’s set was coming to a close, people began to shuffle out, still loudly singing along with the music and calling out praise for short, improvised solos. At one point, the pianist began to sing and laughter rippled through the band. Though the audience had no idea what was going on, everyone felt like they were in on the joke due to the warm atmosphere permeating through the once-stuffy upper-class bar.

For the last number, only the pianist and guest vocalist remained onstage while the rest of the band took their front row seats to listen. A soft, Spanish jazz number began, and soulful tremors with classical piano runs filled the restaurant’s late-night quiet. As the bar closed and the waiter set out the next day’s cutlery, the sound of the last lingering notes never wavered. The band looked on in reverence, clearly set in a trance by their bandmates’ song. With a satisfied ease, the band eventually packed, chatting and smiling after a show well played.

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Cécile McLorin Salvant’s transformative vocals in For One to Love contain the essence of that known-to-many skill acquired in teenage years, of putting out your cigarette, waving away the smoke, and stopping your cough before your parents’ steps reach the door. The 2015 album showcases the way the artist effortlessly transitions from tobacco-induced growls to sweet, innocent vocals. Born in Miami and raised by Haitian and French parents, Salvant seeks to further explore her mixed background (she speaks English, French, and Spanish) in this album of enigmatic jazz experimentation.

In the opening track “Fog,” Salvant strings together a collection of modern earth tones woven in a dreamlike fashion. “Growlin’ Dan” then wakes you up from that trance with its pounding blues beat. Admittedly, the listener is left startled and greatly confused by the album’s rapid departure in genre. Later moving from Sinatra-esque Broadway belts to lilting French ballads, Salvant seems to have exhausted every facet of jazz in one record. Once the album finishes, however, listeners will realize that they were unknowingly part of an overarching storyline the entire time.

That’s the beauty of Salvant’s unrestrained style: emotions pose no boundaries. With sensation so raw, one can’t help but empathize with the story she weaves.

The topic of sexism is addressed in the cover “Wives and Lovers,” a song originally recorded by Jack Jones in 1963. In meshing the melodramatic singing style of the sixties with the musical aesthetic of modern jazz, Salvant is able to reveal the sheer absurdity of lyrics like: “Don’t send him off with your hair still in curlers / You may not see him again.”

For One to Love is best experienced in one sitting. If each individual song is taken for its own merit, the narrative – the album’s very foundation – will be lost, and it’ll appear as if Salvant can’t decide what genre she likes. Taken together as a whole, however, a dynamic story of love, heartbreak, confidence, and desperation is created. It’s raw enough to connect with the listener on an emotional level.

Even the album artwork – which she designed herself – shows a range of emotions by using a print of a woman simultaneously crying, winking, and smiling. One thing is for certain: For One to Love is nothing short of an emotionally intimate narrative, and as listeners chase this story, they breathe in a healthy dose of suspense, mystery, and smooth cigarettes.

The Atom Age – Hot Shame

A minute into Hot Shame, The Atom Age’s August release, it becomes clear that the album has ambitiously and effectively disregarded all tradition – infusing quintessential early punk riffs with treble-soaked organ lines, crushing blast beats, and the group’s signature saxophone lead.

Hot Shame runs extremely short – only about 25 minutes long – but not a second is wasted. Each track crashes wildly into the next, creating a loud, gritty, unrelenting race from start to finish.

Although unmistakably steeped in punk influences, the exact sound of Hot Shame is nearly impossible to categorize – it’s a complex amalgam of varied rock styles spanning from the birth of rock to modern indie. Each song moves to the classic rhythm of sixties and seventies punk, but elements of ska, blues, and psychedelia are in the forefront of each crunchy, surf-rock inspired track. Tracks such as “Wild Worry” even carry strong undertones of Cramps-style gothabilly.

The feel of the album is perfectly summarized by track “Ms. Death Texas,” a screaming concoction of trebly organ riffs, screeching sax, and racing drums. It, like the entirety of the album, absolutely demands to be played as loudly as possible.

The combination of clashing styles may give the album a unique sound, but at times it is also a hindrance.  Some songs betray an unsureness, with FIDLAR-style vocals clashing with rockabilly riffs and seventies-style electric organ. Sometimes these juxtapositions work in the band’s favour, but tracks such as “Do it Now” feel clunky and awkward.

The album’s definite weak point is its repetition and lack of variation. By the end of the album, the songs begin to blend together as a blur of noise and fast-paced drums. Hot Shame is the kind of album that is best listened to as individual songs – too much at once and the party-all-the-time charm that defines it becomes tiresome. When each track is appreciated alone, it better showcases the true strength of its production.

Superficially, Hot Shame may seem like no more than a loud punk record, but upon closer inspection it becomes clear that it is a truly ardent album with far too many moving parts to keep track of. While at times this ambition backfires, the album is still an exciting, overwhelming 25-minute wall of powerful sound guaranteed to please even the pickiest of rock fans – in moderation.

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