Lesser Evil Summon Everything That is Evoked Without Being Said on Debut LP "Subterranean"

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Lesser Evil (from left to right: Ariane M. and Christophe Lamarche-Ledoux) by Ebru Yildiz

Lesser Evil are done interpreting their own sound. After nearly four years of tireless music-making, the Montreal-based electronic duo consisting of Christophe Lamarche-Ledoux and Ariane M. are excited to promote Subterranean and hear from the listeners themselves. The reception, according to Lesser Evil, is the second-most exciting part of being an artist; apart from the production stage itself.

I had the pleasure of meeting with Lamarche-Ledoux and Ariane on a sunny Saturday morning in late-September, where we had the opportunity to chat about their artistic process, how Lesser Evil came into existence, and what it took to create Subterranean — their debut album releasing on October 14th.

When talking about the formation of Lesser Evil, Lamarche-Ledoux describes the experience as natural, yet long-overdue. “We’ve known each other for a very long time,” says Lamarche-Ledoux, “because we were actually neighbours in a small town called Sherbrooke [Quebec].” 

Despite this, Lamarche-Ledoux explains that it took around eighteen years before the duo found themselves together in a studio, and that this actually happened after they respectively decided to relocate. “We both moved to Montreal, still not being friends. [But] we met in Montreal because we have a lot of friends in common from Sherbrooke, and [we had both been] doing music for a long time.”

Lamarche-Ledoux notes that when the two creatives and hometown neighbours finally collaborated on music production, the results were like nothing they had ever heard before. “While we were working on [Ariane’s] songs, the music became something else. It didn’t entirely sound like Ariane’s work, and it didn’t exactly sound like mine either… It kind of became this whole new thing.” He says that after hearing their strange and magical concoctions resulting from shared studio time, the formation of Lesser Evil occurred naturally. “At some point I just looked over and said, ‘Ariane, we should start a band.’ And that’s when the new [project] was formed.”

The results of this formation included an initial, self-titled EP in 2018, which produced much success upon its release; songs off the EP like “V.W” and “Cobra Effect” garnered thousands of streams on Spotify, and their track “Sight Of” has accumulated nearly 60,000 streams on the platform ever since. Still reeling from the initial hype generated by their first project, Lamarche-Ledoux and Ariane decided to hunker down and focus their energy towards something more nuanced and time-consuming. Nearly four years later, Subterranean came into existence.

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Lesser Evil by Ebru Yildiz

Speaking on the creative process that went into making Subterranean, Ariane is quick to point out that the duo intended to create a piece of art that is intentionally ambiguous, allowing it to be left for interpretation by its listeners. “When it comes to the ‘bones’ of a song, it always needs to come from [us] initially,” Ariane says. “I’m an emotionally-driven person, and it dictates my life.” 

She goes on to say that the songs initially capture “a moment in time, where there’s something in me that [fixates] me.” She says that this is something that remains constant throughout the album, “As you start working on [the songs] it can pretty much go anywhere.”

Yet this incentive of having songs “go anywhere,” as Ariane puts it, is not without intention. Instead of giving clear direction, Lesser Evil instead opts to leave enough space in their songs to allow listeners to become lost in them, forcing them to find their own final destination. “I’m obsessed with everything that’s hidden; everything that’s tacit,” Ariane says. She explains that she has been doing psychoanalysis for five years now, and that this process translates directly into Lesser Evil’s music production. “When I try to write songs and capture that initial spark, I am also trying to tap into everything that’s hidden.” 

This process also inspired the album’s title, which refers to the “subterranean” elements of the human psyche. When our conversation transitions from focusing on the album’s production process to its title, Ariane describes the decision to name their project “Subterranean” as a “no-brainer.”

The controlled level of ambiguity that Lesser Evil conveys on Subterranean is clear on the singles that have been released leading up to the album. The song “Fiction” feels like an underwater voyage through subdued synths, with Ariane’s voice guiding listeners to their own conclusions as she softly sings about yearning, isolation and mystic love. Although quite different sonically, the bass-heavy dance track “Contemplate” is a surreal voyage through an underground tunnel, and Ariane’s distorted vocals equally shine on the song’s darkest and most upbeat moments. The instrumentation on these songs might change, but all have one thing in common: they are intended to resonate directly with the listener. 

Commenting on how they decide which sounds to keep while producing their music, Lamarche-Ledoux explains: “It could just be a synth sound, or the perfect amount of reverb on the [vocals]. It just has to be something that interests us, and that we can actually feel.” He elaborates by saying that while this process might “seem simple… it is actually very subtle,” and that it takes a lot of time to finalize.

Through this process, the duo aspires to create an auditory experience that listeners truly yearn for. “It has to resonate enough,” Ariane explains. “Christophe has to hear that little backbone, and be like ‘yeah, let’s spend [countless] hours on this.’” The music is intended as “a hybrid of classical songwriting” layered over “all the modern ways of treating sound,” Ariane says with a smile. The songs, as they explain, must emanate that “subterranean” reaction in thought as well as feeling. After all, nobody spends time in the studio isolating sounds and fine-tuning them if they never elicited an emotional response in the first place. 

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Lesser Evil by Ebru Yildiz

Asking the duo about their creative traditions before hitting the studio, Ariane says that their music typically forms itself through improvisation: “[B]asically, we show up and see what happens.” But at a certain point in the day, Ariane and Lamarche-Ledoux do in fact have an unspoken ritual to uplift one another’s spirits. “We’re looking for high-fives,” Ariane says. “We never know what we’re going to do when we arrive; we just show up and do a session. But then, we always say that we’re looking for that ‘high-five’ moment, when we’re so enthused by our work that we begin screaming and high-fiving.”

Ariane notes that they have an additional, unorthodox tradition while making music: belting out lyrics from 90s hits like Jock Jams’ “Are You Ready For This” during their more successful moments during production. “I’m usually in the back and Christophe is in the studio,” Ariane says, “so sometimes we don’t really see each other for hours. And then he’ll just say, ‘Are you ready for this?’ and I [start singing] in the back.”

Wrapping up our interview, I ask Ariane and Lamarche-Ledoux what Lesser Evil fans can expect in the months following the release of Subterranean. “Will you guys be touring at all?” I wonder, “or will you be looking to make some music videos? Or are you guys just going to be taking a break because your album is out and you’re tired,” I muse. Lamarche-Ledoux chimes in by saying. “Are you crazy? That’s not how it works!” We all share a good laugh.

“We’ve worked for years on this record,” Lamarche-Ledoux says. “We’re really proud of it, and we want to make it [have] a life. We’re getting into some activities — some shows here and there, including a Montreal show and a Quebec show. We’re probably going to play in New York at some point next year as well.” He elaborates by saying that because Lesser Evil is a DIY project: “It’s really insane, and we’re having trouble doing all these things at once. It’s also all out-of-pocket money, so it’s pretty fucking crazy,” he jokes. “We’re really just smashing this project into the world as hard as we can.” 

The band notes that music videos and visualizers are not something that they are willing to take-on themselves, but that they are not opposed to having creatives try to visualize their work. This has been done twice already for songs off of Subterranean, including collaborator Joël Morin-Ben Abdallah’s otherworldly visuals for “Fiction” as well as Abdallah’s recent, psychedelic visualization for the track “Haze,” which uses images from the 1981 Hungarian movie Son of the White Mare.

As a final question, I ask the duo whether there is anything else they would like to chat about. Ariane replies promptly, saying that more than anything, “...I just want people to listen to the album… for us, we worked so many years on this. I just want other people’s judgment on [Subterranean]. I’m tired of listening to my own analysis.”

Lamarche-Ledoux echoes this sentiment in his answer, but also notes that bringing the world’s artistic community together is the primary response he wants to elicit. “Now the most fun part of doing art is over, which to me is making music. We’re getting into touring, and doing promotional stuff… this is kind of less fun to do. Moving forward, I want to meet more people who are interested and genuine about art, and our music. That’s all I want: I don’t necessarily want an ‘enemy interview,’ or a TV spot. I just want it to be about the love of music, and being true. Not about success.”

Subterranean comes out on October 14th, but in the meantime you can listen to Lesser Evil’s ethereal new singles on their Spotify or other streaming platforms. They also have two upcoming shows you’ll want to check out – catch them on November 4th in Quebec City at Le Pantoum, or November 5th in Montreal at La Sotterranea.

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Lesser Evil in Montreal post-interview; photo by the author

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SUBTERRANEAN

Out October 14, 2022

1. New/Same

2. Fiction

3. Subterranean

4. Heights

5. Wandering

6. Contemplate

7. Haze

8. Heavenly

9. Hot-Blooded

10. Reincarnation

Engineered, composed and produced by Lesser Evil

Mixed by Mark Lawson

Mastered by Brian Lucey at Magic Garden Mastering

Artwork by Caroline Robert

Source photo of the diver by Odile Gamache

Logo by Florian Petigny

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Lesser Evil

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Spencer Nafekh is a tireless reader, writer, editor, and advocate for the written word. With an undergraduate degree in Concordia's English and Creative Writing program imminent, he plans to pursue a Master's specialization in journalism so that he can fully realize his career path. When Spencer is not working away, he is probably listening to experimental music while lost in the world of a science fiction novel.

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Sometimes Alienating, But Always Fascinating: Suuns' Joe Yarmush Reflects on New Album "The Witness" (Secret City Records)

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Suuns, shot by Will-Lew May

Montreal’s Suuns opened their first show in nearly two years at l’Impérial Bell in Quebec City, a setting which guitarist Joe Yarmush describes as “an old-timey nightclub, where a crooner would play.” Yarmush highlighted the experience as something the avant-garde trio isn’t used to, but went on to liken it to riding a bike: “It’s weird at first, but it’s also very familiar on a lot of levels,” he says. “And it’s more familiar than I would have thought.”

The band’s ongoing tour supports their newest offering The Witness, which was released on September 3rd, 2021. The LP’s 38-minute runtime opens and closes with the sounds of swarming cicadas, and contains elements of dark techno, contemplative multi-interpretive lyricism and colourful synthesizers all-throughout. The result is something that is sometimes alienating, but always fascinating.

During our phone call, Yarmush clarified the meaning of their album’s title, explaining that their music focuses much more on the act of witnessing in and of itself, rather than witnessing any specific thing or event.

“Now, in our civilization and society, we witness stuff that even 50 years ago we wouldn’t have seen,” Yarmush says. “When anything happens in the world, we see it immediately. Everything’s filmed, everything is being shown… How do we choose to react to things in these circumstances? Do we lose our capability to react to things that would have been appalling to us a mere few decades ago?” Yarmush and fellow Suuns members are echoing a sentiment that is all too prevalent in the 21st century: That we are becoming desensitized to the world and losing interest in major global events as soon as the next shocking headline pops-up on our newsfeed.

Exploring themes of desensitization is not new for Suuns, who have been channeling existential philosophy through free-form rock compositions since their formation in 2007. Still, Yarmush believes that “there’s something pointedly different about The Witness,” saying that all three band members could sense this difference from the moment it was being recorded to the time of its September release. 

Yarmush and company are not the only ones picking up on this shift. Pitchfork describes The Witness as the band’s “most cohesive album yet,” and Cult MTL praises the album’s “fresh, offbeat sound and poetic insight.” This might be attributed to the band feeding into a desire to explore; which becomes more restless with each new year.

When asked to what extent the genre of science fiction informs their work, Yarmush explains: “While it might not necessarily be dystopian, the concept of the future is definitely a recurring theme in a lot of our music.” In a purely musical sense, Yarmush describes his band as constantly trying to propel themselves towards the future, doing something new and unimaginable each time they enter the studio for a recording session. “We never do throwbacks or purposely try to recreate a genre in a new way, even though we might put older, more traditional elements into our music from time to time.”

“In many ways [Suuns] has stayed the same, but we’ve also evolved drastically,” says Yarmush, reflecting on how the band has developed over time. “We were four members for twelve years, with very distinct musical voices. We really felt the change after Max Henry, our former bassist, left… and the band has certainly been heading in a new direction.” Yarmush fondly recalls forming the band with vocalist Ben Shemie in his mid-20s, saying: “It’s crazy to believe that I’m now in my 40s… I feel like Suuns is only starting out now in a lot of ways, even though that’s not the case, and we are very different from when we first started out.” He elaborates by saying that when he listens to their 2016 album Hold/Still, he feels as though he is observing a previous version of the band from a distance. “There are distinct contrasts between the band that made that album, and the band that just released The Witness,” he says.

For Yarmush, the process of creating, recording and subsequently performing music can be best described as a spiritual experience. When asked about whether he feels more validation during the creation or the performance of his music, he replies: “The two feed off of each other,” and are thus inseparable. “Both can speak volumes regarding an individual or a group’s musical legacy,” he adds. “Records will live on longer than performances, but there’s something really cool about playing a show. Because as soon as it ends, it just disappears.”

Suuns, shot by Will-Lew May

Suuns has existed for more than a decade now, blending experimentation with indie-rock, and method with madness. There is a thread which weaves through the experimental post-rock chaos of their works, and though The Witness marks their fifth studio album, the band shows no signs of slowing down any time soon. “People are starting to get us more,” says Yarmush. “And we’re starting to get us more. On our latest album, we’ve begun to understand something about our band, which was always elusive before. I think people are reacting positively to that.”

Luckily for Suuns listeners in Quebec and Europe, the band will be spending the next two months touring across the globe. They will be ending the French-Canadian portion of their tour later this week in Gatineau, and will proceed to spend October and November visiting Belgium, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom and beyond. For more information on tour dates, visit their website.

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Suuns

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Spencer Nafekh is a tireless reader, writer, editor, and advocate for the written word. With an undergraduate degree in Concordia's English and Creative Writing program imminent, he plans to pursue a Master's specialization in journalism so that he can fully realize his career path. When Spencer is not working away, he is probably listening to experimental music while lost in the world of a science fiction novel.

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Montreal's FHANG Makes Lynchian Synth-Punk on Self-Titled Debut

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FHANG by _apacalda

Whether you’re a student getting ready for your fall term, an artist unwillingly accepting the end of summer, or a tired individual simply craving something new; we could all use an electronic-ambient-krautrock journey to lift us on our feet and replenish our energy levels. If you found yourself nodding while reading the last sentence, then FHANG’s eponymous debut album might just be the thing for you.

FHANG is an up-and-coming duo from revered Montreal bassist Mishka Stein and avant-garde producer Sam Woywitka. Being a rich artistic encounter between a bass player for Leonard Cohen’s final studio album and a—producer who recently garnered a JUNO award for their work on Half Moon Run’s 2019 album A Blemish in the Great Light— listeners should expect nothing less than musical magic. And rest assured, FHANG delivers: The album seamlessly transitions from peaceful ambience to moments that are sometimes ominous and tense, and other times blissfully psychedelic.

When I ask FHANG whether they knew their collaboration was fate from the moment they first met up, they both answer yes without hesitation. “The way I came across Mishka is definitely funny,” says Woywitka. “I drove out from Vancouver Island with a little tow-behind Uhaul and I didn’t really know what I was doing.” Woywitka describes arriving in Montreal and unloading his Uhaul to stay at his childhood friend’s house before being coaxed into attending a Black Legare concert (a Montreal band which Mishka plays bass for). “Being from a super small town on the West Coast, it was crazy to be downtown in a big city,” explains Woywitka. “The show blew my mind, and I couldn’t stop thinking, Woah, I definitely want to work with these dudes. I had a friend that knew Mishka, and soon enough we were going to concerts together and forming a friendship.”

Sam and Mishka go on to emphasize the belief that their ten-year age gap and respective lived experiences contribute greatly to their collaborative chemistry as well. “I’m the old guy,” Stein jokes, “almost like a parasite with Sam over here keeping me young.” Woywitka laughs, saying, “I feel like we have different lenses that compliment each other. Our differences round everything out in a nice way.”

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FHANG, photo edited by Mishka Stein

These differences are pronounced on Stein and Woywitka’s first collaborative LP: The calming moments feeling nearly blissful, and the ominously tense moments feeling stark and visceral. While chatting with the pair, I make a remark about FHANG seeming like the soundtrack to a surreal film, due to its volatility and extensive grandiose moments. When I inquire whether Sam and Mishka’s work is informed by movie soundtracks, I am pleasantly surprised by their response. “This album actually came from some sessions doing music for a film script that I was writing,” Woywitka says. “It was about the soundtrack at first, and when that idea was abandoned, it became about the album. Afterwards, it became about the band. Before too long, we begin to descend the rabbit hole discussing our favourite movie soundtracks,” he elaborates. 

“Soundtracks are a huge influence for both of us,” Stein says, “And as far as influences go, I [used to] listen to the original Blade Runner soundtrack almost religiously for many years. The movie is a masterpiece, in my opinion, because there’s so little dialogue that you get most of the story from the music. [Greek electronic composer] Vangelis just killed it. So did Ridley Scott.” 

As our conversation veers towards the topic of film, I ask what kinds of movies, music, and books Mishka and Sam have engaged with to keep busy during the pandemic. Soon I learn, however, that FHANG was very much a pandemic activity, taking all the time, passion, and effort out of the duo’s daily lives. Mishka describes quarantining in a hotel room upon hearing the news of a canceled tour, and feeling “a sense of staring right into the gaping mouth of the most fearsome aspects of a strange, changed new world.” FHANG was their way of coping with the surges of fear, confusion and tragedy which were all too prevalent for the duo during this unprecedented time.

 This included not only the creation of music, but also their accompanying videos. In the music video for “King Blame,” a man in a rabbit mask follows an alienated protagonist on his late-night voyage through a strange and psychedelic urban realm. “Vaudevillian” alternates between visuals of a strange masked individual and a disturbed Sam Woywitka being painted in colourful makeup. The Lynchian video for “Something Real,” features Woywitka and Stein at a tea party, staring deadpan into the camera with mysteriously grave facial expressions.

All of these visual pleasures were produced with Woywitka behind the camera, and Stein giving his creative input from time to time. Stein expresses his initial reluctance with the filming, much to his amazement later on: “When [Sam] talked about buying a crazy camera and learning video editing software, I was thinking that’s not something you can just pick up and do… but apparently for Sam, it is. When Sam sent me the [video] edits, I literally had no comments. It was great.” Woywitka’s adeptness for video creation clearly shines through in the band’s mesmerising visuals, all of which are strangely beautiful.

Yet video editing was not the only new obstacle that FHANG needed to overcome when creating their album: Stein and Woywitka decided to take up adding their own vocals to their music mixes for the first time as well. “Having to make sounds with your face all of the sudden to complete the picture… it’s a very fragile thing. It could very easily ruin the piece as well,” explains Stein. Woywitka describes the struggle and elation of adding his vocals, saying: “I feel like it has birthed a new part of me. I sang in a punk band when I was fourteen, but that was short-lived. As of lately, I couldn’t stop thinking this would be so much easier if I just sang. It has really opened up a new door.”

Whether it’s the creative and multi-interpretational lyricism, the haunting vocals or the surreal music videos, every listener will have something to take away from their experience with FHANG. Add a sublime album cover from Montreal-based miniature artist Louisa Schabas, and the uncanny bundle that is FHANG is complete.

FHANG’s self-titled debut was released last Friday, August 27th, but listeners can expect more weird and wonderful content from The Hidden Ship, Sam Woywitka’s newly-created record label and outlet for pandemic projects, otherworldly earworms and so much more. FHANG will be performing at this year’s FME festival in Rouyn-Noranda on September 5th at 10:00 PM EST.

FHANG

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Spencer Nafekh is a tireless reader, writer, editor, and advocate for the written word. With an undergraduate degree in Concordia's English and Creative Writing program imminent, he plans to pursue a Master's specialization in journalism so that he can fully realize his career path. When Spencer is not working away, he is probably listening to experimental music while lost in the world of a science fiction novel.

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Mindfulness and Magic: How Nyssa Has Been Keeping Busy During the Pandemic

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Nyssa, shot by Ron Hollywood

Toronto-based musician Nyssa has been writing and performing songs since she was 12 years old, with her musical influences covering a wide range of generations and a plethora of musical genres. These sources of inspiration are clear in her 2020 album Girls Like Me, an insightful exploration of gender-based expectations that dips between post-punk and glam rock, incorporating hints of folk in its more reflective moments. Girls Like Me was recently nominated for the 2021 Polaris Long List, and we are keeping our fingers crossed for Nyssa. We got the chance to catch up with Nyssa to chat about rock n’ roll storytelling, dream journaling and working with Meg Remy of U.S. Girls on her latest track.

Spencer Nafekh for Also Cool: Hi Nyssa! As an introductory question, I was curious if you could say a little bit more about your artist name? I looked a little more into the name “Nyssa,” and the first thing that came up was a Wikipedia page for a Doctor Who character. Is this where you’ve gotten the name from?

Nyssa: Actually, Nyssa is my birth name! I’m of Irish and Scottish descent, but my mom read the name in a book and really appreciated it. Apparently it’s ancient Greek for “a new beginning,” and there’s also the bonus of the Doctor Who character, an ewok in the Star Wars universe, and a tree found in North America. I figured that because I have a first name that sounds like a “one name” thing, I would use it as a stage-name. This puts a healthy pressure on me not to let myself down, because at the end of the day, I don’t want to change my name: I’ve got something to live up to.

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Nyssa, shot by Ron Hollywood

Also Cool: Personally, I find that Girls Like Me is an album with a uniquely cool post-punk sound to it - I hear hints of bands like The Cure and Bauhaus. I’d like to take this opportunity to pop in a “generic music question”: What kind of music did you listen to growing up? What inspires you now, and are there any artists or albums that you’ve heard as of lately and just absolutely need to put people onto?

N: Growing up, my mom and dad both separately listened to a lot of rock n’ roll. My mom was a big Rolling Stones fan, so that was a big presence in the house; same with Neil Young, Elvis, Johnny Cash, Liz Phair, Lucinda Williams, and Sinéad O'Connor. I’ve been thinking about this recently, and it’s funny how all my favourite artists from childhood that my mom introduced me to are still essentially my favourite artists: Lucinda Williams’ Car Wheels on a Gravel Road and Liz Phair’s Exile in Guyville are still two of my favourite albums of all time.

With Girls Like Me, I was basically trying to make my own version of storytelling rock n’ roll without using traditional rock n’ roll instrumentation; relying more heavily on Ableton and sample work, and not so much on guitar. I wanted to incorporate influences like Bruce Springsteen, and fuse rock n’ roll with soul and country music. It’s hard to put into words, but I’ve always been attracted to squishy, fuzzy, and crunchy sounds. My background in garage rock informs that, but I didn’t want Girls Like Me to sound like garage rock at all. Having access to samples and the ability to manipulate them was what really allowed me to get the unique sound that I was looking for.

AC: Would you say that your latest track “It's A Nice World To Visit (But Not To Live In)” is a direct response to the pandemic lifestyle? It seems different from your previous works, in terms of its slow buildup and its spooky synth-pop vibe… Do you see this track as an experimental anomaly or does it mark a transition in the vibe of the music you want to make?

N: My song is actually a loose cover of this 60’s Lee Hazlewood and Ann-Margret song; a real crazy garage rock anthem that I was first drawn to in high school and “squirreled away” for later use. My friend Lex—who is one of the owners of Fuzzed and Buzzed— initially approached me about doing a single for a compilation that they were planning. His neighbor is Meg Remy of U.S. Girls, so that got the ball rolling on the production of the track. Next thing you know, I was in the studio with Meg and a bunch of other musicians, and although Meg oversaw most of the session, “It's A Nice World To Visit (But Not To Live In)” was the song that she really stepped on board to produce. The whole process was very freeform: it was mainly me and drummer, Jay Anderson, jamming it out. 

I wouldn’t say that “It's A Nice World To Visit (But Not To Live In)” is totally an anomaly, though. I see myself walking down a number of musical paths in the future, and one of them is darker, and more surreal. It was recorded pre-pandemic, but it feels very… “pandemic friendly.” (laughs)

AC: I’ve noticed the “dreamscapes” series that you post on your socials from time to time. Whether it’s work from Flemish Renaissance painter Pieter Bruegel the Elder, photographs from the children’s picture book iSpy, or shots from that crazy fantasy movie The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, it appears as though you like sharing grandiose landscapes and pleasantly ethereal scenes. I was curious whether this aesthetic was something you try to mimic in your music, or is it something that you admire from a visual standpoint?

N: Because I’ve been so confined to my apartment these days, I find myself thinking about these dreamscapes and scenes from childhood… Worlds that I inhabited as a weird only child. To be honest, Girls Like Me is an album that I wrote over the course of a couple of years when I was waiting tables and living my life. Things obviously just feel very different these days, and I think that sharing these “dreamscapes” encapsulates everything that I’ve been doing over the past year, and the stuff I’m writing now.

On the topic of my more recent habits, I’ve also started doing this thing called “active imagination,” a Jungian technique which works like guided meditation. You’re supposed to enter your own dream world and just see what happens, or what your mind is trying to communicate to you. I find this has been helping me open my unconscious mind, and the dreamscapes that I have shared recently have been really informing that whole practice, which feeds into my writing as well!

AC: Sounds interesting! It seems like you have been keeping yourself busy in these strange times, exercising retrospectivity and imagination. Would you say that the pandemic has had a positive impact on your creative process, or a negative one?

N: Definitely positive. I’m part of this songwriting group with some friends in New York, and so I’ve had the pressure of writing a new song every week. This has been hugely important to me, and it wouldn’t have happened if we weren't thrown into this whole ordeal.

I’m really thankful for these exercises in creativity, which have resulted in my thoughts being much more magical. There’s going to be a very witchy album coming out post-COVID, that’s for sure.

Since we’re on the topic of creative practices, I should mention that another thing I’ve been doing is logging entries into a dream journal… It’s been beyond satisfying. It is so fulfilling to be able to look back over your dreams over a given period of time, and to notice patterns or recurring themes. I would recommend this practice to anyone and everyone.

AC: I think it would take a certain level of dedication to maintain a dream journal. Personally, I’ve tried a few times but can never fully commit to it. Have you ever had any lucid dreams? Also, I don’t want you to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with… But. is there any chance you would be willing to share an entry from the journal?

N: Trust me, I’ve tried this dream journal idea on multiple occasions but this is the first time that I’ve stuck with it. It takes patience, for sure, but don’t give up! Also, you don’t need to have a full dream in order to log it. Even if you remember a small tidbit of information, it is still worth logging. I’ve honestly never been too interested in lucid dreaming, because I think there’s a special quality about something totally untainted coming from your subconscious. Because the Otherworld is attempting to speak to you, I think it makes sense to not hold onto your ego, let things happen and go with the flow.

And you know what? Sure, why not… I’ll share an entry. 

—Nyssa goes off-camera for a moment and returns with her dream journal—

Hmm… I eat seafood… Lots of beaches… Okay, here’s a weird one that sounds like a real fairytale archetype:

“An old wizard at sea, travelling the land and performing illusions as a bat in exchange for sanctuary. Islanders with red caps accept the deal, watching as he performs the final illusion. Noah’s Ark arising from the sea, at first afar and then up close. The ark opens like a sea monster with many teeth. The wizard emerges in-mouth and proclaims, ‘and now you shall offer me shelter whenever I ask.’”

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Our conversation quickly transitions into movie territory, and I soon learn that Nyssa is a big horror movie buff. “I like violent movies,” Nyssa says, “but not when it’s too realistic or unnecessary.” Among her favourite movies, the 1985 horror-comedy Return of the Living Dead has a special place in her heart. “It really just ticks every box,” she tells me. “I love the practical effects, the gore, the punks in the cemetery… it has everything.” Thinking of what she’s watched recently, Nyssa talks about her new fascination with the surreal films of Alejandro Jodorowsky, as well as The Secret of Roan Inish.

What stood out to me more than anything, though, were the ways in which Nyssa has harnessed creativity during this strange time; the mystical planes and otherworldly dreamscapes where she has situated herself as of late. By the end of our chat, we digress into a conversation about the intersection between religion and spirituality. When I explain to her my belief that dreams and music are the closest that humans can come to magical experiences, she passionately agrees. “Absolutely,” Nyssa says, “and I think that the oldest human beings would agree with you on that. At the end of the day, it all comes down to mindfulness and magic.”

I’m really looking forward to seeing what Nyssa puts out next, which may or may not be a darker and witchier album that releases post-COVID. In the meantime, Girls Like Me has been released on a limited edition vinyl and is readily available for order online.

Nyssa

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Spencer Nafekh is a tireless reader, writer, editor, and advocate for the written word. With an undergraduate degree in Concordia's English and Creative Writing program imminent, he plans to pursue a Master's specialization in journalism so that he can fully realize his career path. When Spencer is not working away, he is probably listening to experimental music while lost in the world of a science fiction novel.

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Saturday Sermon: Racquel Jones Disrupts Traditionalism with "Sacrilege"

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Racquel Jones, still from “Sacrilege” music video by Lacey Terrell

Racquel Jones is a vibrant and ruthless Jamaican rapper, visual artist and model. In her recent music video for “Sacrilege,” she brings horror movie visuals into a Catholic church. By simultaneously horrifying and intriguing her audience, Jones forces us to reflect on the dangers of blind faith in religious doctrine. Through rap flows and poetic verse, Jones aspires to disrupt hate-fuelled tendencies associated with religion, and exposes the toxic headspace that tradition can impose; proactively leading us to dig our way out.

We had a chance to chat with Jones about religious identity, spiritual practice, and the personal experiences that led to the making of her music video. Beware: this interview is not intended for people caught up in conventional ways of thinking.

Spencer Nafekh for Also Cool: Between the freaky visuals in the music video, the blaring synth in the song’s chorus and the prayer-like poetry you incorporate to denounce religion, “Sacrilege” is a very incendiary track. The intense anti-religious messaging in your work surely is not without reason, though. From personal experience, can you elaborate on the impact of religion on your life?

Racquel Jones: I am a Black person who grew up in Jamaica (a Christian country), in a very Christian family. My mother is a preacher. I’m a descendant of people who were enslaved and taught this religion, and said religion was also a crucial tool in the enslavement and oppression of my ancestors. The impact of religion on my life is devastatingly vast, more than I will ever be able to adequately express. It is so impactful that it sadly cannot be undone. So devastating that even after now knowing better, my being is unimaginable without the scars and mental rewiring of my true identity and heritage warped and erased by religion.  

Also Cool: I agree, it’s shocking how religion and tradition can warp our identities and alienate us. Do you think spirituality is something that people can practice while still being passionately anti-religious? Would you consider yourself a spiritual person, and if so, what’s a good example of some of your own spiritual practices?

Racquel Jones: For sure. Spirituality has absolutely nothing to do with religion in my opinion. I think the basis of the lies surrounding religion stem from that… They want you to think otherwise. Spirituality, to me, is my deep [soulful] connection with my inner self, my ancestors, the energies in the universe, and the powers within. Examples of spiritual practices I do are: meditation, introspection, forgiveness, self care and self love, practicing empathy and loving in spite of. 

AC: One thing that really stood out to me in the “Sacrilege” music video was the freaky, horror movie-esque aesthetic which your director Alex Di Marco creates through eerie lighting and unsettling special effects and costumes. As a big horror movie buff myself, these elements were all things I could instantly appreciate! Was the purpose of this aesthetic to reflect religious practice in a horrendous light, or does it also come from an admiration for horror movies in general? If you are an avid watcher of horror movies, could you name a few faves?

RJ: It was intentional. I cannot think of anything, aside from racism, that is more horrific, horrendous and evil than religion. Because of this, I do not like horror movies. I have lived through the real horror of cult like practices I’ve seen, and watching horror movies evokes PTSD for me. I could never sit through a horror film, especially the ones with demons, exorcisms or anything religious based. I like The Silence of the Lambs, though. Is that horror?

AC: As your first high-production music video as a solo act, the “Sacrilege,” music video can be set apart from your other video works, such as “Letter to the Editor,” which showcased your rap flows alongside the American electronic duo Thievery Corporation. It was also filmed during the COVID-19 pandemic, which I’m sure came with its own unique setbacks. How was filming the “Sacrilege” music video a novel experience for you? Any funny or interesting behind-the-scenes stories which took place during filming?

RJ: Well I was supposed to have a congregation in the video and that couldn’t happen because of COVID. We were going to simulate a whole church experience, from the pulpit to the pew. Something funny did happen… Well, partially funny. The actor scheduled to play the role of Black Jesus in the confessionals initially, showed up to set breathing heavily, sweating and seemed like he was showing symptoms of COVID. He was kept outside, paid and asked to leave. Turns out he was just having an asthma attack. Needless to say, he was very upset.

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Racquel Jones, still from “Sacrilege” music video by Lacey Terrell

AC: I’ve heard that you’ve recently been dealing with some issues in getting the “Sacrilege” music video monetized on YouTube, and that you suspect this is likely due to video’s charged religious imagery. I imagine that the issue of online promotion and monetization is especially frustrating for a unique artist such as yourself. Can you speak a little more on this?

RJ: I am not exactly frustrated or upset even, because I expected the backlash. There’s always resistance to change. And there’s always biased censorship. I didn’t expect that people were going to be happy that I’m ripping Bible leaves to roll my joint, burning a photo of “Jesus” and calling the Virgin Mary a bitch. Being anti-religious is a threat to the comfort and hope of people. And for them to find out the lies they’re told, or even exploring the idea that religion is built on the premises of lies, evil, control, segregation and false hope causes pandemonium, fear and panic among people. We are wired to find comfort in the things that hurt us. And religion is the most genius example of that. So, I figured my video is seen as a weapon and a threat as opposed to feeding the narrative they prefer. My responsibility is to put the message and the art out there and let it do its thing. If YouTube or Google fails, there are other ways. 

AC: One thing I find impressive about the “Sacrilege” music video is how much its themes and colours can be paralleled with your paintings, which I’ve seen showcased on your Instagram. It seems as though you are passionate about building your creative vision from the ground up, and mixing artistic mediums to express certain thoughts and feelings. How much does visual art tie into your creative practice when it comes to your poetry, singing and songwriting?

RJ: They are all the same. Sometimes it’s chaos in my head because they all function together, and they all speak to me together at the same time. None can operate without the others. Over time I’ve learned to master listening to them all. I am happy that I finally now have the outlet to do them all simultaneously, because before, being forced to separate them was driving me crazy. It seemed unusual and confusing to people in the past that I do them all, and I was often asked to choose and focus on only one. I don’t listen to people anymore, I listen to the voices of the arts in my head and only those. 

AC: If “Sacrilege” is a reflection of what’s to come on your upcoming album, IgnoRANT, then it seems there will be no lack of killer bars and strong spoken word for listeners to look forward to. Want to speak a little more on this project, as well as the inspiration for its name?

RJ: Man, I don’t think they’re even ready. It’s nothing like I’ve ever heard before and it scares me sometimes. “Sacrilege” is one of the few normal sounding songs on the record in terms of structure. Myself, along with the producers, followed no pattern or mold, but let ourselves be purely obedient to the art and the emotions. It’s scary but brilliant, and everyone who's heard it so far has had a strong reaction. In terms of concept, for me the title IgnoRANT is a rant about ignorance. It’s being cognizant of the fact that we’re all ignorant to something. It’s being vulnerable about being ignorant and the openness to learn and understand. It’s the recognition of the damages caused by ignorance. It’s knowing that it’s impossible to ever know everything and that we will always be ignorant, but it’s possible to love and have empathy despite ignorance. IgnoRANT is really examining and addressing harmful stereotypes under a microscope in an in-depth way and also through microcosm.  It is honest, pure, intense and raw. 

AC: Sounds like lots of thought and experimentation has been put into this project, and I’m really excited to check it out once it releases! Lastly, knowing you are a multi-medium artist, are there any recent artistic undertakings outside of your music that you’re feeling excited about? 

RJ: The record is just half of the project. I’m excited about the visual arts I’m creating to go along with the record. Each song will be accompanied by a piece of art that further explores and explains the concepts in the song. Aesthetically, these are explored through surrealism, expressionism and iconography. I’m excited about completing the art and exhibiting both the music and the art together. I am almost done making the art. 2021 will be an interesting year.

Racquel Jones

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Spencer Nafekh is a tireless reader, writer, editor, and advocate for the written word. With an undergraduate degree in Concordia's English and Creative Writing program imminent, he plans to pursue a Master's specialization in journalism so that he can fully realize his career path. When Spencer is not working away, he is probably listening to experimental music while lost in the world of a science fiction novel.

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This interview has been condensed and edited for clarity

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