Fredz “I wasn’t really into rap, before. I was hoping to be more like an Émile Bilodeau, a Louis-Jean Cormier, a Daniel Bélanger or a Karim Ouellet,” says Fredz, an 18-year-old rapper who’s just released his debut album on the E.47 Records label, founded and owned by one Cyril Kamar (a.k.a. K.Maro).

This “before” of which the Longueuil-born rapper speaks was a mere three years ago. As a teen, the young musician was learning to play the guitar and discovering the Québec pop scene. Rap burst into his life through the likes of Lord Esperanza, LaF, Koriass, and, he admits sheepishly, Roméo Elvis.

Fredz’s first creative impulses manifested through composing music alone. “Hip-hop instrumentals were the only things within my reach,” he says. “I had tutorials to help me along. But since I didn’t want to leave them ‘empty,’ and didn’t know anyone who’d rap on them, I started rapping myself.”

Rather on the shy side, Fredz took his time before revealing himself online. In December 2019, an interpretation of what would become his first single, “Sara x Concassé,” was shared on the Instagram page of 1minute2rap, a French platform that has more than 900,000 subscribers. That’s where K.Maro enters.

“He saw me with my glasses and that pink toque,” says Fredz. “But since he was next to his girlfriend, who was asleep, he couldn’t turn the volume up. He recorded the video and listened to it the next day. He messaged me saying he was in Montréal and wanted to meet me. I didn’t even know who he was! It’s actually my mother who realized he was the guy who used to sing ‘Femme Like U.’

But beyond his young-dandy looks, Fredz knows how to capture attention with a flow that’s quite hard-hitting, combining speed, flexibility, and harmony. “There’s often more comments on my haircut than on my music, but I’m fine with that. It helps me disappear in the masses,” he says.

His heart-on-the-sleeve lyrics offer sincere testimony to his heartbreak and vulnerability, and they, too, seem to contradict the naïve, reserved young man. This album, Personne ne touche le ciel represents “coming back down to earth, accepting a finality: miracles only exist in movies,” to quote the press release.

Is Fredz already disillusioned, at only 18 years old? “I’m still in awe of what’s going on around me, but I’ve concluded that miracles don’t exist and that to err is human,” he says. “I’m quite clumsy. Sometimes I say stuff I don’t mean. I’m also the type of person who rushes into love, who says the thing that I shouldn’t.”

Personne ne touche le ciel is without a doubt a breakup album. The type of breakup that upsets everything, especially during a period as pivotal as one’s teenage years. The name Sara echoes all over the place, each iteration sounding like a pitfall, a painful memory, a raw emotion. “Sara is not someone specific,” says Fredz. “She’s my muse, maybe even my alter ego. She represents many personalities that are part of my life. Sometimes, like in ‘Sara x Concassé,’ she’s overly joyous, whereas elsewhere, like in ‘Trop tard,’ she’s dead.”

A “real” person is, however, hidden behind the tormented story behind this debut LP. “I started writing the album just after a relationship, about a year-and-a-half or two years ago,” says Fredz. “It inspired me, but not necessarily lyrics-wise, it was more on the level of my motivation and my state of mind. That person did not believe in my music when I started… So I wanted to show them that I still made it.”

With more than 300,000 views on YouTube, more than half of which stem from Francophone European countries, Fredz is indeed experiencing an impressive early career. “Everyone is surprised when they hear me speak with my Québécois accent!” he says, explaining that his so-called “international” French accent when he raps came naturally, through his influences. “I’m quite convinced I would not have been signed on E.47 Records if I had a thick Québécois accent when I rap.”

Thanks to the productions of Moonkite Beats and Tayeb, who provided the trap pop signature, with guitar-laden folk and R&B highlights, Personne ne touche le ciel is perfectly aligned with the urban music scene currently the top of the charts in France. The result is an album that sounds much lighter than its lyrics would suggest.

A good example is “Bref,” a break from the album’s melancholy, like a promise of better things to come. “I wanted to close with that song so that the album didn’t end on a negative note,” says Fredz. “It’s basically saying that even though we’ll never touch the sky, it’s still worth forging on.”

According to Tedy, boys don’t cry, but they can dream big: the songwriter recently left Montréal to get closer to Toronto’s music business, and he’s just released the Boys Don’t Cry EP after being recruited by Sony Music Canada.

Tedy has two main assets: his voice, as strident as it is sensitive, and his passionate, dramatic demeanour. He would be right at home in on Broadway – that much is immediately clear. “I think I lived through a very dramatic period in my life when I wrote these songs, you can hear it in the music,” he says. “I need to be as authentic as I can, and if that’s how it comes out, then so be it.”

Born in Haiti, Tedy grew up, for about nine years, in Florida, where he completed most of his schooling (“that’s where I spent the most time in my life, Florida has made up a large portion of who I am today”). Then he re-located to Montréal with his family, about 10 years ago. “Canada is my home,” says the nomadic musician, who’s fluent in Haitian Creole, and speaks very good French, but says that “it’s harder to speak because I think in English, and English words come to me first.”

Which is why he sings in English, even though some might detect a slight Caribbean influence, although he considers that “it wouldn’t be correct to say my style is Caribbean, but I could very well explore that in the future. Everything is possible!”

Indeed, it’s just the beginning for Tedy, who tells us how he went from anonymity to a record deal with Sony – although the concept of anonymity is relative here, seeing as he had nearly 50 million streams of his songs before being offered said contract. “I’ve always kept a low profile,” says Tedy. “I’m very insecure, to tell the truth. I’ve always stayed backstage, I’d never published a picture of myself – I preferred releasing my songs online. I wrote my songs alone, in the dark, I’d record them in my bedroom and put them online without any form of promotion. People could do what they wanted with them, I didn’t care if they knew who I am, I just wanted them to feel something thanks to my music.”

Obviously, one doesn’t sign with a major label hoping to remain in the shadows. A happy coincidence led someone at Sony to be captivated by his voice, and soon after, he was shooting music videos and giving interviews. He opened up completely, in intimate detail, with the release of his first single, “Boys Don’t Cry,” and he announced to his fans on TikTok that he’s a member of the LGBTQ+ community. The six songs on his first EP are mostly about that – the desire to assert oneself, and a different vision of masculinity. “I used to think I wasn’t able to accomplish all this,” meaning to speak with an assured voice, and sing with an even more assured one. “I feel stronger now.”

For Tedy, the way one sings is just as important as the music is when trying to tell a story. He started by singing over productions he’d find online, and would re-work some of them himself. Now, he works with designated composers and producers, most notably Torontonians Mike Wise (Ellie Goulding, The Chainsmokers) and Herag Sanbalian. “It’s a wonderful experience to work with them,” says Tedy. “For the first time, I was able to work on songs from scratch, and create something that’s very close to who I am and what I go through in life.” The songs express his vulnerability, and the despair he once felt. “[These are] songs that allow me to say who I am, how I got where I am and what I’m going through these days.”

This is a transitional EP for the musician. “Now that I got all of this pain out of my system through these songs, the next project will be more musically diverse,” says Tedy, citing Rihanna, Taylor Swift, The Weeknd, Dua Lipa, and Justin Bieber as sources of inspiration. Watch out, because he’s just getting started.

Three SOCAN members were honoured during the Soirée des artisans et du documentaire (Creators and Documentary Gala) of the 35th Gémeaux Awards on Sept. 17, 2020. Alexandra Stréliski, Michel Corriveau, and FM Le Sieur each (virtually) walked away with one of the 63 trophies that were awarded live on Facebook. And even though each of them was comfortably at home, this virtual accolade was welcomed with sincere joy, in the current context where music and television activities have almost ground to a halt.

“This was my 13th nomination. I was starting to think I’m some kind of Québécois Spielberg! I never won,” says Michel Corriveau with a laugh, after receiving the Best Original Music for a TV Series, with Les pays d’en haut.

“Right from the first season, I knew it would be quite a challenge,” says Corriveau, before adding that he’d never seen a single episode of the original version of Les pays d’en haut. “I was just a tad too young at the time. Someone told me they wanted something that would be like a ‘Québécois Western.’ I worked with guitars a lot, but not always in a classic way. I also banged on them, among other things. Then I used the lap steel as a violin, for more dramatic scenes. The directing is there to carry the vision of the writers and I, with the music, become the subtext.”

Also widely lauded was Alexandra Stréliski’s work for the not-to-be-missed series Faire œuvre utile, a project led by journalist Émilie Perreault, for which the musician won the Best Original Score for a Documentary award.

“Once art is out of the artist, it doesn’t belong to them anymore. Using art to do good in the world is something that speaks to me a lot,” says Stréliski. Faire œuvre utile takes us on a journey where, during each episode, we discover the precious link between an artist and an art consumer whose life was changed by that artist. “It seems ironic, but the trophy I won for the musical theme was the episode where I was featured to talk about my work. I swear, I didn’t compose that theme by looking in the mirror,” she giggles.

As for FM Le Sieur, he won his trophy for the Musical Theme, All Categories, with the TV series Ruptures. “The world of lawyers is very rational,” says the composer. “Mélissa Dséormeaux-Poulin, who plays the main character, has a very emotional side, and she plays it really well. I really like the duality between the power struggles, the shenanigans, and her emotional side, when she goes home and lets it re-surface.”

Carte Blanche

All three composers are very aware of the incredible liberty they were granted while working on their respective projects. “I found it important, initially, to stay close to the director so that I could find my sound palette,” says Le Sieur. “Now, after five seasons, I’m more confident of where I’m going, but that link with the crew is precious, because when you work on American series, for example, you’ll never meet the director.”

Various elements of the screenplay influence the tone of the music that will end up in each episode. For Les pays d’en haut, Season Five involved an epidemic. “It becomes one more interesting playground. Something dangerous. I’m not re-inventing the wheel, but I try to do my best. When you have a complex story, music becomes one of the beacons. I’m like the Google Maps of the storyline,” says Corriveau with amusement.

Stréliski is also very familiar with screen composing. “It’s totally different than what I do on my albums, because even when you have carte blanche, you must work within certain limits. I really love that. In this case, I had to make sure the music worked just as well in a joyous context as in a more dramatic, so I had to cover a lot of ground,” she explains.

Music: The Extra Character

Although everything we see on TV is articulated around screenplays and powerful images, music is always there to set the tone. “The challenge is to constantly tread the line between what you notice and what you don’t notice,” says Le Sieur. “There might be a scene without any dialogue, and suddenly, what we can’t see is illustrated with music. A character gazing into the void can be interpreted as a bunch of different things – and their opposites. Meaning often comes when the character’s emotions become clearer, whether they’re crying out of joy or sadness. We add something that’s not on-screen.”

“Original music is important,” says Corriveau, “because that’s what activates emotions. I heard somewhere that, contrary to what we see as images, music is wave-based, and therefore it’s more like it touches you. It’s the only element in screen productions that has a direct, physical contact with the person watching.”

He, too, believes that a character’s state of mind, or train of thought, without saying a single word, can be expressed through music. “We wield a lot f power with an original score,” he says with a laugh.

“Not all projects need a musical accent,” says Stréliski. “But a narrative that’s difficult to express through words can easily be channelled that way. It can reinforce the intention of the film or TV production. Music is there to make things clearer. It’s almost like adding a character, sometimes. It’s like salt on a steak – and I love cooking.”

Admittedly very happy to have been honoured by this trophy, she says she doesn’t depend on them, and finds them “a little awkward” in the current situation. “I was off to the loo when I won my JUNO on YouTube,” she laughs. “This is not the time to win trophies, even though they’re always great to receive. We can’t emphasize the glamorous side of it; plus we can’t meet in person. Here’s to going back to normal soon.”

You can watch the Creators and Documentary Gala of the 35th Gémeaux awards online on TOU.TV and at