Through our new series of stories, Visual Arts X Music, we aim to present you with visual artists for whom music plays an essential role, in both their artistic approach, and their lives.

What’s the first album that had a profound impact on the artist known as Pony? Gabrielle Laïla Tittley was 10 when she bought – with her own money! – Jay-Z’s Vol. 2… Hard Knock Life (1998).

Why did it have such an impact on her? ‘Cause it’s Jay-Z (obviously), but also because one of her childhood’s favourite movies – the musical Annie (1982) – is set in an orphanage during the Great Depression, and her mother is an orphan, which establishes a kind of link: As you may remember, the rapper sampled the movie’s “It’s a Hard Knock Life” ditty for his own “Hard Knock Life (Ghetto Anthem).”

“A major part of my artistic approach is rooted in that song,” says Tittley, whose pre-teen enthusiasm remains intact. “There’s a magical combination of contrasts between the dude who comes from a tough background and says, ‘Here’s my reality, I sell drugs,’ and then you move on to the super up-beat chorus. There’s a resemblance with what I do: I want to talk about real shit, but with happy colours.”

What’s the place of music in Tittley’s life? “I’m like the Robin to the person I aspire to be,” she explains with a laugh, comparing herself to Batman’s sidekick. What does that mean, exactly? Gabrielle’s analogy means that she has already dreamed of herself as a rock star, ruling a compacted and screaming crowd. But since it’s often wiser not to go against the talents life has bestowed on us, Pony instead became, right in high school (in Gatineau), the ally of choice of her musician friends – their Robin! – for whom she’s been designing posters, flyers, and other promotional materials since the age of 16.

Whereas, at that time, it was the pop-punk stylings of Blink-182, Sum 41, and The Offspring, or even the hardcore of Poison the Well, that rocked Tittley’s headphones, it’s the incendiary rock of Le Nombre that was the soundtrack of her arrival in Montréal when she turned 18. “I was completely ob-ses-sive about Le Nombre,” she says, clearly separating the adjective’s syllables.

She scours her fuzzy memory to try to remember some paintings directly inspired by the organized chaos of Le Nombre’s recordings. “They were huge paintings,” says Tittley. “There was one with an orange Marshall amp.. the amp was open and inside it were…  organs? I can’t remember what lyric it was referring to. There was another one with a zebra-headed human. That was a reference to “Tous ceux de ma race.”

Around that time, the painter began writing down the title of the song that was the soundtrack to the long birth of a painting – “When I’m really into a song, I’ll listen to nothing else for days,” she says.

PONY album covers

It was only a matter of time before she started getting commissions for album cover art, and she immediately embraced this stimulating exercise for the likes of Brixton Robbers, Travelling Headcase, Le Husky, L’Indice, and Bravofunken. The illustration she imagined in 2013 for Ultrapterodactyl’s Quand une mascotte saigne EP couldn’t better summarize Pony’s vision of the world. It’s both jovial and violent, childlike and tragic: on the right side of the image, a blond girl holds the head of a dinosaur mascot, while on the left side of the image, the dinosaur mascot stands, decapitated and bleeding profusely. The rabbit on the cover of Manger du bois (2012) by Canailles deserves to be examined closely: each of its hairs rests on a distinct lead pencil stroke.

In 2016, Pony received the Lucien award for the Album Cover of the Year for Le temps f33l by CRABE, and in 2020, she was nominated at the Gala de l’ADISQ in the same category for Robert Nelson’s Nul n’est roé en son royaume. The first season of the series Résiste ! (which she hosts on TV5) sees her meeting with different musicians, including the Montréal-based rapper Nate Husser, for whom she’ll soon direct a music video.

Pony, Vincent Peake, Groovy Aardvark

Photo: Marc-Étienne Mongrain

During one episode of her own series of shows L’amour passe à travers le linge (whose goal is the feature the work of some of her illustrator peers through the creation of t-shirts sold for the benefit of various charitable organizations) Tittley briefly realized her rock-star ambition and stepped on stage with the band Groovy Aardvark.

“Vincent [Peake] knew that “Ingurgitus” is my all-time favourite song of theirs,” she says. “When he invited me up, everyone was screaming like there was a murder going on, I couldn’t understand what was happening. It was the dream of all my friends, we’re all Groovy fans. Normally I’m super-shy on stage, but that night I gave it my all.”

Does she have a fantasy collaboration with a musician? “I’d love to direct a music video for an old Jean Leloup song,” she says, “maybe Fashion Victim,’ but, like, a thousand years later. Creatively, he’s one of the people I admire the most. I’ve always loved stuff that is out of the ordinary and fucks with standards.”

The Weather Station might be the perfect name for Tamara Lindeman’s musical entity. She’s had her antennae up, listening intently to what’s going on in the world, and translating big climatic shifts into human terms – through songs about strained personal relationships.

Lindeman’s latest album, Ignorance, has hit a bullseye, receiving widespread and high critical acclaim, from the New York Times saying she evokes thoughts of Joni Mitchell; to The Guardian deeming Ignorance a “heartbroken masterpiece”; to Pitchfork calling the record “stunning” and “unforgettable.” And indeed, it’s musically adventurous, with lyrics that refer to our feelings of shame and obliviousness about the climate crisis, as well as our inability to really communicate with each other.

“I think this record has touched a nerve,” says Lindeman. “It’s powerful when ideas and emotions are out there and we all resonate with the same things. I wasn’t sure at first whether the songs were about personal feelings, or feelings I was soaking up from people around me, or from society as a whole. But as I wrote, I realized that it was often all three, and that it was a positive thing to maintain in the lyrics.”

The album opener, “Robber,” addresses the way environmental devastation becomes almost accepted while we’re not paying attention. “The robber don’t hate you,” she sings, “he had permission by laws, permission of banks.”

“I think it’s true,” she says. “The robbers I was thinking of don’t even consider their actions to be negative. We like to find a villain, but that song asks, what if no one is really bad but bad things are still happening? How do we deal with that? Do we need to find a villain that looks like a villain? Maybe we don’t – maybe we just need to contend with what is occurring.”

Lindeman points out that some of the songs might also reference other political issues, like residential schools, or living through the Trump administration. “In naming the album Ignorance I wanted to be a bit confrontational,” she says. “Colonialism is the same as racism and sexism. It’s all learned, false ignorance, imagining that you know what another human being is, or what a piece of land is for. It was difficult not to feel a connection between [Trumpism] and the way people experienced romantic relationships, women in particular. It laid bare all these dynamics that we’ve been accepting for far too long. And to me, it’s all part of the same cultural narrative of silence and learned helplessness.”

““It’s powerful when ideas and emotions are out there and we all resonate with the same things”

The deceptively upbeat “Separated” reflects the lack of real communication Lindeman noticed on Twitter. “We can’t talk to each other,” she says. “The whole point of communication and understanding is absent from these places where we’re having conversations. So I was thinking of all the things that were separated and wrote a list, and it was a good, hooky rhythmic line, but it’s a description of all the ways that we refuse to understand each other.”

 Ignorance also represents a sea change in Lindeman’s music, from guitar-based folk to a broader palette that references ‘70s soft-rock and pop, and features keyboards, drum machines, and even a beautiful, jazzy sax solo by Brodie West.

“When I started writing on guitar, I felt like I was just going with the same chord changes and falling into old habits, and when I switched to piano it woke up my creative mind in a positive way and I found it really exciting and fun again,” says Lindeman. “Using the drum machine really opened up the idea of an album with aspects of ‘70s and ‘80s pop music.

 I’ve never really understood the point of genres,” she adds. “I sort of sew a crazy quilt out of different pieces that remind me of different genres. And I like pushing things together, for example a drum style that’s almost like dance music, and strings that remind me of chamber pop, and guitars that remind me of rock. Having them all together is a nice way to achieve an esthetic richness.”

Holding it all together is Lindeman’s voice, a soft soprano that puts a gentle spin on even the darker themes. “I really leaned into that,” she says. “I never learned the skill of singing loudly, I find it difficult and uncomfortable. So I’ve always sung quietly, and I love it because I have this expression in my voice that’s kind of my signature. On the last record I was trying to make my voice say a bunch of stuff emotionally, but on this one I felt like I let my voice sit more softly, and had the instruments express things I can’t embody with my voice.”

Lil Berete is a young veteran. In conversation, a few days before his 20th birthday, the Toronto rapper is discussing the deluxe version of his latest mixtape, Icebreaker 2 (released April 9, 2021). “Y’all can expect some upgraded body work from Lil Berete, for sure,” he says, explaining the difference from the original version of the release, which dropped a couple of months before. “My [original Icebreaker 2] tape was literally me explaining what I went through, what I go through, on a day-to-day type shit. This deluxe is all about vibes. It’s meant for a lot of street people, yeah, but they’re not meant to be street anthems. The songs that’s on the deluxe, I put it on there for the clubs. Every song on the deluxe I want it to be bumped in the club.”

Icebreaker 2 follows a steady stream of single releases that Lil Berete has been releasing over the past year or so, achieving more than 50 million cumulative streams, 20 million-plus on YouTube alone. After a succession of local and international singles with the new generation of U.K. artists (Loski, Nafe Smallz, Headie One, Deno), Lil Berete has really started to cement his status as an internationally known artist.

Icebreaker 2 is a nominal sequel to Icebreaker, his 2018 mixtape, that was released when he was just 17. At that point, the MC, who hails from Toronto’s Regent Park neighbourhood, was signed to U.K.-based label XL Recordings, most widely known for signing and ushering Adele to superstardom. But Icebreaker 2 is an independent project, as his connection with the label has now been severed, prompting a jarring new perspective.

“I learned how to keep my cool,” says Lil Berete. “I learned how to learn how to save money. When I got out the deal, it was a whole different life. Like, I didn’t know the feeling of being in a jail, and not being in a jail right after… I learned how to maintain myself and keep focused. Throughout that shit, I still made music. I learned so much in the industry, like owning your masters. I learned about stuff you don’t even know, but I don’t want to give out free game like that. I just know what I’m doing when it comes to being in the present.”

“My whole neighbourhood thought I was God, but I go through personal and financial shit, too”

That idea of staying in the moment has also translated to Lil Berete’s creative process. “It’s more natural, it’s updated,” he says. “I might write some shit two or three weeks ago. I go on and put the beat on now and it’s, like, I don’t see it the same way anymore… But if I go in the studio today, and talk my shit today, and I notice a couple of months later when I hear the song again, and it’s, like, ‘Oh, this is crazy, I was pissed that day, you know.’ I remember the day I made that song. But when you write the song, and it could be some time afterwards to go in the studio, and it was two, three, four, or five days ago, I’m not gonna feel the same way.”

Consequently, Lil Berete’s writing process has changed, since he’s largely discarded using his phone, or a pen, to write lyrics, and he’s confident that he’s improved as a songwriter as a result. “You know when someone perfects their voice?” he asks rhetorically. “It was like that type of feel. I didn’t know what type of rapper I wanted to be, I didn’t know if I wanted to be a straight rap, straight bars guy, or a guy with a crazy voice. I found what I’m comfortable with, basically.”

On Icebreaker 2, Lil Berete’s often modulated voice weaves melodically through tracks like his recent single “War Ready,” and “Painallgo” – a melodic sense which he says comes naturally to him through his mother, Cheka Katenen Dioubate, a Guinean Djeli singer whose Manding culture encourages the generational inheritance of musicianship. “I don’t worry about melody,” says Lil Berete. “Melody comes naturally to me. My mom was a singer, her tradition was as a griot, so melodies are already there. A lot of people think, this guy has crazy melodies. But they don’t really understand what I’m trying to say. Once you do understand what I’m trying to say, it’s a different feeling.”

In his music, Lil Berete shows fierce pride and loyalty to his friends from the Regent Park neighbourhood, Canada’s oldest social housing area, whose residents have historically been systemically marginalized, and have recently faced the major upheaval of gentrification. Consequently, the young rapper knows that even his past ability to score a record deal in the U.K., and shoot videos in St. Vincent, is tempered with a sobering reality that’s reflected in his music, and drives him to persevere.

“I feel like the guy, I come back with a whole new mentality, I put hope in them and show them that they can do it too,” says Lil Berete, reflecting on the return to his neighbourhood after his travels. “But one thing, though, that when I came back from all of that, my whole neighbourhood thought I was God. But they don’t even know, I go through personal and financial shit, too. They don’t know I go through that shit, too. So, it’s just hard when people think you’re the guy, but you’re not that guy yet.”