By: Ashima Shukla, Staff Writer
Driving through X̱wáýx̱way (Stanley Park) this morning, I noticed something that jolted me out of my usual daze of cherry blossoms and sunkissed daydreams: trees, felled and fallen. The ones standing didn’t look much better, thin and brittle with decay. Their slow death is thanks to hemlock looper moths. Some have been removed. Others stand with abated breath, one spark away from igniting, a few moments away from decomposing and breathing new life into the soil. They stand there, witnessing their own undoing.
The quiet horror of the remaining stumps of the once majestic trees mirrors the disquiet brewing in my mind for months now. Spring time in the city is a renaissance of pink confetti and community. But one thought has always clung to me like floating pollen during these few months. Are we also standing in witness to our own undoing?
If you find yourself filled with a gnawing existential dread this spring, know that you are not alone. In the spirit of indulging in the absurdity of it all, I offer a soundtrack for sitting with your discomfort. These songs might not soothe you but they will offer you company as you look into this beautiful and broken world, and prepare for all your battles ahead.
“Fruits of Disillusion” by Yves Jarvis
To start, “Fruits of Disillusion” is a slow and meditative unraveling. Montreal-based multi-instumentalist Yves Jarvis creates music that feels like watercolour running across Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit, the famously unreadable guide to human consciousness. Whether you are sitting watching a dying tree or staring at the bumps and cracks in your ceiling, Jarvis helps you get in touch with what it feels like to watch the world bend out of shape.
“Room Full of Human Male Politicians” by Ruby Gill
Born in South Africa and raised in Australia, Ruby Gill’s music is sharpened by her classical training and feminine rage. In “Room Full of Human Male Politicians” she disarms you with acoustic guitar strings and follows it with gut-punching lyrics. At once confessional and furious, she captures the all too familiar feeling of unbelonging.
“The Big Machine” by Angélica Garcia
With Salvadoran and Mexican American heritage, Garcia stirs dread and hope with her every note. Blurring genres, “The Big Machine” combines a Latinx futurism with haunting synths in both protest and prayer. Otherworldly with hypnotic vocals, this song recalls Bob Dylan’s “jingle jangle morning” if the Tambourine man were a cyborg.
“I am a Mountain (don’t be afraid)” by Thanya Iyer
Blending jazz, chamber pop, and experimental textures, Iyer’s songs are like spells. “I am a Mountain (don’t be afraid)” offers a slow burn of revolution — a reminder that sometimes resilience is all about allowing the flow of change. Iyer invites us to ground ourselves but also to reach up, to come to terms with our fears but not be ruled by them.
“Nada” by Lido Pimienta
Colombian Canadian artist Lido Pimienta’s influences vary from traditional Indigenous to Afro Colombian, part electro to part soul. With grief and the grit of survival, “Nada” is a quiet anthem of soft and stubborn strength.
Instead of finding in the spring blossoms a mockery, let us learn from their stubborn survival. Let these songs remind you that sometimes resistance looks like embracing absurdity in the face of collapse. As Camus has said, “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.” I hope these songs help you achieve just that.
