By: Ashima Shukla, Staff Writer
Tenise Marie, a BC singer-songwriter of Assyrian, French, and British descent, is set to release her newest album, Off the Record, on July 11. I listened to an advance recording of her songs and found myself on an unexpected journey of belonging, grief, and adventure.
Marie’s album chronicles her full self, in all its multitudes and contradictions, and subverts expectations. With a soulful voice that brought to mind the first time I fell in love with Joan Baez, Off The Record is primarily acoustic folk with elements of pop, soul, country, and punk. It travels across time and space, combining beautifully layered harmonies and the richness of Middle Eastern musical traditions.
In this deeply personal offering to the world, the album is added a degree of depth and unpredictability due to Marie’s references to her background. These included living in the tight-knit Quaker community of Argenta, BC, and her soul-searching travels from Modesto, California, to her Assyrian homeland in Iraq. “I wanted this album to capture this entire chapter of my life,” Marie said, “it embraces the complexity of my humanity.”
I have spent much of my life moving — from the soft chaos of New Delhi to the humid rain of Dhaka, tai-chi mornings in Shanghai, the hurried rhythm of Hong Kong, and now find myself under the gentle clouds of Burnaby. Each place has mattered in the becoming of me. Tenise’s album holds this feeling of liminality with care. It is about all that has mattered in the becoming of her: the places and her experiences there, her desires and sorrows, the musical influences she was exposed to.
“Ashoureta,” for example, means “Assyrian woman,” and was written after she returned home from a transformative journey to her maternal homeland. Following the Assyrian lyrics from “Mother,” Marie sings of Ramadan, “Chai and Fairuz,” and a “Lamassu at the market.” In these echoes of lives and voices, she both takes us to Assyria with her and brings it to us.
But track four, “Aegean Sea” was what left me completely undone. Inspired by the short film Dear Mother, it is an epitaph for Huda Hussein Anda, a fictional Somali woman seeking asylum in Greece. It captures her fear of being pushed back by the authorities, but also her prayer for salvation to the sounds of the oud. By the end, it pictures the final resting place of an olive grove, evoking the ongoing genocide in the occupied territories of Palestine.
And just when you think you’ve understood the theme of this album, it shifts into stories of heartbreak and wildfires in Argenta, road trips in BC and California, and a lasting longing for adventure. Hidden in these personal stories are deep themes: the suffering of refugees, the grief and loss of the climate crisis, a nostalgia and hope for better futures.
Although she plays with divergent genres and instruments, Marie maintains a consistent style throughout the album. The songs flow smoothly from one to another, moving between places and stories. Like looking into a mirror, it offers solace to all of us who have a home everywhere and nowhere. Listening to Marie’s tender but powerful voice, I felt at once weightless and deeply rooted.
Off the Record doesn’t offer a resolution. There is no final arrival. And that is its beauty. Like the memories and feelings we carry with us, this album becomes a kind of home. Not fixed, but held close. Not permanent, but beloved. It is a reminder that belonging doesn’t have to be about staying still. Like a quiet late night conversation with oneself, Tenise’s vulnerability in this album is so deeply human. In the ache of in-betweeness, it offers companionship to those wandering, with gentle encouragement to find solace in the journey.
