By: Jonah Lazar, Staff Writer
Content warning: description of residential schools.
Tanya Tagaq, one of the most critically acclaimed Inuit artists, released her eighth studio album on March 6. Tagaq is known for her highly political music, which often explores colonialism and the residential school system. Through her experimental and avant-garde style (a genre that transcends traditional musical conventions) that melds Inuit throat singing with electronic and metal influences, Tagaq has built a dynamic reputation.
Her new album, Saputjiji, carries on this legacy. The opening track of this record, “Fuck War,” throws the listener into a chaotic, cathartic repetition of the words “fuck war” set overtop of raspy screams which colour the background, just about held together by the rhythmic pulses of the drum. Tagaq’s screams barely have stopped ringing out by the time I’m tossed into the belly of another frenetic, enraged ballad crying out against violence and war. These songs are again set over a cacophony of Inuit throat singing reminiscent of something from Slipknot, creating a wall of vehement fury.
The strongest part of this album for me is the stark atmospheric change in the midpoint of this record with the fourth track, “When They Call.” In a departure from the previous themes surrounding colonization and war, the middle of this album focuses in on the suicide crisis in Inuit communities, whose suicide rates are nine times higher than non-Indigenous populations, according to Statistics Canada. The song slowly builds through a beautifully dissonant string ensemble interlaced with several layers of Tagaq’s hauntingly droning vocal, together creating a powerful background for her grim lyrics addressing suicide in these northern communities.
This track seeps seamlessly into the fifth track of the record, “Exit Wound,” which trades the strings for piano while continuing along the same themes. “Ikualajut” follows, with Tagaq’s trademark spoken word style briefly touching on the pain caused by residential schools, with lyrics such as, “We eat our puke off a residential school dining room floor.”
For me, this track seems to conclude the more mellow part of the album, with themes in the latter half of this record appearing scattered and less developed than in its first half-dozen tracks. Short, experimental tracks trickle out of the end of this album, with dizzying arrangements set within radio static, chanting, and animal cries combined with distorted rhythms of Tagaq’s panicked breathing. These arhythmic interludes felt as though they were grasping out for a ballad to anchor themselves around, however no such ballad was delivered. The concluding track of Saputjiji did offer some respite from the disordered nature of the preceding tracks, which set Tagaq’s Inuit throat singing over an Aphex Twin-style robotic drone.
If you’re looking for a chilled out album to put on in the background while you cook, or something calm when your pals come over, this definitely isn’t the record for the occasion.
if you’re looking to delve into a record that captures the vehement fury and angst swirling around the north of so-called “Canada,” Saputjiji is for you.
