Status/Non-Status (formerly WHOOP-Szo) music has frequently explored Sturgeon’s complicated relationship to his Indigenous identity and the effects of Canada’s ongoing settler-colonial project, often through the experiences of those in his family; adopting the name Status/Non-Status ahead of the release of new EP 1, 2, 3, 4, 500 Years this past May, he now centres the project as a circumstance of his grandfather’s decision to enfranchise in order to support his family by joining the Canadian Armed Forces and become a Canadian citizen, the government’s term for the legal process of surrendering one’s and one’s family’s legal claim to Indigenous status under the Indian Act.

After the pandemic shut down in-person interaction, Toronto creative agency Somewherelse created HUH, a new platform that lets audiences explore art all over the world, filtered by city and mood.

On Poolblood’s latest offering “My Little Room,” Maryam Said spins an unadorned acoustic rumination cataloguing the feelings and behaviours related to the challenges of interacting with a reduced environment. It’s all just a matter of time.

Tea Base has emerged as a defiant space holder for members of Toronto’s Pan-Asian diaspora and an incubator for community activism, all while hawking tea curated by local sommeliers.

Ten years ago, Frosty Valentine left an anthropomorphic mouse-shaped hole in the cartoon industry. Working a thankless grind in the less glamorous recesses of animation recording studios, she burned out on contract work ghost singing for a series of movies and television shows. With no spotlight to call her own, she called it quits, consulted a psychic, and started plotting her return.

The music Anna Yarmamedova makes as Annacetaminophen is automatic and of distant means. Feverish and desolate, the project’s self-titled debut plays out like a horror movie set in a hospital, words and production processed through generative patches Yarmamedova developed on MaxMSP. 

While alien bleeps call out as if through featureless hallways and click tracks build tension like leadened IV drips, the words Yarmamedova invokes through detatched gasps of electronic processing land like echoes from visits with doctors and social workers: “rejection,” “panic,” “light-headed,” “dysphoria.”