William Prince
Gospel First Nation
William Prince’s Gospel First Nation is an incred
ibly complicated record that sounds like a summer breeze. Raised in Peguis First Nation, Prince comes from a long line of preachers and his latest is a careful and subtle navigation of his Christian upbringing and the significant role that the church has played in attempting to eliminate Indigenous identity.
It’s a tricky and, to many, a likely impossible gulf to bridge. But Prince seems acutely aware that his formative associations with church and prayer are perhaps an outlier among Indigenous people, and the crux of Gospel First Nation is that friction.
But to hear Prince sing it, it doesn’t sound much like friction at all. For all the painful histories and social intricacies at the heart of this record, it feels as though Prince has found some sort of solace at his spot between worlds. Gospel First Nation is his attempt to give this in-between place a song. Prince is one of Canada’s finest living songwriters — capable of softening even the hardest truth into a warm reassurance.
However, Gospel First Nation finds him mostly singing the words of others, with only three tracks penned by Prince himself, one being the waltzing “When Jesus Needs an Angel,” which was written when Prince was only 14. Those familiar with Prince’s first record of 2020, the beautiful Reliever, won’t be surprised by any of the music on Gospel First Nation. These are gospel songs in spirit more than execution, with Prince leaning into his classic country sound more completely than before. He bathes his unfussy arrangements in gentle strings, brushed percussion and glittering threads of pedal steel; when a choir does appear, it’s soft and supportive, a whisper from the reeds rather than a shout from the mountaintop.
Unsurprisingly, the best song here is one of Prince’s own. The title track, with its complicated sense of faith and beautiful lyrics — “You could sit for hours and / Only hear the sound of / The trees keeping the lake and sky apart” — is the record’s unquestionable peak. Gospel First Nation is a lovely record, one that raises difficult questions without ever asking them directly. It’s a document of one man’s relationship to family and faith, of reclamation, and of history and the unknown, suggesting that perhaps everything is connected after all. (Six Shooter)
There are bands who have built entire 30-plus-year careers off hashing out the same music again and again, and legions of fans who haven’t had any problem with it. There are scenes and subgenres whose groups have all had similar musical tendencies, aesthetics and even lyrical content.
Every now and again, however, a band comes along unlike anyone else. One such band transcending the boundaries of metal and taking the genre in strange new directions are Toronto’s Völur. On their third album, Death Cult, the avant-garde doom trio seem to have found their footing and developed their sound, resulting in a truly unique and utterly immersive listening experience. It may be difficult to imagine heavy metal without guitars — but with only bass, drums and violin, Völur not only make it work, but also create music that would be criminal to label as merely one style. Among the heavy doom stomps and sinister growled vocals, there are elements of jazz, folk, classical and even opera.
Delivering four tracks over nearly 40 minutes, once Death Cult reaches the end, it does feel like it could have been longer, but only because of how enjoyable a listen it is; the record could be twice as long and still not have grown stale. Each individual track feels like its own journey — particularly the immensely climactic, 11-minutelong “Freyjan Death Cult.”
The best part about what Völur have done with Death Cult is its ability to challenge what the metal umbrella can encompass. This is an album that will undoubtedly be loved by doom fans, but it has enough versatility to fit within the tastes of many non-metal listeners as well. (Prophecy) splitting vocal duties with keyboardist Rebecca Gray. “YGTT,” another highlight, with funky bass lines laid down by James Younger, sounds something akin to if Canadian soul hero Remy Shand were to front British trip-hop legends Massive Attack.
Keyboard theatrics and pop studio trickery aside, the record shines best with a less-is-more approach, where the band’s focus is straight-ahead and song-centric; this is evidenced on tracks like “Your Heart’s My Home,” “Get Precious” and “Big Black Cloud.”
On Vindicator, Yukon Blonde are an outfit who continue to evolve and experiment with their overall sonic palette, even though they have a tendency to be a little overzealous. When the keyboard pyrotechnics are on point, they add beauty and definition, but when they are too far to the front of the mix, they can overshadow the brilliance of the songwriting lying just below the surface.
In an age of boring, watered down, corporate, vanilla, focus-group engineered pop-rock shenanigans, it’s cool to hear a group like Yukon Blonde still taking educated risks and maintaining the same punk DIY credos that put them on the Canadian musical map in the first place. (Dine Alone)