KC Colby enjoys a perfect night of golf at Cedar Links Golf Centre
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CTV's KC Colby enjoys a perfect night of golf at Cedar Links Golf Centre on Friday.
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CBC
24 minutes ago
- CBC
How Montreal Victoire's Erin Ambrose is using fashion to stand up for the 2SLGBTQ+ community
Social Sharing In a photo shoot, Montreal Victoire defender Erin Ambrose sports a bucket hat and a grey t-shirt that shows a fist in the air, covered in a hockey glove and draped in a rainbow flag. "Be you," is written on the glove. It's an eye-catching shirt, and in her second year of creating her own Pride apparel line with CCM Hockey, it's the defender's favourite design so far. "I just think it's a very powerful thing," Ambrose said in an interview with CBC Sports. "You think of just the symbol of a fist up in the air and what that does stand for." For Ambrose, it's not just a fashion statement. The hockey-gloved fist in the air is a sign of protest, an act of standing up for a community that's increasingly been under attack over the last couple of years. It's the boldest item that's been released as part of Ambrose's collaboration with CCM Hockey so far, and one that Ambrose is proud to wear. "It's so important because as welcome as I feel in the community, as accepted as I feel in my day-to-day life, I know that I am still a minority in saying that," Ambrose said. For Ambrose, it's also a way of merging two parts of her. There's Ambrose the hockey player, an Olympic gold medallist and 2024 Defender of the Year in the PWHL. You're probably used to seeing her in Team Canada colours or a Victoire jersey. But there's also Ambrose the person, an openly gay woman who wears her heart on her sleeve, and is always thinking of ways she can make the 2SLGBTQ+ community safer for everyone. The shirts, hats and sweat suit that are part of her clothing line reflect that part of Ambrose — someone who's grown in what she wears and how she feels comfortable representing herself. Making a statement "As I've gotten older, I also am getting more comfortable wearing the rainbow around," the 31-year-old from Keswick, Ont. said. " There are still places I might think twice about it and I wish that wasn't the case. But at the same time, I have no problem walking my dog with the [Pride] graphic T-shirt on." The hints of rainbow are subtle in some of the designs, ranging from the boldness of the gloved fist to bright colours highlighted in the CCM logo. Erin Ambrose on the importance of embracing Pride in the PWHL 16 hours ago Duration 2:53 Montreal Victorie's Erin Ambrose talks about the impact of celebrating Pride and sharing her identity off the ice. But it may actually be the rainbow CCM logo, one that's historically been associated with men playing sports, that says the most. "I think it actually makes the biggest statement because CCM allowed for their logo to be put in rainbow, and we're talking about a hockey company that has been around for over 100 years," Ambrose said. "That doesn't usually happen." Ambrose was approached to create the line by Dale Williams, CCM Hockey's global sports marketing manager. The company wanted to create a Pride line and wanted Ambrose, who CCM Hockey describes as "a force who's transforming her sport," to be the face of it. Year 1 was about creating the basics, but Year 2 of the line takes it a step further. "With the 2025 Erin Ambrose 23 collection, we wanted to bring hockey into a space where it hasn't traditionally had a strong presence," said Marrouane Nabih, CCM Hockey's CEO. "It goes beyond the rink, showcasing authenticity, style and a sense of belonging." A life-changing fan interaction The league launched at a time when the NHL moved away from wearing custom jerseys for Pride and other causes, and for a brief time, barred players from using Pride tape in warmups. But the PWHL is different. A significant number of players in the league are part of the 2SLGBTQ+ community. Some, like Ambrose, Boston Fleet forward Jamie Lee Rattray and Ottawa Charge forward Emily Clark, have used their platforms to advocate for the community they are part of. It's created a different atmosphere at PWHL games. Last year, a fan drove from New York to Montreal for that team's Pride game. They dressed in a full rainbow onesie, which caught Ambrose's eye. She gave them a puck and tracked them down after the game to give them a stick, too. That fan later wrote Ambrose a letter to say how much that night changed their life. "It was such a little moment, but I was like, no, this is actually way bigger than just one fan making the drive because I know they're not the only person that would feel more comfortable coming to a PWHL game than an NHL game," she said. When a teenaged Ambrose was rising through the hockey ranks and struggling with her own sexuality, she couldn't have imagined her favourite player wearing Pride gear. As she progressed in hockey, she's been around more teammates who are out and open. She thinks about how much of a difference that might have made for players years ago. She can't go back in time, but she knows she has an ability and a platform now to help other people feel more comfortable or even just develop more understanding.
CBC
28 minutes ago
- CBC
How music fuelled, and was fuelled by, the No Kings protests
If you were online last week, you probably saw footage from the No Kings protests. The gigantic demonstration against U.S. President Donald Trump took place across the United States and portions of Canada — but was connected by one prevailing aspect: music. There was Les Miserables 's rousing Do You Hear the People Sing?, sung by a crowd in Auburn, Calif. There was Bella Ciao — a lesser-known piece strongly linked to the Italian anti-fascist movement of the 1940s — performed by a brass band to drown out counter-protesters in Atlanta. And there was a raft of other music, new and old, by musicians looking to tie themselves to the No Kings demonstrations. "There's a fascinating mixture of new music as well as old songs being brought back into the mix," said Benjamin Tausig, an associate professor of critical music studies at New York's Stony Brook University. It's "inspiring people in the context of protest at this moment." That's because of music's inextricable connection to — and ability to inspire — political action, he says. When used in a specific way, some songs can become almost irresistible calls to action. And the beginning of protest movements often fundamentally alter both what music we are exposed to, and what music artists choose to release, says Tausig. But when it comes to protest music, not all songs are created equal, says Noriko Manabe, chair of Indiana University's department of music theory and co-editor of the upcoming Oxford Handbook of Protest Music. And the way that we engage with that music, she says, speaks to why some of the most widespread songs used at recent protests have been older, less traditionally popular tunes. Songs like Bella Ciao, Do You Hear the People Sing? or even The Star-Spangled Banner — which had moments of its own at the protests — tend to be of a specific type, she says. They are "participatory" versus "presentational." While presentational music is meant for one skilled performer, participatory music, like other iconic protest songs such as We Shall Overcome, is not. It's "more repetitive so that people can more easily join in," she said. "Whether or not they're virtuosic is actually not the point. The point is to get as many people involved as possible." And with participation, she says, comes ideology. "The idea of moving vocal cords and muscles together, where you have to listen to other people and feel their movements — " Manabe said. "Just the act of voicing it itself makes you feel that this is part of your belief system." Co-opted music Tausig says that participatory aspect can even eclipse what the song is actually about. Historically, he says, the most popular protest songs tend to be co-opted, with no direct or apparent connection to any political movement. That's because the cultural iconography associated with them tends to hold more weight. Kendrick Lamar and Beyonce became very important in the Black Lives Matter movement, for example. "Their songs didn't even specifically have to address Black Lives Matter to still become really effective at mobilizing people," he said. Some songs are even adopted by movements they seem to be explicitly against. For example, Tausig notes, Bruce Springsteen's Born in the U.S.A., about a disillusioned Vietnam War veteran, was famously referenced in a 1984 campaign speech by U.S. President Ronald Reagan. More recently, Creedence Clearwater Revival's draft-dodging ditty Fortunate Son was played at a military parade, prompting speculation over whether it was either a form of protest or due to a common misinterpretation of the song's meaning. In both cases, he says, what the song appeared to represent was more important than what it actually said. A long history But even still, songs being used by both sides of a political debate have a long history in protest music, Manabe says. Going back to Britain in the 1600s, warring factions of Royalists and Parliamentarians would disseminate "broadsheets": large pieces of paper with often-rhyming lyrics in support of their side. But to make sure they were easy to remember, they would be set to well-known tunes. That resulted in "contrafacta": each side singing the same "song," though with completely different words supporting completely different ideals. That phenomenon continues to today. Manabe points to protests in Hong Kong in 2014, when both defenders and critics of the democracy movement used Do You Hear the People Sing? Meanwhile, rock, country, EDM and hip-hop artists seemingly jumped on the bandwagon to release or re-release their political music, creating musical touchstones and viral moments in the protests themselves. Arkansas folk musician Jesse Welles, who crafted social media fame by releasing songs tied to the news, debuted a new track No Kings which has already racked up over 150,000 views on YouTube. In Salt Lake City, EDM musician Subtronics added a "No Kings" section to his performance, gaining over two million views on TikTok. Meanwhile, the Dropkick Murphys, Soundgarden and Pavement have all made posts connecting their music, old and new, to the protests — along with Canadian Grammy-winner Allison Russell, lesser known blues, country and bluegrass musicians and even an AI hip-hop track simply titled No Kings that's amassed over 750,000 views on YouTube. "Expressing dissent or resistance to authority through nonviolence is one of the most potent weapons that we can wield," said Canadian musician Jordan Benjamin (known artistically as Grandson) who also released new music directly tied to the No Kings protests. From an artist's standpoint, the sudden swell makes sense: given the cyclical nature of pop culture, music that may have seemed old-fashioned or out of step has suddenly become more in demand. And at the beginning of such changes in direction, Tausig says, which songs will define that movement becomes an important question.
CBC
28 minutes ago
- CBC
This Inuit drum dancing group is recovering music traditions that were almost lost
Sophie Agnatok and Ashley Dicker have known each other for decades. Today, they're closer than ever — in more ways than one. "We're right in each other's faces," Agnatok said, referring to how, as throat singing partners, they perform up close to one another. "It's really intimate, and it requires so much focus and so much connection." Dicker's first memories of Agnatok go back to their childhood in Nain, Nunatsiavut, an Inuit-governed region in northern Labrador. "When I was a young girl, I would break into Sophie's bedroom with my best friend, who was her sister, and I would steal her perfume," Dicker said, laughing. Agnatok and Dicker are members of Kilautiup Songuninga, which translates to "strength of the drum." They're the first Inuit drum dancing and throat singing group to come out of St. John's. Agnatok is now the group's president. As a founding member, she has been part of the group for nineteen years. Dicker joined four years ago. "Before we even had Ashley, I'd been dying and dying for a throat singing partner. I finally got one," said Agnatok. "I'm very, very lucky to have her." Women at heart of Inuit drum dance revival 3 hours ago Duration 6:18 For the six members of Kilautiup Songuninga, community is part of its draw. "It's hard for Inuit to gather here," Dicker said. She moved to St. John's eight years ago and joining the group has helped her combat homesickness. "It's so good to be somewhere [you can be yourself], or with people you could be yourself with." Reclaiming culture Kilautiup Songuninga also helps its members recover aspects of their culture that many of them grew up without access to. "When we had started, we did not know our traditions, it wasn't brought up. We weren't taught our songs, we were taught church music," Agnatok said. Throat singing and drum-dancing were feared and banned by Moravian missionaries who saw it as devil worship. In place of traditional Inuit music, they forced the adoption of brass instruments and choral singing. Agnatok was raised by her grandmother, herself a throat singer. That legacy inspired Agnatok, though her grandmother did not teach her the practice. "I was cleaning up one day and I found this newspaper clipping, and it was my grandmother. She was here [in Newfoundland] for the Folk Festival back in 1984. And I'm like, wow," Agnatok said. Dicker's journey into traditional music was ignited by a similar passion for revitalizing her culture. She never saw her grandparents or other elders in her community practising their musical traditions. "I wanted our elders to see us … I wanted them to see us being proud and fighting to take it back — and being proud for ourselves, but especially for the people who weren't allowed to be proud of themselves." Learning process Growing up, Agnatok saw the Nain Drum Dancers reclaiming drum dancing in her hometown. She points to Nunatsiavut becoming self-governed in 2005 as an inciting moment for further reconnection to Inuit culture, including through Kilautiup Songuninga. Learning techniques and songs that were almost lost comes with its share of challenges for the group. They rely on a variety of sources, including CDs, the internet and Inuit knowledge keepers to build their repertoire. "It can be a little bit hard, trying to get the technique down and get the right music down," Agnatok said. Language, in particular, can be a hurdle. "A lot of our members … we're not full Inuit speakers like a lot of our ancestors are, or even some of our elders now," Agnatok said. "But we want to make sure we sing properly when we do sing in Inuktitut, our mother tongue." 'Inuk to the core' Over almost two decades, Kilautiup Songuninga's linuep has changed. Last December, founding member Solomon Semigak died. "He was just special," said Danny Pottle, who was invited to join the group in 2004. "Taught us with patience, with skill, and he was just an all around good guy. You just couldn't ask for a better person than Solomon. He was Inuk to the core." Agnatok remembers Semigak as a strong Inuktitut speaker, a diplomatic group president, and her once right-hand man. "We drum on. We still talk about him," Agnatok said. "I know he would be so proud of all of us, believe me. And with his niece joining the drum group, that's a big thing too." New member Sophie Semigak joined the group early this year, in memory of her uncle. "He was like a father to me," she said. "He walked me down the aisle, too, when I got married. So he's very, very special to me." Agnatok says Semigak would be proud to see his niece drumming.
