Watch Aqyila's soulful performance of Bloom at the 2025 Juno Awards
Watch her moving and soulful performance above.
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Global News
a day ago
- Global News
Record stores, radio specials and other things I miss about the old music industry
Today's music industry has almost no resemblance to the olden days. Streaming, social media, audience consumption habits, music discovery and live performances have been irrevocably changed. In retrospect, the hinge point was the release of the original Napster into the wild on June 1, 1999. The digital age of music, which had already begun, albeit slowly, would quickly explode into a wildfire that an unprepared — and frankly, willfully ignorant — music industry couldn't contain. It took about 15 years for them to adapt to doing business in a vastly different way. There's a lot about today's music industry to love, the primary one being instant access to some 200 million songs via the streaming music services for free (if you use Spotify) and something very close to it for everyone else. No more travelling through time and space to pick up that new album by your favourite artist. Streaming is, by 20th-century standards, indistinguishable from magic and witchcraft. Story continues below advertisement We're never going back to the old ways, nor should we. But there are things I miss about the olden days. Here's my personal list. Anticipation for album releases Record labels used to spend weeks setting up the release of an album. It began with an announcement that 'Artist X' had completed a record that would be available in stores on such-and-such a date. While fan anticipation built, artist interviews would be set up with music journalists, mostly in person, at radio and TV stations, newspapers and magazines, to tease what was coming up. In other cases, journalists of all stripes would be flown in for face time for a day or two to someplace like L.A., New York, Nashville or London. All this was done weeks in advance to meet publication deadlines and for radio stations to produce album release specials for their listeners. As someone who attended a lot of these junkets, it was impossible not to get caught up in the excitement of the release of a new album. We were the first to hear the record, which made us feel rather special. Today, 99 per cent of such junkets are extinct. Instead, we're doing all promo interviews via Zoom — which is fine, but it's never a complete substitute for being in the same room as someone. A couple of weeks ahead of an album appearing in stores, a radio promo single would show up at the radio station, often without notice. For the next while, the only place a fan could hear that song was by listening to the radio. A week out from release day, that single might show up in stores — or not. It all depended on the label's marketing plans. Radio stations, however, would get a copy of the record so we could produce the album release special. And boy, the paranoid security around handing over a still-unreleased album was intense. Story continues below advertisement Finally, the public had its shot. In those days, new albums appeared in stores on Tuesdays. If the artist was big enough, stores would open at 12:01 a.m. to begin selling the album to fans who had sometimes lined up outside for hours so they could be the first among their friends to hear this new music. Such events often came with plenty of hoopla, including special swag and prizes. Get breaking National news For news impacting Canada and around the world, sign up for breaking news alerts delivered directly to you when they happen. Sign up for breaking National newsletter Sign Up By providing your email address, you have read and agree to Global News' Terms and Conditions and Privacy Policy The mystery of the import release Before the internet allowed music to flow around the world at the speed of light, things were extremely compartmentalized by territory. Take, for example, an album released by a big British artist. It might take several weeks for anyone in North America to have a chance to buy the U.K. release locally. All we could do on this side of the Atlantic was read about the album and count down the days until marketing made it available in North America. Short of having someone mail a copy, there was no way we could know what the U.K. was already listening to. Some local stores imported records ahead of the North American release — something that annoyed local branches of the label — but they were extremely expensive to purchase. The fans who shelled out the cash were heroes among their friends. If you had such a friend, you would go to their house with all your other buddies to experience the music ahead of 95 per cent of everyone else. Story continues below advertisement Annoying as this might have been, this only added to the mystique of the new album. Record company promotions Before 2000, money flowed like water in the music industry, thanks to the fat margins on compact discs. Not only did radio stations and video channels benefit from advertising buys for new albums (usually a co-opted deal with a record chain like HMV, Sam the Record Man or Music World), but these broadcasters partnered with labels for everything from giveaways to trips to see a band in some far-flung city. This still happens, but nowhere near as frequently as it used to. Promo releases Special promotional copies of vinyl and CD were manufactured just for broadcasters and journalists. Stamped with PROMO ONLY — NOT FOR SALE, they were prized by fans and collectors. Occasionally, they'd leak out and be found for sale in an indie record store. Finding one for your collection felt like stumbling upon forbidden fruit. Another type of promo copy was compilations of individual songs from artists with upcoming or just-released records. HMV, for example, used to give away these cassettes and CDs for free in partnership with local radio stations. These samplers were a great way to discover new music. Radio's role in music discovery Before streaming, the only way you could hear what was new and hot was by listening to the radio (or by watching MuchMusic or MTV). We took our role as music curators very, very seriously, and there was excitement in that mission. We'd announce that we were playing the new [insert name of act here] at 4 p.m., for instance, creating must-listen radio. We knew that many people were sitting at home with their cassette players on 'pause' waiting for a new favourite song to come on, and hoping that the DJ didn't talk too much over the beginning or the end. That's what passed for music piracy in those days. Story continues below advertisement Away from the radio, excitement surrounded video channels like MuchMusic. Every artist coming through Toronto was pretty much obligated to appear on Much. And when it came time for the annual MuchMusic Video Awards, a big chunk of downtown Toronto was shut down. Fans waited in line for days for a good spot in front of the stage. Artist drop-ins When money was no object, it was extremely common for record label reps to escort artists to radio and TV stations with impromptu visits. At The Edge in Toronto, we had something called the Live Mic. That meant whenever an artist popped in, all programming ground to a halt, and we'd throw them on the air for a spontaneous interview. I myself was suddenly put face-to-face with Trent Reznor, The Beastie Boys, Blink-182, and dozens of other VIP visitors. If an impromptu interview wasn't possible for whatever reason, someone was immediately drafted to interview the band or artist for a later broadcast. We also had programs like Live in Toronto, which featured an in-person live artist interview almost every weekday. Everyone from The Ramones to David Bowie appeared on the show, live and uncensored. We could sometimes arrange special performances in conjunction with the label or a record store. We sponsored free concerts by artists such as R.E.M., the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Green Day on the street outside the studio. Story continues below advertisement One of the most memorable was an acoustic Coldplay performance where more than 2,500 people gathered outside the studios, blocking rush-hour traffic on Yonge Street. As program director, I was nearly arrested for allowing this to happen. When it came time for Coldplay to leave, members of the Toronto police mounted unit escorted the band's SUV to safety. It was worldwide news. Radio stations still do such things, but far less often. But when they do, it's still amazing and exciting. What now? Like I said at the beginning, we're never going back to those old days. The economics of music have changed so drastically that there just isn't the money to do these things. The big record store chains have pretty much all disappeared. And while radio remains powerful, popular and profitable, its position has shifted when it comes to music promotion. Story continues below advertisement Where's MuchMusic, MTV, and VH1? They've all been converted to lifestyle channels with content that offers little more than continuous showings of Ridiculousness and The Simpsons, with no music performances, interviews or videos to be seen or heard. That's a far cry from when people used to race home from school and sit in front of the TV in hopes that their favourite video might come on. Social media has largely replaced the old A&R person who scoured smoky bars and clubs, hoping to find the next big artist or band, who might've been playing for 16 people at 11:30 p.m. on a Tuesday. Showcases for media types and early adopter fans don't exist the way they used to. Heck, getting late Millennials or Gen Z out to a music venue is now a struggle. And if they do show up, they don't drink nearly as much as their predecessors, putting a major strain on the venue's finances. But there's no stopping music. It will always be with us in some form or another. Call me an old man yelling at clouds, but I sure miss the excitement, mystery and community of those old days.
Winnipeg Free Press
3 days ago
- Winnipeg Free Press
Whatcha gonna do when veteran rock band Chilliwack is gone?
Chilliwack is soon to be gone, gone, gone. Burt Block Party with Kim Mitchell, Chilliwack and Harlequin Burton Cummings Theatre, 364 Smith St. Sunday, 5 p.m. Tickets $99.75 including fees at Ticketmaster After more than five decades on the road, the Vancouver rock band is saying a fond farewell to fans this year during its final cross-country tour, which includes a local performance at Sunday's Burt Block Party. 'We have this relationship with our audience and I feel like they're friends, so I want to say goodbye,' founder, frontman and guitarist Bill Henderson says over a video call from his home on Salt Spring Island, B.C. Chilliwack evolved from the Collectors — Henderson's previous psychedelic rock project — and released 12 albums between 1970 and '84, resulting in many Canadian hits and moments of cross-border recognition. Despite hiatuses and personnel changes, the group has continued touring since the mid-'90s and was inducted into the Canadian Music Hall of Fame in 2019. Chilliwack's current and longest-running lineup includes Henderson's brother Ed on guitar, Jerry Adolphe on drums and, more recently, Gord Maxwell on bass. Taking the stage with his bandmates is what Henderson is going to miss most about retirement. SUPPLIED PHOTO Chilliwack, from left: Jerry Adolphe, Ed Henderson, Bill Henderson and Gord Maxwell SUPPLIED PHOTO Chilliwack, from left: Jerry Adolphe, Ed Henderson, Bill Henderson and Gord Maxwell 'This particular unit has worked together for about 30 years and all we've done is play live. We go back and forth across the country and we've got our shit together; it's so cool,' he says. 'We cover for each other and we look around and laugh if something went a little funny, and then we get down to business and rock our faces off.' Henderson, 80, isn't coy about why he's stepping away from the spotlight. 'Old age is the weirdest thing I've ever seen. It's like Mars: you don't know what it's like until you get there. I'm clearing the decks so I can allow something to emerge that's appropriate to my age,' he says, adding there have been times he's walked up to the mic in recent years only to lose his train of thought. 'When your mind starts to do these things, you have to make room for it.' SUPPLIED PHOTO Bill Henderson is retiring after more than 50 years on the road. SUPPLIED PHOTO Bill Henderson is retiring after more than 50 years on the road. He's looking forward to spending more time at home with his wife and continuing to play music and write songs for personal enjoyment. 'I'm still going to play my guitar every day and sing and I know the songs will come and I don't know what I'll do with it, we'll see,' he says. Henderson's career has been a long and varied one. In 1983, he and bandmate Brian MacLeod won the Juno Award for Producer of the Year for their work on Chilliwack's 10th album, Opus X. He served as the musical director for Sesame Street Canada during the early '90s and was inducted into the Canadian Songwriters Hall of Fame in 2023. Henderson was also made a member of the Order of Canada for his longtime advocacy work as president of SOCAN and other artist rights organizations amid foundational industry changes, such as the rise of file sharing platform Napster. 'It's always been a tough fight to try and get enough income for musicians so they can survive,' says Henderson, who describes the work of musicians as an invaluable public service. 'We help people feel good, and when you feel good, I think you make better decisions. So I think music plays a very important role in society.' Attendees at tomorrow's Block Party can expect a feel-good setlist focused on tried and true Chilliwack hits, from Whatcha Gonna Do to Fly at Night to Lonesome Mary to My Girl (Gone, Gone, Gone). 'And we do a jam tune called 17th Summer that's nine minutes long, depending on the night, and we just let it rip,' Henderson adds. Chilliwack's Farewell to Friends Tour kicked off in Calgary in March and is scheduled through November with more dates to be announced. Eva WasneyReporter Eva Wasney has been a reporter with the Free Press Arts & Life department since 2019. Read more about Eva. Every piece of reporting Eva produces is reviewed by an editing team before it is posted online or published in print — part of the Free Press's tradition, since 1872, of producing reliable independent journalism. Read more about Free Press's history and mandate, and learn how our newsroom operates. Our newsroom depends on a growing audience of readers to power our journalism. If you are not a paid reader, please consider becoming a subscriber. Our newsroom depends on its audience of readers to power our journalism. Thank you for your support.
CBC
3 days ago
- CBC
Cree artist LOV makes music about motherhood and empowering women
Social Sharing Lovina Tootoosis, who performs under the name LOV, hasn't yet released her first album but she's hit 100,000 streams on Spotify with her songs Mama, Matriarch and most recently Relate. The Edmonton-based singer, who grew up in Poundmaker Cree Nation in Saskatchewan, describes her sound as U.K. soul. She will soon be heading to Montreal to do the finishing touches for her first album, which will be released in November. Her next song Sister Era is going to be featured in the film Nika and Madison, which is coming out in September. This summer she spent some time out in her community, living out on the land, and even received a horse as a gift from her partner. She named it Wasko, which means Cloud in the Cree language. She recently spoke with CBC Indigenous. The following interview was edited for length and clarity. When did you become interested in pursuing music? My mom was a seamstress, she made powwow regalia, ribbon skirts and I started beading at the young age of 12. My mom also sang backup at round dances and it was just very common to see music and dance and art in different forms always. I think that played a big part in me, because I grew up dancing. I grew up trying to hit all the Fawn Wood notes in the basement. I'd say just in terms of art, singing, dancing, drawing, beading, it plays a big role in my life. What inspired you to have a U.K. soul sound? I love Amy Winehouse; I've been listening to her for a hot minute. She's formed so many parts of the way I like to identify as a singer. I love ... that she doesn't just sing the song, she's a great vocalist, but she expresses the song. It's like she's singing that song and you can feel the emotion. And I really try to embody that when I sing because for me ... my music is not just entertainment, my music is who I am. It's my art and it's also my expression. It's the thing that saved me. I really love Cleo Sol; her message and her music is very calming and it's like these subtle affirmations that you don't realize you're listening to, so that concept of kind of tricking people into listening to something that actually affirms a higher, more powerful belief, I think was what I was going for. Where do the songs Mama and Matriarch come from? Matriarch is so catchy and I actually co-wrote that with songwriter/producer Connor Seide from the Treehouse in Montreal. It was the simplicity of it that we really loved, but it was also the message, so big on womanhood and empowering each other, reminding each other how powerful we are and we're the real powerhouse, like we give life. It was just kind of a fun little song that I thought would do well as an intro to my solo debut. Mama is a very personal story. I became a very young mom at 18 and that's a big part of the reason why I feel like my journey with music was delayed, pushed back, because I had priorities and I had to provide at such a young age. "Mama get to work" was a message to myself and other mothers that tend to forget that they are people and they deserve to give themselves time, energy and dedication to the things that make them happy. What does it feel like seeing the support you get from kôhkoms (grandmothers) online? It really warmed my heart to see that just because I lost my kôhkom at a very young age. I was 15 and she was in her 70s and I honestly think that's young. I was really close with my kôhkom, so in little ways I try to find comfort in knowing that I'm always going to have a kôhkom as long as there's other women nearby. It made me feel supported and it also made me feel really proud because I want to make the woman before me proud. I want to establish myself as somebody who takes pride in that. I get a lot of love on Facebook from aunties all over, sharing my stuff, and that's really cool because I make music for everybody but I really want to speak to women and just matriarchal people.
