Latest news with #I'maTV
CBC
05-03-2025
- Entertainment
- CBC
Mae Martin's musical arrival, and 5 more songs you need to hear this week
Social Sharing Songs you need to hear is CBC Music's weekly list of hot new Canadian tracks. Scroll down to discover the songs our producers are loving right now. 'Good Dream,' Mae Martin Mae Martin is a comedian, actor and TV showrunner and while that's already a very impressive resumé, they've recently added another title to their list: musician. Last week, the Toronto artist released their debut album, I'm a TV, a collection of "earnest music," as they've described, although tapping into their vulnerability is a cornerstone of their best work across all mediums. But what it lacks in punchlines is more than made up by heartfelt songwriting and an innate ability to capture a comforting sense of millennial nostalgia. One of the best examples is the warm reverie of lead single "Good Dream," an acoustic number that nods to a moment when they were "living in a state of fear," but have now found a way forward that is light and optimistic. Its repeated refrain on the chorus ("Took it all off, I just took it off/ Oh, like a good dream") is both cathartic and catchy. When Martin performed it at their hometown show recently — only their second-ever live performance — fans waved their arms to the swaying melody, a moving gesture that seemed to catch them by surprise. But it's not only a sign of Martin's clearly dedicated fanbase supporting their latest career pivot, it's also proof that they have a bright future in the realm of music. — Melody Lau 'Hurricane Season,' Braden Lam "Is it in our nature to have a temper, or is it the way the weather sings?" Braden Lam asks on "Hurricane Weather," hinting at the inextricable nature between climate and inner turmoil in the year 2025. On the last single before his debut full-length album, The Cloudmaker's Cry, drops on April 11, the Halifax singer-songwriter leans into his stomp-clap-hey era for a barn burner that was inspired by Hurricane Fiona, a destructive post-tropical storm that hit the East Coast in 2022 when Lam was on tour in Europe. Witnessing from afar the cycle of a hurricane — preparation, destruction, aftermath — gave Lam new perspective to its personal parallels, also giving life to a new storm coda: "I don't want to be alone/ it's hurricane season you know/ I need someone to hold/ it's hurricane season you know." A nice bonus: the gorgeous music video, directed by Griffin O'Toole, shot in the striking Arizona desert, where a storm somehow seems even more perilous. — Holly Gordon '...Thus Is Why (I Don't Spring 4 Love),' Saya Gray Saya Gray's debut album was one of our most anticipated releases of 2025, and it did not disappoint. Saya was born out of the unraveling of the Toronto artist's relationship in the fall of 2023. She flew to Japan, rented a car and drove across the country, penning the songs that would make up her debut along the way. The album opener "...Thus Is Why (I Don't Spring 4 Love)" is a window into Gray's state of mind as she processed the aftermath. "Where were you when I needed you most?" she pleads repeatedly, her spectral vocals vulnerable, like the bruise left on her wounded heart. There's a tonal shift on the chorus, when disdain drips from her lips as she sings, "This is why I don't fall in love in springtime." As she flits between moods, the production (by Gray and her brother Lucian) plays with two separate sonic textures: a jangling acoustic guitar melody with a sprinkling of resonant tambourine, washed with glitchy distortion and a darker rhythm that ambles along over syncopated percussion. The result is a song that blends traditional instrumentation with the experimental tinge that Gray has become known for. — Kelsey Adams 'Like Nobody Does,' Justin Nozuka Justin Nozuka returns to his singer-songwriter roots on the soft number "Like Nobody Does," with his falsetto floating over simple guitar strums. The track is one of four on his surprise EP, —, which he released on Feb. 28. While his most recent projects — last year's Chlorine and 2023's Daydreams & Endless Nights — have leaned more into R&B, the new minimalist love song reacquaints listeners with the indie bedroom folk of his early projects. The opening delicately blooms with Nozuka's elastic voice easing into a chorus that extends toward the heavens: "You said, 'I just wanna love you like nobody does, with feeling and meaning,'" he sings, sounding untethered. Dancing between palpable yearning and subtle sweetness, the lyrics are a window into how two people long for one another before collapsing into a cozy embrace. — Natalie Harmsen 'Church on Wednesday,' Basyl Halifax-based rapper Basyl just clocked a banner weekend: he released his second EP, Love Bombers, on Friday, which rolled into his first ever (and sold-out) solo show on Saturday. It's icing on the cake that the latest single from that EP feels like one communal hug: "Church on Wednesday," produced by Classified with a guitar and vocal sample from David Myles, features friends and collaborators Arenye and Kayo for a smooth, sultry earworm. Recorded in 2022, "Church on Wednesday" rings as a full-circle moment for the Palestinian artist from Jordan who moved to Canada in 2014, turning to music after finishing his environmental engineering degree. "Everybody, you know, producers, artists, people like yourself, it's just been open arms, smiles," he told CTV about his experience making music in Nova Scotia. "And I lead with love and peace, so it's like this is just a perfect match." — HG 'Man I'm Not,' Koko Love feat. Zach Zoya Montreal's Koko Love is back with a new single, "Man I'm Not," from his upcoming debut album The Cost of Freedom. The mind-tingling guitar riff that kicks off the song is nostalgic and warm, welcoming listeners into Koko Love and rapper Zach Zoya's tale of a man who's well-aware of his shortcomings, from indecision ("Whenever I think of you and I together/ I just don't know what I want) to immaturity ("Spending the night out is risky/ But it makes me feel young again"). The song was produced by fellow Montrealer Soran, who keeps things simple but lush, the guitars and drums embracing Koko Love and Zoya but never overpowering them. The songwriting trio whittled down the chorus to the perfect earworm: "Can't stop being the man I'm not" repeats as angelic background vocals rise higher and higher. Existing somewhere on a spectrum between Dominic Fike and Bakar, Koko Love is a refreshing voice in Canadian indie pop. — KA
Los Angeles Times
25-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
Comedian Mae Martin wrote a rock album. When the world's chaotic, 'So much of life doesn't have a punch line'
When comedian Mae Martin first moved to L.A., they held a monthly residency at Largo at the Coronet. Martin, star of the biting sobriety comedy 'Feel Good' and many beloved standpup specials, fell in love with the music history that had passed through the club. 'They had the piano that Elliott Smith played, I think, on 'Baby Britain,'' Martin said. 'Flanny, who runs Largo, encouraged me to have musical guests, so I started doing Elliott Smith covers. It was such a nice feeling that the comedy audience had the patience for that, when you could hear a pin drop and the energy would shift. Those shows built my confidence in music.' That work paid off with 'I'm a TV,' Martin's debut album of original songwriting that evokes the millennial indie they grew up on as well as the arty pop of the Largo canon. The LP is pithy in the way that Phoebe Bridgers or Jenny Lewis write one-liners, but it's an unexpectedly tender songwriter record from one of the sharpest, most self-aware minds in stand-up. Martin will perform it live at the Regent on Wednesday. The Times spoke to Martin about making peace with sincerity in music, how plot lines about cults hit differently now, and what to do about comedy's tangled relationship to the far right. This is obviously a tense time for a nonbinary Canadian comedian in the U.S. How are you holding up? Like everybody, I'm full of existential dread, and trying to not let the doom permeate too much and not to be paralyzed by how hopeless it all feels right now, because I know that it's not hopeless. It just feels like such a massive step back. I have a lot of friends who are articulate activists, and I try to take my cues from them. You hosted a CBC documentary about nonbinary identity recently, it must be disheartening to see people here getting their passports forcibly misgendered. It's always scary when the government disagrees with science. Yeah, it felt like we were really moving toward a place where young people wouldn't have to be defending their identity as much. Or that I could walk into a room and not have that be the first thing that comes up. But visibility is super important, and I try to hope that just by being a happy confident person, that's some kind of resistance. I'm sure we'd both rather just be talking about your album and upcoming show at the Regent on Wednesday. It's life-affirming going on tour, because you have this little microcosm of society, and you're reminded that people are good, and they want to connect and that we have so much more in common than not. So let's talk about the record. It hits my elder-millennial sweet spot of melancholy indie rock. When did you feel like you were ready to make an album? I always wrote songs, but very privately. I made this show called 'Feel Good' in England, and my friend Charles Watson was the composer on it, and I played guitar on one of the songs. It was the first time that I felt empowered to have opinions about music and my taste, particularly the emotionality of music. When I moved to L.A. after 12 years in England, I had a lot of time to myself, and reconnecting with my earnest North American side was nice. One of the guys who produced the album, Jason, I went to summer camp with when we were 13. We used to play acoustic guitars by the campfire, playing Ben Harper and Tragically Hip and Third Eye Blind. I think that comes through, the warmth of the period where I fell in love with music. So much of life doesn't have a punch line, and in music you can be more confessional because you're not saying, 'Hi, I'm Mae, and I'm saying this about this particular incident in my life.' You can really hear that Elliott Smith 'Figure 8' influence on a few songs like 'Garbage Strike.' Oh man, I'm such a deep Elliott Smith fan. I loved his last album, 'From a Basement on the Hill,' which was so dark and heavy, and I love Heatmiser. People have these associations of him with this sort of mournful acoustic stuff. But his arrangements are so full, and there's so much Paul McCartney and George Harrison in there. 'Garbage Strike' is the most Canadian of the songs, because it's about the garbage strike in 2003 in Toronto. But that's a cool comparison, I love that album so much. There are songwriters like Jenny Lewis or Father John Misty who are very funny, and comedians like Tim Heidecker who have written evocative music. How does wit work differently for you in these two different settings? If I have moments of wit, it's probably referencing a true irony in life. I had to unlearn the muscle memory of taking people to a poignant place and then relieving that tension with a punch line. That's so ingrained in me, to not bum anyone out. Playing those Largo shows was really like ripping the Band-Aid off, because there's a temptation to wink at the audience or bail halfway through with a joke, but I had to commit to the entirety of a song. Speaking of L.A. nightlife, we've seen queer bars like Ruby Fruit close over the last year, and it's going to be hard to preserve small clubs of all sorts. Do you worry about nightlife here? I remember in my early 20s in Toronto, there were tons of amazing lesbian or queer bars that aren't around anymore. We're definitely feeling that retraction. Most of my life I've felt more a part of the comedy community than the queer community, because most of my nights I'm in comedy clubs. I've never really made a concerted effort to enmesh myself in queer nightlife, but now I feel compelled to do it because I want to support those businesses, and community feels more important than ever. You've been candid about addiction in your work, especially 'Feel Good' and 'Dope.' When the world feels like it's falling apart, is it hard to keep recovery as a priority? I try to be vigilant about when addictive behaviors are bubbling up. But you're right, when the world is feeling increasingly apocalyptic, those self-soothing behaviors are so at our fingertips. Growing up and being in rehab, I felt like addiction was just something that was for drug addicts. But a big shift for me was when I understood addiction as a soothing mechanism for underlying things, and how we all participate. It's such a boring thing to say, but I'm so profoundly addicted to my phone. I feel like I have a pretty good handle on substances, but I definitely feel myself slipping into numbness because of the scale of the bad news. I do a lot of escape rooms. I think I've done over 60 in L.A. I have this app for them that was like, 'Hey, here's an award for doing so many escape rooms.' It's a healthier diversion, but I found myself being chased through a labyrinth by a guy dressed like a Minotaur, and I was like, 'This seems like a red flag that this is the way I unwind.' 'Wayward,' your upcoming Netflix series, is set within the troubled-teen industry and explores cult dynamics. Do those themes land differently now then when you started working on that show? Definitely. I've been working on it for years, and a couple of years ago, that topic entered the zeitgeist with the Paris Hilton story. It has a truthful framework about the troubled-teen industry, but it's also a cult genre thriller, and cults are such a great analogy for the coerciveness of society. It's set in 2003, and that's been interesting thinking about the differences between then and now, the intergenerational conflict and all the critical thinking that you have to suppress as an adult just to participate in these systems. We spoke to a lot of sociologists and cult experts who talk about the language that cult leaders use, the double-speak that I've definitely noticed in current discourse. This election cycle showed how some elements of stand-up comedy culture drive a lot of the far right, with President Trump going on Joe Rogan and Tony Hinchcliffe performing at a Trump rally. Dave Chappelle arguably contributed to the current anti-trans backlash in his work. Is it unnerving to see people with backgrounds in stand-up having this direct line to the far right in power? Yeah, it's very strange. But I can see where they met, because governments reach into reality TV now. You've got the host of 'The Apprentice,' so of course he's gonna want to talk to the host of 'Fear Factor.' But those guys that you're referencing, they're not a part of my comedy community. I don't think about them. What they want is for you to engage in combat with them. I'd rather be aligned with qualified people and thinkers and scientists. I hope that heroes of mine are still fighting the good fight and not falling into this perception that the enemy is the woke left. I think back to the bit in your recent special 'SAP' where you talk about how our minds are these little rooms we're showing off to others to be known. Given everything happening here, do you think your room will always be in L.A.? I just bought a house here, which I never dreamed I'd be able to do. But will we crumble into the sea or light on fire? L.A. gets such a bad rap, though. After living in England for so long, and being Canadian, L.A. was so mysterious to me. I had the sense that it was this scary, vapid, lonely place, and I've found that so not to be the case. I've found people who have come here with so much enthusiasm, looking for collaborators and community. It's such a cliché, but I've got this sunset out my window and my palo santo. I'm becoming very L.A. and I love it.
