Q: Tell us about yourself! What do you do for fun in your spare time?

A: I love going on hikes with my family and our dog, Moka. I love playing music and I also like playing video games with friends to relax in the evenings!

Q: You are currently working on your PhD dissertation, which explores what you refer to as “silent records” as vehicles of cultural reconnection. Could you explain this phrase and what it means to you? How does this idea connect with Métis music?

A: This is a bit long winded, but I hope you stay with me here!

Silent record is a term I use to refer to two types of media artefacts with very different implications for Métis and other Indigenous peoples.

First, colonial silent records are sound recordings that are kept in archival institutions that sit largely unheard by Indigenous community members. Anthropologists like Marius Barbeau (the so-called Father of Canadian anthropology) wanted to preserve examples of Indigenous oral culture (e.g. languages, stories, songs, ceremony) due to concern that ‘authentic’ Indigenous cultures were dying off. In the early 20th century, anthropologists/ethnographers used wax cylinders to record oral culture while they were ‘in the field’ to help them transcribe it later for posterity.

As a media format, wax cylinders are interesting because they degrade after being played back multiple times and eventually stop working because the wax is so fragile. The largest ethnographic sound collection in Canada is in the Canadian Museum of History in Gatineau, QC. The wax cylinders in their collection have mostly been reformatted to tape and digitized for research access, but the originals are still kept in cabinets despite not being used for playback any longer. I call wax cylinders like these, colonial silent records because they are not preserved to be listened to and remain largely disconnected from Indigenous communities.

In general, ethnographic sound collections made by western anthropologists were not made in the best interests of Indigenous communities because they were never meant to help protect our cultural belongings and give community members meaningful access. There are numerous examples of this practice, and many nations are seeking to ‘repatriate’ their belongings that have been housed in archived.

This problem is also true in a time of Truth and Reconciliation. For instance, when I visited the Museum of History in 2023, I was initially denied my request to listed to a version of “La Chanson des des Bois-Brûlés” – the oldest known recording of this famous Métis song (and national anthem) by Pierre Falcon from 1916!

Secondly, I use the term decolonial silent record as part of a Métis research creation that I have been doing for the past two years. I learned a bunch of Métis songs and then physically retraced the footsteps of my ancestors from Red River, Lake of the Woods, Michilimackinac, Bootaagan-minising (Drummond Island), Sault Ste-Marie, and Penetanguishene. Throughout my journey (which I did with my family) I stopped at different cultural sites and landmarks to smudge and sing songs. Instead of recording audio of these visits, we documented this entirely through photographs and silent video. In other words, I have produced a collection of photos and silent video of myself singing – a strange thing indeed!

The idea for this is that these decolonial silent records can be shared widely and openly while denying cultural access to non-community members (e.g. through a public website). In essence, I’m trying to raise awareness about how Indigenous people have been denied access to their own belongings in archives and reassert sovereignty over our songs and oral culture. A Michif term I am using to describe this sovereignty over music is Otipemisiwak lii Shansoon – songs owned by the people. As a result, decolonial silent records are a creative intervention about how colonial government, institutions, and settlers have tried to dispossess Métis people and other Indigenous peoples from their cultural belongings, including songs.

Finally, my plan is to use these decolonial silent records (photos and silent videos) to give live talks to Métis community and Indigenous folks to share some of the songs in a live setting. I believe that this will be a powerful way of sharing with community about how our music was born from the land and that we can use songs in our everyday life to foster stronger connections with all our relations. For instance, I have a much stronger personal connection with these songs and with my ancestors’ homeland after visiting these places and singing this music here.

If this project interests you please reach out to me, as I would love to share more about the project with you!

Q: What inspired you to research this topic? Did you also study this in your Master’s degree?

A: I have always been interested in music, culture, and communication. I started my BA in Music and then switched to Culture and Expression. I did my MA in Communication and Culture but didn’t start doing any Métis research until my PhD. My program did not expose me to a lot of Indigenous research – which is a whole other topic and issue about the need to decolonize post-secondary education.

I was inspired to do this project for two main reasons. 1) I’ve been actively working to connect with Métis culture and community. As a musician, I thought that it would be good to use my gifts and love for music to continue this ongoing work. 2) My Great Uncle Rene Laurin is a Michif Language Keeper in Penetanguishene and he played a big part in guiding me to work on this topic.

Q: What makes Métis music unique?

A: We’re all aware about how important the fiddle is to Métis music and culture! The Métis fiddle tradition reflects the syncretism, or blending of cultures, embodied throughout the Métis nation. For instance, percussive bowing and drone notes are an example of First Nations influence on Métis fiddling.

Yet there are other things that make Métis music unique that might be less known. Due to shared First Nations and European ancestry, Métis music takes different forms. For instance, hunting songs, visiting songs, prayers, derived largely from First Nations kin. On the other hand, the music of voyageurs such as chanson l’aviron (i.e. paddling songs) are a great example of European song tradition being transplanted to Turtle Island. This music typically involved a call and response type of singing throughout the canoe. Paddling songs helped fuel the voyageurs while they traversed the rivers, waters, and lakes. Interestingly, voyageurs were often paid more for having a strong singing voice because it gave everyone energy – however everyone was expected to sing! You can read about this in Daniel Laxer’s book, Listening to the Fur Trade. The Métis borrowed other European instruments like the mouth organ (i.e. harmonica), concertina, spoons, and guitar to use in our kitchen parties. I recently learned that my Great Grandparents played these instruments at home after working hard all day long on the farm in Lafontaine.

Back in the day when our communities were at their strongest, language would have been a central part of what made Métis music unique. Early written accounts of settlers describe the cheery and accomplished music of the voyageurs but describe the language as being a ‘savage’ type of French. This is likely because many songs were sung as rubbaboos, a blend of First Nations and European languages. The everyday blending of language in conversation, storytelling, and song gave rise to Michif languages/dialects, including some of which that are no longer spoken such as Brayet – a blend of French and Ojibwe which was spoken in regions around the Great Lakes. When ethnographers wrote down or transcribed early Métis music, they tended to ‘fix’ or ‘correct’ Michif languages back into ‘proper’ French. The point I’m making is that ethnographic records did not do a good job at documenting the unique rubbaboo of Métis music.

As a result, I believe that there’s an important responsibility for us to revitalize our song traditions. In the future, I’d love to work on restoring voyageur songs into Michif versions.

Q: What do you plan on doing once you complete your degree?

A: I’m applying for jobs and I’m hoping to become a professor. I also want to do more archival research on Métis songs. There is a lot more to listen to and learn! I also want to meet more Métis musicians and continue connecting with community. I truly want to share my research and ‘silent records’ with as many community members as possible.

Q: You’re an accomplished musician yourself! Music from your most recent album, OFF TRACK (2022), reached #5 on the Indigenous Music Countdown. Tell me about the importance of making music in your life and how it feels different than other outlets like your academic work.

A: Music has always been a great way for me to get more grounded in my life. When I’m making music, I’m entirely focused and feel very connected to my body and surroundings. When playing music with other people, I also feel very connected to these other musicians – especially over time as we learn to play more together ‘in the pocket’. Beyond that, I simply have a lot of fun making music and believe in the healing power of good music.

Academic work typically feels very serious, but I enjoy playing music the most when I’m not taking myself too seriously!

Q: How has being Métis had an impact on your life and how you think of yourself?

A: Embracing my Métis identity has given me more self-confidence in walking through life. I grew up in a rural community that was quite racist. As a result, I often kept my Métis identity to myself in my youth and I continued this unhealthy and self-destructive habit when I arrived at university. This was quite damaging to me and continues the problem of Métis people feeling like they need to keep their identities secret to survive and be accepted in Canadian society.

Now that I am more connected to community, I more openly share that I am Métis. This has greatly contributed to the pride I have in being Métis. The Métis are known as the Forgotten People, and I like to remind myself of that to walk tall and never forget who I am and the community I belong to.

Embracing my Métis identity has also helped me recognize how I am related to so many people – both in terms of kinship ties but also in our shared experiences in being Métis in a colonial world, a position that can be very challenging to navigate. I feel much stronger when I spend time with other Métis people.

My Métis identity has helped me recognize the importance of my role as Father. My son is 4-years old, and I work hard to make sure that he is being raised in way that makes him even prouder than I am about being Métis. It’s a beautiful thing seeing Métis children grow as strong people especially knowing that they will make our communities stronger and more connected in the future.

Q: You published a book—The Politics of Media Scarcity—with Greg Elmer in early 2024. How did this collaboration come about? Can you explain the book’s central ideas?

A: Greg Elmer is my PhD supervisor, and we’ve published many articles together over the years. He approached me to collaborate with him on his book because there is a lot of overlap between our research interests.

The book is rooted in the media studies discipline and is theoretically heavy. This book questions the predominance of “media abundance” as a guiding concept for contemporary mediated politics. We argue that media abundance is not a universal condition, and that certain individuals, communities, and even nations can more accurately be referred to as media scarce – where access to media technologies and content is limited, highly controlled, or surveilled. We develop this argument by drawing from several art projects and diverse cultural sites to show how media scarce communities negotiate and narrate their place in the world, their past experiences and lives, and escape from subjugation. To better understand media scarce politics, the book asks how and when communities become – by accident or force, by choice or necessity – media scarce.

During the writing of the book, I pitched a chapter to Greg on the artwork Cheryl L’Hirondelle. She is a Cree-Métis Knowledge Holder, artist, musician, and much more. The chapter focuses on her collaborative songwriting project with incarcerated people – most of whom are Indigenous women. She spent over 10 years visiting prisons and healing lodges to write this music. The project is called ‘Why the Caged Bird Sings’ and it was honour to speak with Cheryl in learning about this amazing work.

If you’re interested in this, please reach out to me and I’ll send you a PDF of the book.

Please note that some of the above answers have been edited for brevity and readability.

You can also reach out to Steve by email at steve.james.neville@gmail.com.