Past and Present Dance Hand-in-Hand on Ghostkeeper's 'Cîpayak Joy'

That was the old Ghostkeeper. On Cîpayak Joy, the core musical duality of Houle and Ghostkeeper is bathed in a new, albeit foggier light. It presents a departure from previous projects to explore something unabashedly raw in its instrumental simplicity. The result is a re-conjuring of joy that mingles with wounds past and present, thrusting them to the forefront of a musical partnership that spans decades, land, time and space. On the record, narrative lyricism takes a back seat to atmospheric crescendos, a more ambient approach to songwriting that suggests threads of influence from experimental projects like Bon Iver's 22, A Million, James Blake's self-titled 2011 debut album or Jamie xx's In Colour.

But to compare Cîpayak Joy directly to these works is to discredit the organic craftsmanship that stems from the album's critical approach to deeply personal topics. In Ghostkeeper's world, relationships to Canada's colonial past haunt just as dreams in the realm of the raven encourage us to live well. On Cîpayak Joy, even body functions become atmospheric. A sigh whistles like the wind, wavering synths quiver like a leaf on a skeletal branch, vocals pound and retract like the slap of storm rain on concrete. This complexity creates a musical push-pull that is explored through a kaleidoscope of synthetic instruments which honour the sounds of nature and its healing power.

"Astum Ota," the record's introductory track, outlines Ghostkeeper's departure. A childlike voice declares "astum ota" in Cree, along with its translation, "come here." Cyclical strings interlace with misty, distorted vocals and rattling percussion. Shane Ghostkeeper's voice enters, a whistle on the breeze, laying out the themes of the record with vivid clarity: "Come on you, come here / See all your oily dreaming / See how your pollution destroys us too," he sings, a truth that critically positions the project within Calgary's oil-fuelled arts anthropocene. After nearly two and a half minutes of atmospheric rise, the strings of a fiddle quiver and usher in a dark-pop interlude with percussive similarities to the likes of Vampire Weekend, ones that are moody, thoughtful and provocative, all at once.

"Lipstick" is an even more overt departure from the carefully cultivated Ghostkeeper sound. A track that sounds more like a James Blake art-pop entry, the song is a well-put-together call and response between Houle and Ghostkeeper that explores the initial spark of a relationship through a reflective lens. Subtle lyrics hint at intimacy through nostalgic suggestions that are brought into fuzzy, Super 8 focus. "A photo booth picture / Keeps you close to me," Ghostkeeper remarks, later responded to by Houle who fills in her own dreams: "Remember cold fingers passing / Bright red… bright red / Lipstick stains on my cigarette…" Such moments hover on small details that cultivate intimacy between Houle and Ghostkeeper, making the listener feel as though they are privy to a conversation that has been repeated, relayed and explored many times over.

Later on in "Raven," "Phantom" and "Dark at the Helm," Ghostkeeper cultivates art-rock experiments that dive to the deepest depths of the earth, uncovering truths that blanch once they hit sunlight. On "Raven," disparate sighs act as percussion, while vocal distortion pulses like wingbeats. On "Phantom," an arpeggio synth creates a foundation for the record's most haunting lyrics: "Let it sleep / Be at peace / Love will keep that ghoul / Far from my thoughts / Far from my world," Houle repeats. Ghostkeeper chimes in with a raw honesty that bleeds through the track. "You touched me like a phantom / Now that's just the ghost of my soul you slaved," he speaks with straightforward clarity. Paired with atmospheric electronic sound, Cîpayak Joy's mid-album tracks nod to a rich, emerging tradition in Indigenous experimental and electronic music, crafted by artists Matthew Cardinal, Zoon and Kehiw, and amplified by the likes of Drum Beat Entertainment.

Cîpayak Joy's seventh track "Storm Chaser" is somewhat of an anomaly on a record packed with weight. Arpeggio synths and rolling toms lend the track a Glass Animals feel, paired with lyrics that are the most hopeful on the record. Still, despite declarations of love that last for all eternity, the song returns to nature's cleansing roots: "Oh, those misty mornings / Oh the winds were blowing." Ghostkeeper's voice calls out in repeated vocal phrases. 

The cinematic "Maps" is a fitting end for an album that shares its name with Cîpayak ᒌᐸᕀ, which translates to "the ghosts are dancing" and is often used to refer to the northern lights. On the track, nature blooms on cinestill, unravelling tangled webs of music and cultural practice that shimmer as they endure. Speaking to the themes of the record, Shane Ghostkeeper says, "Describing how we were raised up north is the most honest way to express what we've experienced." In those experiences and amongst the tapestry woven by Cîpayak Joy's multilayered extension of contemporary electronica, Ghostkeeper's past, present and future dance hand in hand.