Author: Katelyn Thomas

Categories
Opinions

Note from a Trusty Gryffindor’s Shelf

When I was a kid, my mom and I took turns reading bedtime stories together. Most have burned themselves into my memory: Max and Ruby: Bunny Cakes, Robert Munsch’s Purple, Green and Yellow, Ghost and Pete… The list goes on.

I still dream of the pink, sparkly cake Ruby made in the book; I think of Purple, Green and Yellow every time I use markers of those colours, and find Ghost and Pete’s rhymes stuck in my head obnoxiously often for someone who hasn’t read the book in more than a decade and a half. How many toes does a skeleton have? Ten! Sing it again!

But one book stands out among the rest. One shapes the person I am today, impacts where I choose to travel to, and found me repeatedly jabbing a needle dipped in ink into my left ankle two weekends ago––a line inside of a circle inside of a triangle.

(soft whimsical music playing)

Harry Potter. If you know me, you absolutely knew that was coming. Read on or don’t, I don’t care.

Unfortunately, I often seem to find myself surrounded by people who either are indifferent towards or actively hate Harry Potter. Please hold while I call their mothers to ask if they dropped them on their heads as infants. What kid doesn’t dream of an alternate universe in which the fantastic creatures of our imaginations actually… exist? Also, I don’t think I’ve ever actively hated anything as strongly as these people seem to hate Harry Potter, except maybe beets. What’s up with all the rage, muggles?

I don’t know about you, but I spent most of my childhood playing in an imaginary land my cousins and I created out of thin air. Don’t call a psychologist just yet, pals, because I had a pet dragon and you didn’t. No, I couldn’t see it. But to me, that didn’t mean it wasn’t there (shoutout to Albus Dumbledore). Sydney Buckbeak Bashyball the Third was very much alive to me––he was red, had yellow spikes down his spine, and could spit fire.

I distinctly remember spending hours reading the Harry Potter books from cover to cover as they were released. I went to the events Indigo would host on release dates, during which they kept the stores open until midnight. These books and films shaped my childhood, and, much like “Friends” and “Gilmore Girls,” they feel like home. Heck, I have a Marauder’s Map on my living room wall. Oh, and a poorly-drawn Deathly Hallows symbol on my ankle for the rest of my life.

So, be indifferent towards Harry Potter, if you will, but to actively hate it seems a little unnecessary, and it feels like dismissing magic as a whole. I can’t wrap my head around why anyone would want to do that.

And if you’re one of those people who has never read the books, meaning you’re basing your opinion entirely on the movies––do yourself a favour and read them. I am not ashamed to say that I have yet to find any book as enthralling as this series.

Mischief managed.

 

Photo by Matthew Coyte.

Categories
Student Life

Bars, ghost hunters and small towns: Revisiting family roots

Graphic by @sundaeghost

When you’re a kid, you hear the tales as you sit around the campfire; when you’re hiding in an attic during a game of hide and seek; as you lay in your friend’s bed in the middle of the night. Tales of ghosts, spirits, otherworldly creatures who exist seemingly only in fables… Or do they?

A few weeks ago, I spent the afternoon in the small town of Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, where I lived out my high school years. Or, as I like to call it, PTSD-ville. It’s a tiny place, everyone knows each other (if you could see me right now, I would be air-vomiting). My family owns half of the businesses on the main street in the old part of town. Unsurprising, then, that each and every time I swing by, I bump into someone I know. Think Stars Hollow, but French and obsessed with craft beer.

On this particular day, I was showing my lover around town with my cousin and her boyfriend. Over lunch, she casually mentioned how there were “ghost hunters” coming to hunt the ghosts at one of our family’s businesses: a bar in a three-storey building that used to be a bank–the basement full of old vaults and stairways to nowhere. The third floor, where half of the furniture I inherited is stored, looks, smells and feels like something out of a Saw movie.

“WHY DOESN’T ANYONE EVER TELL ME THESE THINGS,” I yelled.

This isn’t the first time something utterly ridiculous was taking place at one of our bars without my knowledge–once, Patrick Dempsey was there to film a scene from The Truth About the Harry Quebert Affair. Yes, you read that correctly. Dr. McDreamy himself.

I was fuming. But at least this time, I happened to be in town. Ghosts definitely aren’t as cool as McDreamy, but I’ll take what I can get.

When the ghost hunters arrived, I made my way over to the bar. They were in the basement in one of the vaults when I got there. They had knickknacks and doodads and whatsits galore–your standard flashlights, a few blinky things that are supposed to light up when a spirit presents itself, a machine that was, I think, supposed to shriek in the event of detecting energy, and a radio.

My boyfriend and I stared as they asked the spirit they were talking to–supposedly, a woman who kept the bank back in the 1930s–if she wanted us to leave the basement. The flashlight flicked on. We swiftly packed up and went upstairs.

We moved from floor to floor. The flashlights lit up most consistently. When they did, the hunters would ask the ghosts to step away from the light–to follow their voices to turn it back off. They hesitated sometimes, but seemingly always did. Other times, we managed to pick up a voice, or two, or three on the radio. The hunters wanted them to answer what I thought were pretty elaborate questions for the dead, such as “Did you work in the first bank that was here, or the bank that was here after that, or the bar?” Unfortunately, interdimensional signal was not superb, so it was hard to tell what they were saying, but there did seem to be voices.

My uncle, who works at the bar several nights per week, organized this whole affair. Given his personality, none of us were surprised. His wife died on Christmas Day back when my cousins and I were little kids, and his sister–my mom–died on Christmas Eve when we were all teenagers. Both of them spent a lot of time at the bars during their time on earth, which is probably what drew me to this whole ghost-hunting affair, outside of how cool it sounded.

Retrospectively, I have no idea what I was thinking in those moments, as the flashlights flickered on and off seemingly in response to questions the hunters asked. Surely, a quick Google search could debunk all of this bologna.

But whatever part of me believes in spirits hoped that if my mom were around, she’d let it be known. This was especially true when the hunters set up shop on the third floor–all of the knickknacks during that “session,” if you will, sat on her old furniture that I have yet to collect.

But of course she didn’t give me a sign.

I don’t know what I heard that night. I don’t know what I saw that night. I don’t even really know what I felt that night. All I know is for someone who can’t sleep after watching ghost movies, I wasn’t freaked out… and that my mom sure as heck was not in the building.

If spirits on earth are real and my mom is around, that bar is the last place I think she’d be spending her version of time. Well, maybe not the last place, but definitely not the first. My best guess is her cottage–a little shack in the woods in the mountains that my brother and I inherited but failed miserably to maintain. The perfect hangout for a cool mom angel.

But I’m definitely not judging where the dead choose to hang out, and if any ghosts are reading this, I REALLY LIKE YOUR OUTFIT.

 

Graphics by @sundaeghost

Categories
Arts

“The Lower Plateau”, a movie half a decade in the making

How Montreal local and Mcgill graduate, Liz Singh turned her life into a film

Liz Singh spent nearly half a decade working on her first film, The Lower Plateau, which was released in 2018. Made on a $19,000 production budget using just one camera and a boom mic, the film was Singh’s way of illustrating the many facets of her own life in the lower Plateau as an emerging artist. Based in Montreal, Singh obtained her bachelor’s degree in cultural studies at McGill in 2006, and went on to study film and television production at the University of Southern California.

Singh’s inspiration in pursuing this venture arose from a lack of interest in other opportunities. “I was looking for a project, and I couldn’t find anything I wanted to work on, so I made my own,” she said. Filmed in Montreal, the cast and crew consisted of about 50 people, many of whom had never worked on a movie set before. For a bunch of first-timers, the end result is quite impressive.

The Lower Plateau follows a 20-something named Jaine, who seems to be idling in uncertainty as to where to take her life. In an experience that is all too familiar to the creatively-adept young adult, she navigates toxic relationships, unemployment and a routine that seems tantalizing in its swift ability to direct her attention back to both.

A few solid friendships pull Jaine through the worst of times, though each bond bears its own set of scraps. Singh attributes the personalities of some of the supporting characters to her real-life companions. “I think probably every character that you write is a facet of yourself, and then mixed in with bits and pieces of people you know,” she said. “I wanted it to feel like my life in the lower Plateau; a lot of people I know, this is how we’re living, sort of working in bars and working at night, doing multiple gigs and making art on the side.”

Right now, Singh and co. are working on a few web series, one of which may involve “a modern take on superheroes,” Singh said. Through her production company, Dépanneur Films—which was established in 2014 under the name Cinéma La Vox—Singh has also put out a web series that resembles The Lower Plateau, called Bonjour Hi.

In listening to Singh describe her past as well as her ambitions, the parallels between her and Jaine are clear, despite one poignant detail. If Jaine is a version of Singh in any capacity, I have reason to believe that she represents a Singh of the past. The beaming woman who stood before me to eagerly discuss the details of her debut film seems to have surmounted a period of uncertainty and poured her heart and soul into her art. The result is content as beautiful as it is sad.

Though The Lower Plateau is a noticeable first attempt a full-length film, if it’s any preview of what Singh and the rest of her crew are capable of under a tight budget, I’m looking forward to whatever’s next.

The Lower Plateau was screened on April 7 at Transparent Film Festival in New York City, and will be available online next month as part of the Lift-Off Sessions.

Categories
Student Life

Reopening a heartfelt chapter from the past

Moe’s diner finds a new home in the CJ basement

When I was a kid, I spent most of my time in the basement of a 60s-style diner behind the Old Forum. My days consisted of playing “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls on the jukeboxes on repeat, riding around the block in one of the regular customer’s cabs, and mixing coffee, ketchup, pancake mix—anything I could get my hands on—together in a giant bowl. I called it a potion and begged my dad’s staff to have a taste.

The Corner Snack Bar—dubbed Moe’s—was opened by a man named Moe Sweigman in 1958. It was purchased by my grandparents, Vasiliki and Petros Thomas, 20 years later. For decades, the 24-hour greasy spoon served as an after-game pitstop for the Habs, whose home arena was located just across the street before they moved to the Bell Centre in 1996.

Eddy Thomas, father of Katelyn Thomas, in the 90s. Photo by Lee Jenkinson.

The Thomas’s eldest son, Eddy, dropped out of school at 15 to work at the diner full time. Eventually, a woman from Ontario named Lee was hired as a waitress. After a few years of bickering, the two fell in love and went on to have two children: my brother and me.

My grandparents passed the diner down to my dad in the 90s, and it’s where my parents worked for the better half of my life. It was everything to me; everything to us. Customers at Moe’s were as intrinsically tied to us as our family members. Even now, after all these years, they remain threaded into my memory like quirky, lovable characters from a Disney film.

I cried when employees quit. I cried when employees were fired (actually, the first time my parents told me they fired someone, I thought they meant they set him on fire). My mom used to say that when customers I didn’t like tried to talk to me, I’d just swivel around on my stool to face the opposite direction. I also apparently used to command customers to “talk” if they wore CHOM 97.7 apparel, in an attempt to recognize their voices, since the station served as the soundtrack to Moe’s until aux cords became a thing.

The diner meant so much to so many people. For some, it was a 3 a.m. poutine pitstop after a drunken night on the town. For others, it was where they brought a first date whose heart they would go on to claim forever; a place where you could bump into actors who were in town to shoot a movie; even a refuge during the Ice Storm of 1998 and the Dawson College shooting in 2006. For me, it was a go-to hangout, bottomless fries, Yiayia’s unrivaled tzatziki, and my first (and longest) full-time job. But above all, it was home.

Eddy, Katelyn and Justin Thomas (left to right). Photo by Lee Jenkinson.

When times got tough and we had to close in December 2015, it felt like I was losing part of my soul. My mom passed away six years prior to that, so it also felt like I was losing yet another part of her. A chapter of my life closed forever, and it still feels like I’m being stabbed in the heart when I drive by its former location to find a trendy café in its place.

Nowadays, Moe’s crosses my mind every so often, like when I come across an old photograph I haven’t seen in a while. But for the most part, it’s been compartmentalized into a part of my brain labelled “this hurts too much to think about.”

Since the diner’s closing, I’ve taken on a few different jobs, but most of my time has been devoted to the journalism degree I’m pursuing at Concordia. As a journalism student, I spend a lot of time in the CJ building on the Loyola campus. Last fall, as I was walking down the hallway that leads to the tunnel connecting CJ to the SP building, I looked up and stopped dead in my tracks. Hanging there on the wall was a 7UP sign that read “CASSE-CROUTE DU COIN RESTAURANT.” It took a second, but then it hit me: I know this sign. It used to hang above the window outside my diner.

It’s hard to put how I felt in that moment into words, but for the most part I was overcome with a distinct feeling of warmth that I’ve never experienced before. It might be comparable to bumping into an old friend you haven’t seen in years, whose whereabouts you were entirely unaware of up until your paths happened to cross again. A twist of fate.

Of all the places on earth this sign could have ended up, it so happened to be in a building where I spend most of my days. Moe’s lives on forever in the hearts of everyone who frequented it over the years, but also in the basement of Concordia’s CJ building. Somehow, three years later, it made its way back to me.

Categories
Arts

Do the right thing, do what you love

Spike Lee kicks off Montreal’s International Black Film Festival and talks film and racism in America

Legendary director Spike Lee talked filmmaking, racism in America and “Agent Orange” at the Cinéma Impérial on Sept. 26 as part of the 14th edition of the Montreal International Black Film Festival (MIBFF).

Moderated by MIBFF founder Fabienne Colas, “An Intimate Evening with Spike Lee” was two hours of valuable advice from the star whose latest film, BlacKkKlansman, won the Grand Prix at the 2018 Cannes Film Festival.

Lee had a lot to say about how to make it in the film industry. “I’m not going to stand on this stage, lie and tell you this stuff is easy,” he said. “People do not understand how hard it is in this industry… It is hard to make a horrible film. It is hard to make a horrible film, let alone a good film.”

Colas interjected with, “How hard is it, Spike?”

“Hard as shit,” he replied, adding that the idea of overnight success that has become popular with this generation is particularly harmful. “No such thing,” he said. “It doesn’t exist. You might not hear the hard shit, but nobody worthwhile just popped up out of nowhere.”

According to Lee, a common reason people don’t follow their dreams is because they feel pressured to make their parents proud. “Parents kill more dreams than anybody,” he said. “It’s not because they’re evil, but parents want more for their children than what they got.”

Adopting the persona of a stern parent, Lee continued: “Me and your mother have taken out a second mortgage on our house to put your black ass through school so you could be a poet? A dancer? A writer? As long as you’re black and in my house, eating my food, wearing my clothes, you’re going to get a good damn job, and you’re going to get paid every two weeks.”

The crowd erupted with knowing laughter. Lee looked out over the audience.

Parents, you know who you are … Please, do not crush your children’s dreams.”

Lee, who teaches film classes at New York University, asked the crowd to raise their hands if they’d seen any of the movies he asks his students to watch. He made his way through the list and then repeated the activity, this time naming the five Spike Lee movies he thinks are most important to see in terms of the messages they convey.

Lee said he was impressed by the amount of people who’d seen some of his lesser-known projects. He occasionally yelled, “Don’t lie!” when he suspected the audience might be trying to impress him. Was it so hard to believe that a theatre full of Spike Lee fans had actually seen most of his movies?

Colas commended Lee’s consistent activism through his films and documentaries—citing Do the Right Thing and 4 Little Girls as examples—and sought his opinion on the firing of American football quarterback Colin Kaepernick.

“Number one, the NFL is guilty of collusion,” Lee said, prompting what was easily the loudest audience reaction of the night. “In no way, shape or form was the act of kneeling about disrespecting the military and the flag. Americans can be stupid sometimes, and they took that, hook, line and sinker. That was about bringing light to how black people are treated in the United States of America,” he said, adding that the United States was built by black people after the land was stolen from Native Americans.

“The NFL owners, they’re going to be on the wrong side of history,” Lee said. He sighed and shook his head. “And then this guy in the White House: Agent Orange… I think the mistake some people are making when they look at Agent Orange is they think—when they look at BlacKkKlansman—that this doesn’t happen in the United States of America … It happens all over the world.”

Even today, I have meetings where I’m the only black person in the room. So a whole lot of work needs to be done.”

Lee urged the crowd to follow their dreams. “You do what it takes to do what you love,” he said. “I say my prayers every night because I’m doing what I love. The majority of the people on this earth go to their grave having worked a job they hate.”

BlacKkKlansman is currently screening at select theatres in Montreal.

Categories
Music

Kaleo breaks hearts

Kaleo leaves everything on the stage at Place Bell - Photo by Katelyn Thomas

The Icelandic band rocked Laval’s Place Bell on Sept. 11

“I’ve busted bones / broken stones / looked the devil in the eye / I hope he’s going to break these chains.”

Kaleo didn’t break any bones at their Place Bell show last Tuesday, but they probably did break some hearts. Made up almost entirely of lifelong friends, the four-man band pulled at their Canadian fans’ heartstrings when they emerged on stage eclipsed in blood-red lights.

It’s always interesting to see which songs bands choose to start and end their shows on. That night, when frontman JJ Julius Son’s deep voice broke the silence by gently groaning the first few lines of “Broken Bones,” the crowd erupted in blissful cheers. Anticipation, meet satisfaction. The song began faintly—a capella, save for the rhythmic claps—until the 23-second mark when full volume was attained; then Rubin Pollock and his guitar skillfully snatched the spotlight.

Next up on the setlist was the band’s fourth single, “Can’t Go on Without You,” which they delivered with precision and poise. If there’s one way Kaleo sets themselves apart in today’s music scene, it’s by sounding even better live than they do on their records.

Of course, no Kaleo concert is complete without “No Good,” the textured tune that earned them a nomination in the Best Rock Performance category at the 2017 Grammy Awards. As the seventh song from the start, as well as from the end, it served as the perfect mid-show banger.

Three quarters of the way in, they sang my personal favourite, “Automobile.” This feel-good track confirms the versatility that inspired the title of the band’s second album, A / B. According to Son, the album name represents both sides of a record as a nod to their split sound: blues-rock and folk. “The ‘A’ side is more rock and roll and blues… While the ‘B’ side is a bit softer with more ballads,” he said.

Photo by Katelyn Thomas

The crowd swayed to the ending of “Automobile,” and the energy in the arena swiftly reached its peak as the band began to play “Way Down We Go.” Certified platinum in the United States, this is the song you’d play for a friend if they said they didn’t know Kaleo, in an effort to make them recognize that they do. That’s not to say the other songs aren’t equally deserving of attention or critical acclaim. In fact, Kaleo’s A / B is one of the only records that never lets me hit the skip button.

Aside from the exceptionally well-rounded music, a standout element that tied the show together for me was the lighting. It was perfectly in pace with the timing and ambiance of every song, guiding the audience to clap along, quiet down or lose control. Max Lenox, the band’s lighting designer, programmer and director, outdid himself this time.

Kaleo’s current tour is set to end on Sept. 30 in Asbury Park, NJ. So, if you’re in the mood for a last-minute road trip, throw some clothes in a bag, hop in a car or on a bus, and put A / B on an infinite loop.

Categories
Opinions

OPINION: The scary use of the “R” word

Photo by Katelyn Thomas.

Today, we can’t be just not racist––we must be anti-racist

If you feel like you have to explain why something isn’t racist, a) it probably is and b) you’re on the wrong side of history. At an event organized by the Federal Liberal Association in St. Jean on Aug. 16, a woman interrupted Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s speech by incessantly yelling his name until he had no choice but to acknowledge her.

“I want to know when you will give us back the $146 million that we paid for your illegal immigrants.” Those are the words that Diane Blain shouted at the top of her lungs (and into my ear) in a corn field off Highway 133 in Sabrevois, Que. Surrounded by flabbergasted Liberals who were just there to have a good time, Blain threatened to throw a punch at any person who asked her to calm down.

In the midst of the madness, Trudeau attempted to appease the woman by outlining a few ways the government is giving back to Quebecers. Once Trudeau felt he had given her an appropriate amount of attention, he resumed the speech he had come to give. But she wasn’t satisfied. “You didn’t answer my question,” Blain said. As she repeated it, a man found his way to her side to chime in with, “We are not on Mohawk territory.” (We were, in fact, on Mohawk territory).

So, Trudeau put aside diplomacy and called it like he saw it. “This intolerance regarding immigrants does not have a place in Canada,” he said. “Canada was built by waves of immigration that were welcomed by First Nations, who showed us how to build a strong society, and the people who come here, generation after generation, to build stronger communities, this is what makes us stronger as a country. Madam, your intolerance does not have a place here.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, and Trudeau exited stage left. But later, the internet exploded. I was shocked to find that even some Liberals felt Trudeau’s reaction was a little uncalled for. I later realized this reaction was largely due to the footage that circulated online shortly after the event. The video conveniently begins later than the kerfuffle did, meaning you don’t hear Trudeau’s initial level-headed response.

Some say Blain’s question was valid and that Trudeau called her racist to avoid having to answer it. I call bullshit. Trudeau called her racist because he, like any compassionate person, doesn’t believe the borders of our country are where we should draw the line between which humans we care about and which ones we don’t. Article 14 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the right to asylum, reads: “If you are persecuted at home, you have the right to seek protection in another country.” It saddens me that this concept continues to be questioned today.

Racism isn’t always blatant; it manifests itself in many different forms. Trudeau recognizing and denouncing an instance of subtle discrimination means he has an awareness that we should expect from all our leaders as well as ourselves. Being non-racist simply isn’t enough. We have to be anti-racist. We have to actively denounce everyday racism in our thoughts, speech and behaviour. The first step in doing so is calling it by its name.

Racism has always been racism. People aren’t taking things more personally than before. We’re just reaching a point in time where people feel empowered to demand better. And they should.

If there’s one thing I was left with after the bizarre evening I spent in a corn field, it was immense faith in the leader of our country and a sense of hope that change is on the horizon.

Photo by Katelyn Thomas

Categories
Music

What it takes to put on a Lumineers show

A behind-the-scenes look at the band’s live concert

Held together with suspenders and a range of feel-good folk songs, The Lumineers are the Denver-based band everyone just knows—but where did they come from? And what makes them great?

At their show in Ottawa earlier this year, Wesley Schultz, the band’s frontman, recounted a time when they went unrecognized in the parking lot of one of their sold-out shows. That night, the band had gone outside to greet people who couldn’t get tickets. As the band approached the parked cars, drivers abruptly closed their windows and ignored them. Schultz expressed gratitude that the people were in it for the music.

The Lumineers’s first single, “Ho Hey,” unexpectedly thrust them into the spotlight in 2012. The song is a blend of catchy melody, hearty shouts and lyrics that make you reflect on the withering flames of old friends and past lovers—evoking both sadness and serenity at once. It’s gut-wrenching and enthralling. Perhaps that’s the draw.

“So, show me family / All the blood that I would bleed / I don’t know where I belong / I don’t know where I went wrong / But I can write a song / I belong with you / You belong with me / You’re my sweetheart.”

The first components of what would eventually become The Lumineers came together in the mid-2000s. After meeting to collaborate and write songs, Schultz and Jeremiah Fraites played gigs in New Jersey as a duo until 2010. Schultz operated as the lead singer and guitarist. He also wrote all the lyrics. Fraites wrote the music and plays piano and drums.

After 2010, the duo decided to take on another member, inviting Neyla Pekarek to join them as a cello player and backup vocalist. Pekarek joined the band after responding to a Craiglist ad posted by Schultz and Fraites. On tour, the group also brings additional musicians who specialize in a broad range of instruments to complete their signature folksy sound.

Stelth Ulvang, for example, doubles as a solo-artist and the full-time barefoot member of The Lumineers. Yes, that’s right—Ulvang can easily be recognized on stage as the one without shoes. He has been adding to the group’s sound and keeping audiences thoroughly entertained since 2011 with backup vocals, guitar, piano and bare feet.

When asked about the unusual habit, Ulvang said it’s for comfort.

“I used to [do it] in my old band, Dovekins, and I developed a habit I love,” he said. “I really like playing piano barefoot—at least with an un-shoed pedal foot. I will usually kick my right shoe off sitting at a grand piano even in the fanciest places.”

The band has released two albums so far, the first being their self-titled debut that thrust them into the mainstream music scene and their second called Cleopatra. The album’s standout track, “Ophelia,” earned the band their first number-one hit. The song is about a taxi driver from the Republic of Georgia who was inadvertently hardened by time and circumstance. This song is one of five tracks on Cleopatra branded by a woman’s first name—each detailing a narrative that leaves you feeling inspired, defeated, in love or betrayed.

“While the church discouraged / Any lust that burned within me / Yes my flesh / It was my currency / But I held true / So I drive a taxi / And the traffic distracts me / From the strangers in my backseat / They remind me of you.”

While many of their songs explore the topic of love, the ones that don’t are equally blissful and honest in nature. With two albums full of raw emotion, it might be difficult for someone on the inside to choose a favourite song. Ulvang, however, didn’t hesitate to identify his.

“I love playing The Lumineers’s tune ‘Angela’ for the sincerity and surprising intensity it holds,” he said. “Angela” follows the tale of a woman who has been running away from her demons her entire life and concludes with her arriving in a place where she feels at home.

In a world where music has become very repetitive, The Lumineers find the true substance of the stories that become their songs. The resulting product is compelling, raw and, above all, it’s honest. Just ask former President Barack Obama, who included The Lumineers’s song “Stubborn Love” on one of his Spotify playlists and invited the band to perform at the White House twice in 2016.

“We were all pretty stoked to meet the president,” Ulvang said. “[We] dropped everything when we had a second chance to play at the White House—it’ll be at least four years until we do that again,” he added with a wink.

The Lumineers spent the past year juggling their tour and opening for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. When asked about the weirdest thing he witnessed on tour, Ulvang described a time when a crowd got a little handsy in Norway.

“I had never experienced that, as a man,” Ulvang said. “This old sailor who was helping put on the festival sees the discomfort in all of us and just starts linking everyone’s hands in the crowd […] Then we just had a ring of people around us holding hands.”

Max Lenox, who worked as the sound engineer for The Lumineers’s opening band, Kaleo, during their year-long tour, spoke highly of the group.

“The Lumineers’s production design was one of the most fluid and well-executed shows I have ever experienced,” he said.

Though they haven’t been around long, The Lumineers have managed to establish a fan base amongst a considerably wide audience. Their success so far indicates they are likely to continue on this path for years to come, and rightly so. In their own words, “I don’t gamble / But if I did / I would bet on us.”

The Cleopatra World Tour ended on Dec. 13 back where the band is rooted, in Denver, Colo.

Exit mobile version