Edmonton, AB singer-songwriter Ellie Heath returns with “Too Old (For This Shit),” a witty, uplifting indie pop anthem that leans into the absurdity of aging without ever feeling like a grown-up. Playful yet pointed, the track captures the familiar feeling of being a kid in adult clothes; paying bills, following rules, and quietly wondering when adulthood is supposed to click into place.

“At its core, the song is about aging with humour,” Heath explains. “Feeling like a kid wearing adult clothes, navigating expectations, responsibilities, and the slow realization that nobody ever really tells you when you’ve ‘arrived.'”

Co-written and produced alongside Hawksley Workman and Tristan Konkle of Tapes In Motion, “Too Old (For This Shit)” balances joyful, child-like production with a dry, deadpan vocal delivery that gently pokes fun at the seriousness we’re told to adopt with age. Whistles, chorus layers, and playful textures bring a children’s song sensibility, while a tight rhythm section keeps the track grounded and cool.

1. Tell us the story of this song. Why did you choose to visualize this one specifically?

This song was written on the very last day of a writing trip in Ontario, at a moment when everything felt raw and honest. It came from the strange, funny tension of being labeled “too old” when, internally, you still feel young, curious and a bit like a kid figuring things out for the first time. That contradiction is really at the heart of the song.

I chose to visualize this track because it’s fun and full of attitude. It has this bright, slightly defiant energy that felt incredibly visual to me right away. The idea of setting it in a school felt perfect; that na-na-na-boo-boo, Freaks + Geeks kind of misfit energy. I’ve never really felt like I fit in and that feeling has stuck with adulthood. I still feel like someone walking around with a backpack, looking thirteen and forty at the same time. Capturing that tension felt playful, honest and true to the song and ultimately, ME. 

2. What was the inspiration behind this video (visuals, storyline, etc.)?

The inspiration really grew out of that same outcast energy. I kept thinking about characters like Spinelli from Recess, or the world of Freaks and Geeks; these people who exist just outside the social order, who are aware of the rules but don’t quite buy into them.

I loved the idea of placing a forty-year-old inside a junior high as a total fish-out-of-water moment. It’s funny, but it’s also a way of revisiting your own childhood with a bit of nostalgia and rebellion. There’s something powerful about winking at an institution and saying, I don’t play by the rules you’ve set here.

Musically and visually, the song was also inspired by artists like Sheryl Crow and Alanis Morissette; that alternative pop/rock space that feels confident, expressive and a little bit messy in the best way. Alanis’s Ironic video was a big touchstone, especially the idea of playing multiple versions of yourself, which felt like a natural extension of the song’s themes around identity, age and self-perception.

3. What was the process of making this video?

The process was fast, focused and very DIY. We rented a school for six hours, so everything had to be planned down to the minute. We came in knowing exactly which spaces we wanted, what shots we needed and how we were going to move through the building.

Most of my music videos are made with a very small crew (usually just my photographer, my videographer and me) and this one was no different. It’s a lot of trust, a lot of hustle and a lot of moving quickly. There’s no time to overthink things; you just commit and make it happen.

We showed up prepared, stayed nimble and powered through. It was one of those shoots where you’re just getting shit done and honestly, that energy suits the song perfectly!

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The song was written quickly during a final co-writing session in Peterborough, ON, manifesting as an effortless burst of inspiration on the last day before Heath headed back to Toronto to catch a flight home.

“We weren’t even going to try writing anything, but this idea came flooding in and we laid down the demo track in what felt like an instantaneous, effortless, fun and inspiring writing session,” she recalls. “I was fairly certain I’d listen back on the bus ride to Toronto and think it sucked, but I was pleasantly surprised to find a banger visit my ears when I tuned in!”

Rather than mourning youth, “Too Old (For This Shit)” honours the clarity that comes with time. “Aging isn’t a death sentence,” Heath notes. “It deepens the fun moments and makes them richer. It’s more of a choice as you get older to keep your childlike wonder and enthusiasm for things.”

The Imaginary Band, longtime Chilliwack, BC-based musician Andrew Christopher’s latest project, steps fully into focus on their debut single, “Polka Hands.” A carefree, roots-leaning indie-folk single, it celebrates intuition, creativity, and the beauty of not overthinking life’s next move.

“At first, The Imaginary Band only existed vaguely in my mind,” explains Christopher. “But when I wrote ‘Polka Hands,’ I learned to fully embrace the concept.” Without a bass player at the time, he began playing a bassline on guitar, imagining exactly how it would feel once the right players arrived. “Immediately, an imaginary drummer sat behind the kit in my head, laying down a groovy but straight-ahead rock beat. Just sitting in the pocket. That’s still the intro of the song.”

The clarity of this vision unlocked something new; not just musically, but emotionally. Written during a lazy afternoon at a pump track while watching his son ride his bike, the lyrics came naturally and without force. “They speak of taking chances, doing hard things, accepting the reality that life is inherently complex, and that it’s beautiful that way,” Andrew shares. With real-life bandmates who are ever-so imaginative now filling the roles once envisioned, “Polka Hands” becomes both a song and a statement of intent. 

The title itself reinforces the song’s central message: don’t overthink it. Inspired by a recent polka band performance at a friend’s 40th birthday and lyrics referencing a barroom scene and a game of Texas Hold’em, the original phrase “Polka Bands & Poker Hands” was quickly distilled. “It was a bit too wordy,” Andrew laughs. “So I went with ‘Polka Hands’ without overthinking it.”

Warm, carefree, and gently propulsive, “Polka Hands” balances folk and roots textures with indie sensibility, inviting listeners to loosen their grip, trust their instincts, and move forward with optimism.

Toronto-based Anishinaabe singer-songwriter and producer Natasha Fisher returns with “The Motions,” an emotionally charged pop-punk track that explores a rarely examined kind of heartbreak: realizing you’ve fallen out of love in a healthy relationship. Energetic, nostalgic, and aching with longing, the song captures the internal chaos of choosing yourself when nothing is overtly “wrong,” and leaving becomes the hardest option of all.

Inspired by adulthood breakups, “The Motions” pushes back against the dominance of young-love narratives in pop music. Instead, Fisher turns her focus toward the quiet devastation of building a life with someone only to recognize that the relationship no longer serves who you’re becoming. “This makes the decision to leave even harder,” she explains, “to the point where you wish that they had done something significant to make you feel the way you do.”

Blending early-2000s pop-rock nostalgia with modern alternative production, “The Motions” feels both familiar and freshly lived-in. The track’s driving energy contrasts with its emotional weight, mirroring the tension between outward momentum and inner doubt. Fisher and her producer Keegan Grebanier intentionally shaped the song’s dynamics to reflect that push-and-pull, with the bridge standing as the emotional breaking point; a surge of internal conflict finally boiling over.

At its heart, “The Motions” continues Fisher’s ongoing exploration of emotional honesty, self-trust, and release. Her recent work centres on navigating the complexities of relationships (romantic, personal, and internal) while learning to let go of connections and self-talk that no longer serve growth. It’s music about honouring yourself, even when it hurts.

Bilingual electro-pop duo Beau Nectar (singer-songwriters Marie-Clo and éemi) share “Tulip,” a sharp, historically rooted meditation on beauty, value, and collapse, featuring Vancouver’s acclaimed electro-pop duo Vox Rea. 

Taken from their upcoming Dandy LP (out May 2026 via Indica Records), the song draws inspiration from 17th-century tulipomania. A moment when flowers were traded for fortunes and even family members, it reframes history as a mirror for modern, ever-shifting beauty standards.

“In the 1600’s, people went to war for the tulip and could even trade their daughters for a simple bulb; that’s how valuable it was,” Beau Nectar explains. “Shortly after its fame, the tulip contracted a virus that caused its colors to go from monochromatic to multiple colors. And just like that, tulipomania was dead.”

Blending pop, rock, and electro textures, “Tulip” balances playful swagger with dark thematic weight. Layers of synths and guitars support stacked harmonies and processed vocals, creating a sound that feels both fun and quietly confrontational. As the song edges toward brightness, its subject matter pulls back to highlight how quickly obsession curdles once ideals mutate beyond recognition.

The title “Tulip” also nods inward. It’s a linguistic callback to Beau Nectar’s debut francophone album Two Lips, a play on words that reflects the duo’s shared vocal identity and the collaborative nature of the track. Alongside Vox Rea, the song becomes a meeting point between two duos, both sonically and symbolically.

The collaboration with Vox Rea felt organic and inevitable, inspiring Beau Nectar to pen “Tulip” during Marie-Clo and éemi’s residency at the Banff Musicians in Residence program. The result is a song that feels strong, sassy, and deceptively educational; a darkly playful reminder of how quickly we discard what we once worshipped.

Produced with Jace Lasek, alongside collaborators Olivier Fairfield and Philippe Charbonneau, the track leans into contrast by fusing rock energy with electronic elements. “We wanted to amplify harmonies, play with vocal effects, and just have fun in the studio,” they note, while still respecting their artistic vision.

Toronto’s Victoria Staff returns with “Sweet Blue Moon,” a reflective, romantic single that traces a relationship from its first spark through its unraveling, and finally into the quiet space of looking back. Rather than framing love as something purely good or bad, the track lingers in the in-between and honours the rare moments that mattered, even when everything else fell apart.

The name came late in the process. “This song didn’t have a title for a long time,” Staff explains. “It was just ‘that song without a name’ that my producer Will Crann and I were making.” While listening back, the phrase “Sweet Blue Moon” surfaced as a subtle twist on the familiar idiom. “This song isn’t just about rare moments,” she says. “It’s about rare moments you enjoyed, and being happy you have them to hold onto.” Structurally, the song mirrors the emotional arc it explores. “There really isn’t any part of this song that repeats, because it’s not about any one thing,” Staff notes. The track unfolds in three distinct choruses, each reflecting a different phase of the same relationship. The first is rooted in confidence and possibility, written with straightforward major chords. The second shifts into collapse, moving through relative minors that intentionally create tension and unease. By the final chorus, the song returns to major chords but with variations that introduce uncertainty, echoing the unresolved nature of memory and reflection.

Lyrically, “Sweet Blue Moon” captures the fleeting thoughts that surface when revisiting the past. “It’s the short train of thought that blows through when you think about your past,” Staff says. “You were with someone, it ended badly, but you hope they think about you and they think nice things.”

Pursuing a long-held talent for literate, place-based songwriting, singer-songwriter Allen Dobb unveils his new single “At the Bridge,” a Canadiana-leaning folk and roots composition inspired by the life and legacy of James Teit. Teit was a Shetland-born, self-taught anthropologist who formed deep relationships with Indigenous communities in British Columbia in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

The first single to be shared from Dobb’s forthcoming album, The Afterlife Sessions (out April 24th, 2026), “At the Bridge” was sparked after attending a performance by longtime friend and songwriter John Gogo, whose work often brings historical figures vividly to life. “After the show, a friend suggested I try writing a song about James Teit,” Dobb recalls. “I was familiar with him through Wendy Wickwire’s biography (the song’s namesake), but felt it would be challenging to bring his life story into song given Teit is a largely unknown historical character. Still, I was inspired by the suggestion and his remarkable life.”

While writing the song, Dobb traveled to Merritt, British Columbia, where Teit is buried in a cemetery overlooking the town and where a small archive dedicated to his life is kept. Visiting the gravesite proved formative. “It was impactful and ultimately inspired the lyrics,” Dobb says. “Those moments, along with stories shared by a friend whose mother worked as a health practitioner among Indigenous communities in the Nicola Valley, all figured into the song in subtle but meaningful ways.”

Musically, “At the Bridge” unfolds with a gentle rise and fall, ultimately resolving into a place of calm acceptance. The recording captures a particularly organic energy, highlighted by Ryland Moranz’s playing on Dobb’s 1927 Martin 00-21 guitar. “It’s light as a feather; Brazilian rosewood and delivers such character and bass response for its size,” Dobb notes. “It was perfectly placed.”

At its core, “At the Bridge” is a testament to trusting the songwriting process. “I was curious how a song with broader appeal might emerge, given all the rich details of the story that were there to work with,” Dobb admits. “But it makes me feel peaceful and at ease, ultimately, that means it’s right. All the pieces work together; the melody is persistent and once it has you, it’s hard to escape.”