By Kalina Nedelcheva
In the quaint Array Space at 155 Walnut Avenue, Toronto-based queer electronic musician Dinah Thorpe performed Dinah! alongside a film which interprets each one of the 17 songs on the album.
Throughout the performance, Thorpe established a synergy between the ebbs and flows of her delicate voice, which sometimes accompanied and at other times contrasted the unpredictable urgency of the instrumentals and the visual language of the film. The cinematography oscillated between the abstract and the everyday, juxtaposing texture and shadow play with experiences of living and navigating the urban environment. Some shots—such as the interpretive dance by collaborator Patricia Allison framed by trees, fallen leaves, and a busy street in the background—were endearing; others were eerie and confrontational. For example, Thorpe presents documentation of the fences and signs that the City of Toronto put up as part of its efforts to remove homeless individuals from park encampments. The sequence and the lyrics of this track remind us of the protests, policing, and the demand for safe spaces for vulnerable citizens that have been going on since January 2021. The beats and lyrics reflected these narratives, shifting between a calming lullaby and heavier, industrial prowess. The experience of Dinah! blends a sense of immediacy and a softness particular to queer identities. The rhythm kept listeners grounded throughout and the artist’s commitment to activist causes was clear and decisive—Thorpe concluded her performance in a tee proudly claiming: “PRIDE IS ABOLITIONIST.”
I had the opportunity to chat with the artist before the Dinah! release show where she elaborated on the creative process for this album and film.
K: Can you tell us about the journey of creating your upcoming album, “Dinah!”? How did the process differ from your previous albums (considering the pandemic context)?
D: It’s hard to talk about the whole process because it spanned for so many years. I always write alone and that didn’t change during the pandemic. But it was a different kind of isolation than experienced in previous artistic work. There was the context of panic and also not being able to go see art in person or be within artist communities outside of Zoom. I got a ukulele bass and a sequencer/sampler, which has helped me make beats in a new way. I felt like these two instruments kept me afloat in the pandemic. With no shows on the horizon, I could concentrate on just writing and not think as much about how to show things in a live context. A lot of the beats in the new album are from that beat machine and practicing for the launch of Dinah!, made me realize that I ended up playing bass on more than half the songs.
K: How did this period of isolation impact your relationship with your voice and your approach to music-making?
D: It impacted everything—both the content and the structure of the songs. I feel like the things that I was writing about changed. And you know, there’s a particular structure that emerged where it’s sort of quiet and then it’s full-on panic, like a dense, fast panic. I’m not doing that structure anymore, so it feels like a particular pandemic song structure. I also started writing more instrumentals during that period of isolation. I think that was the result of not knowing what to say at all and finding it easier to translate things musically and not lyrically.
K: Your music has been described as “home to both the emotional and the physical.” How did you balance these elements in Dinah!, and what was your creative process like in achieving that balance?
D: As you know, dance parties were not a thing for such a long time and maybe still are not the easiest thing to go to COVID-wise and so, I started dancing more in my studio. I’m not a dancer, but I found that when I would do exercise videos, I’d also have a dance party. I also found myself more drawn to making dancier music. It was such a particular time for the body, remember? I don’t mean to say it’s over for folks but just acknowledging this scary, intense time for the body. At the same time, your body was trapped in one place. I guess I started using my body in different ways. I started doing a lot more yoga in the pandemic which changed my singing; it made me a better singer, which was not part of the plan. It just happened. Moving my body in these new ways helped me have a little bit more of an integrated practice for myself.
Now, I’m moving towards performance that involves lip-syncing, dance, and stripping, which is a whole other direction of embodiment. My practice had to become more integrated during the pandemic because my studio was the place where I could do things with my body when all the other things I usually did—like basketball, for example—were not available. And now, I am taking a cardio dance party class which is humiliating because I can’t keep up. But it’s teaching me to move my body in different ways and I am curious if that will make a difference in my work.
Dinah Thorpe. Dinah! performance and film at Array Space. Photo courtesy of the artist.
K: Your album features a “dynamic frisson,” with starts and stops that seem to mirror the unpredictability of the past couple of years. Can you speak to how you captured this sense of propulsion and tension throughout the album?
D: So, I love a wall of sound—like, I totally love a wall of sound and songs that do that well in all kinds of genres, not just in electronic music but also in band and classical music. I also really love singing quietly and with lots of layers of harmony in a way that you can hear the different parts. And I love bringing those things together, like having a wall of sound and having 10 vocal tracks with harmonies at the same time. The songs in Dinah! reflect the time of the pandemic because it was a very quiet time and a very introspective time, but it was also a time of utter panic and chaos internally. The wall of sound and the more folky, lyrical quietness ended up co-existing in some cases. I find it interesting to try to put them next to each other and see if I can make a coherent narrative that contains both. In some structures, I also like to do an arc where it’s a slow build, slow build, explode, and then the end.
K: Have you ever thought about your songs as lullabies?
D: I think that I aspire to write a lullaby but I’m not sure that I would be able to write a lullaby and then not throw something else in to wake the baby up at the end, you know?
K: Maybe it’s not a traditional lullaby but a queer lullaby. Like, wake up to the world and your identity!
D: Totally! Or like songs of queer seduction…the seduction of sleep, the seduction of sex.
K: How do you define queer seduction?
D: Well, I can’t speak for the audience, but people reflect to me that that’s been their experience of a show. I enjoy it when that happens because that’s my memory of going to inspiring concerts. You can’t figure out whether you want to be with them or sleep with them at the end, right? For me, all those early concert experiences were with queer musicians. I mean, I hope I engender that in people too but that’s also weird. Like, it’s this weird thing we project onto artists, right? It’s partly that music is very seductive when people are good at it.
But the other side effect of being a musician for me is that sex can’t involve music in any way because I am too involved in it, and I will check out of the thing that’s going on and pay more attention to the music. I feel kind of jealous of people who can set the perfect vibe by putting on music. Occupational hazard, I guess.
K: As an activist and athlete, how do you see your identity intersecting with your music, particularly in the realm of queer alt-electronic music? How does your personal journey inform the themes and messages in your songs?
D: All of the pieces that you’re talking about, like the piece of me that plays basketball and organizes basketball community and the piece of me that organizes for Palestinian liberation, which I’m involved in as much as I can be, make their way into my work. There is a track on the record about helping unhoused folks who are being violently evicted from a park by the police, for example. These pieces are just who I am. They inform my work in that way and vice versa; it just gives me the strength to do other work that I do that’s hard. I’m interested in doing activism in different ways. There’s the sort of obvious way of participating in marches and there are less obvious ways like delivering food to people who need it. I don’t mean to say that I’m doing everything on the activist spectrum, but I like to engage locally and be aware of horrendous global events to try and figure out how to make change happen.
I think everyone should be involved in this stuff. As artists, it is our job to look around and see what’s happening. In this sense, we are even more responsible because our job is to observe and reflect. Being an artist, a queer, an activist, and being an anti-capitalist and an anti-racist are all a part of me, and I don’t know that I can say which caused which. If you’re an artist, you’re likely living inside a system where you don’t get paid for your work so presumably that would make you identify with other people who don’t get paid for their work, right? And maybe you also recognize that other people do way harder work than you that they get paid badly for.
I want to be in community and a big way that I have found to be in community is through activism. And I feel like once you have a sense of how messed up things are, then there is no choice but to try to do something about it.
K: What do you hope listeners will take away from experiencing your music?
D: I always think of music as company and as therapy. It’s the thing that you put on while you’re making dinner and maybe you wiggle a bit, or it helps you through your day. I don’t know, it helps you with boring chores. And then the more active pieces are the emotions. I think we’ve probably all had the experience where we’re having a feeling, maybe we don’t even know what the feeling is, and then suddenly we’re listening to the perfect song for that feeling. Maybe the song causes us to dance down the street or to suddenly bawl our eyes out. I do this work in order to work through things and I hope my music works this way for other people, as well.
K: Can you tell us a little bit about the film you made to go with your record?
D: It’s been a fun, interesting, and difficult project. I think working more in film partly came from the pandemic. There is a video for every song. I wasn’t sure how the film would be as a whole since there are 17 songs but having finished it, I think it does cohere; there are themes and a pace to it. So, you can experience the album by listening to it or you can experience the album by listening to it and watching the videos at the same time. It’s funny, at the very end of the project, I thought, why did I do this to myself? But I just wanted it to exist.
You can find more of Dinah’s music on her website and Bandcamp.
