The Evolution of Edmonton Hip-Hop

An interview with Arlo Maverick, Kreesha Turner, K-Riz and Mouraine.

By Neil Jefferies

Published on August 26, 2026

Isolated by cold hard winters and a geography that places it higher North than any other major North American city, Edmonton is a place known more for a hockey team and mall culture than it is a rapper’s paradise. But embedded in every Edmontonian is a pride that isn’t as thorough in the inhabitants of other Western Canadian cities (looking at you, Calgary and Vancouver). Instead of treating their city like a place they had to get away from, something that Western Canadian and particularly prairie artists are all too familiar with, Edmonton’s artists rep the city that helped shape them with the same gaudiness found in rappers from Toronto, New York, Atlanta, Memphis, LA, etc.

A connection to the city and its hidden talent is what prompted local legend Arlo Maverick to start Music for Mavericks — a former record label/hip hop collective focused on developing an infrastructure for up and coming hip hop artists in Edmonton. Arlo, as well as fellow Edmonton success stories, Kreesha Turner, K-Riz and Mouraine got to experience the Edmonton rap scene at its peak. Ahead of Music for Maverick’s 20th anniversary in which they’ll celebrate with a concert and pop up museum at the Old Strathcona Performing Arts Centre, RANGE sits down with local artists Arlo Maverick, Kreesha Turner, K-Riz and Mouraine to talk about the early days of Edmonton’s hip hop scene and how it evolves from here.

“It’s interesting because to us, it felt like it was a big scene,” says Arlo. “we had mentors that were teaching us about what was going on, we had hip-hop nights throughout the city, we had CJSR, we had DJs who were putting out mixtapes and featuring artists on there. There was stuff coming through the city, and it was gradually increasing, but I think the thing that was cool about that time period is that because it wasn’t oversaturated, it meant more to us.”

“The city felt different then too because people genuinely came out to support local talent,” chimes in Turner. “There was an audience for what was happening locally, and there was this feeling that we were all building something together. Long before the major label, moving to L.A. or anything else that came later in my career, those years in Edmonton were where I really learned how to be an artist.”

In the early 2000’s Arlo was a member of Politic Live — a punchy Boom Bap crew that was just as conscious as they were fun. Performing with a live band, they bring classic groups like The Roots and Digable Planets to mind. It was at Politic Live shows where Both K-Riz and Turner first connected with Arlo.

“That’s how it all started,” says K-Riz. “Me and Arlo connected and he’s always been like a big brother to me. I started getting shows and hopping on features as part of their sets. Those were some of my first shows. Arlo’s always showed me the way – how to be professional, how to carry yourself.”

“I remember opening for The Game as part of Politic Live’s set,” adds Turner. “I remember opening for Chris Brown. Those experiences were huge for me at that age. You could be an emerging artist from Edmonton and suddenly find yourself on the same bill as an artist you had been watching on television.”

“Around that same time, Aliby, Oozeela and I formed a group called Supreme Team,” Turner continues. “K-Riz was also technically a member of Supreme Team for about a day before the group broke up, which still makes me laugh.”

Speaking with Arlo, it’s easy to understand how he found himself in somewhat of an ambassadorial role for up and coming Edmonton artists. He speaks about the rise of artistry in a way that makes one feel that, with enough work ethic and discipline, those lofty dreams are achievable.

“I remember Bert, Arlo’s cousin, who was really a mentor to us,” says Mouraine. “He made us stand in front of a mirror and perform the same song over and over again. If we messed up even a little bit, we had to restart from the beginning.”

Music for Mavericks has tried to replicate the discipline Mouraine speaks about through similar practices. Every Sunday, Arlo and his crew would host meetings to talk through goals and run through rehearsals.

“If you were late for the Sunday meetings, even 30 seconds late, they would lock you out,” says K-Riz. “You wouldn’t be able to get into the meeting, and when they finally let you in, Arlo would make us write lines: ‘I will not be late for meetings. I will not be late for meetings.’”

“He still bugs me about that today,” says Arlo. “But it was one of those things where we were trying to instill a sense of discipline in them, and allow them to realize, like, we are in a city that no one is looking out for. We are in a city that doesn’t have the infrastructure, so we have to be focused. We have to be ready. We have to be vigilant with what we’re doing. We have to have the best product. We have to get behind that product.”

The nature behind this bootcamp approach came from the knowledge that Edmonton’s scene would have to grow together in order to grow at all.

“Music for Mavericks really was one big family,” says Turner. “Whenever Arlo and Politic Live got an opportunity, Arlo was constantly looking for ways to include the rest of us. Sometimes that meant pulling one of us into their set to perform a song or finding some other way to give us a moment on a bigger stage. There wasn’t this feeling of, ‘I got mine, now you go get yours.’ If someone got through a door, they tried to hold it open for somebody else.”

Shows were happening all over Edmonton back then. From the Starlite room, Clareview Pub and Avenue Theatre in the Northwest, to the Artery and the Hyde in downtown, to Reds in West Edmonton Mall, there were shows covering all corners of the city.

“A lot of people were just like, Edmonton’s boring,” Arlo says. “I was like, how are you saying this when there’s all this stuff happening?”

“All of us were outside,” says Turner. “Friday, Saturday, Sunday night, we were performing somewhere, finding a stage to get on and figuring out how to become artists in real time.”

Fast forward to today and things have changed in Edmonton. Like so many other Canadian cities, venues have seen higher rent tie together with a drop in demand. People simply aren’t going out like they used to and artists aren’t giving them enough reasons to do so.

“Nowadays, you create a song, you put it online, you figure out ways to market it, and all of a sudden you’ve got a million streams, but you haven’t done a single show,” says Arlo. “You don’t see the need to do a show ’cause it’s like, well, I’ve got my audience, I’ve got my fan base, why do I need to do a show unless it’s something important, right? In our time period we didn’t have access to so many people, so we had to go out there and win people over and that helped us develop our craft.”

“Unfortunately, there’s less venues. Unfortunately, there’s less campus radio shows. I know campus radio doesn’t move the needle like it used to, but that’s still a part of the community. It still allows for artists to get to know who’s within their ecosystem. It still allows the artists to tell their stories. There aren’t as many outlets for artists to share their stories, but artists can speak to their fans directly. So there’s pro’s and con’s.”

“Over the years I’ve heard that the scene isn’t quite what it was when we were coming up,” adds Turner. “Particularly post COVID, so much of how people discover and experience music has moved online. But I’m actually optimistic about where things could go next. We’re watching this return to analog happen culturally. Vinyl is back. Physical media is back. And I think a younger generation that has grown up experiencing so much of life through a screen is becoming increasingly interested in experiencing things IRL. They want spaces to gather. They want to discover something themselves. They want experiences that feel tangible. That’s why I think there’s an opportunity for Edmonton right now.”

According to Arlo, that opportunity is in the hands of upcoming artists such as Tomi Lumiere, Zaire Ink and ARDN who received a Juno nomination in 2025 and should be on the radar for anyone monitoring contemporary hip hop.

As the 20th Anniversary of Music for Mavericks creeps up, the moment shouldn’t be looked at solely as a reason to nostalgize, it should be a reminder that the growth never stops.

“Maybe we’re not only celebrating what existed 20 years ago. Maybe we can help spark the next version of it,” says Turner. “A music scene only exists when a city participates in it.”

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