Some nights, the pair would take the stage together, performing a cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye,” a track they bonded over when they first met through the internet. According to Yano, some of the material his band jammed out live found its way to the final cut of Portrait of a Dog, recorded in an eight-day spree in Toronto’s East York neighbourhood. In contrast to Souvenir, Yano’s written content continues sketching his relationships in sound, while delving deeper into an experimental jazz tone. Slick drum rolls, rollicking sax solos, and flourishing outros complete the picture, courtesy of a collaborative recording with frequent collaborators BADBADNOTGOOD.

Where Souvenir was a sketch of Yano’s boundless ideas, recorded mainly alone, having company in the studio through the recording process for Portrait of a Dog resulted in a more linear sound. The album maintains a more cohesive cadence throughout its 50-minute runtime, a choice Yano says was intentional. “It’s on purpose, but I think it’s also a byproduct of collaborating closely with a band like BADBADNOTGOOD that already has a very distinct and solid sound,” says Yano. “We came together and the compound of it all, throughout the negotiation and writing and experimenting, became something very cohesive.”

The result is a stunning portrayal of an artist in growth, with long instrumental stretches that provide each member of Yano’s band the space to wade through solos. Songs like “always” and “haven’t haven’t,” with their extended outros, pay authentic homage to the jazz greats. When all is said and done, each bandmate gets their chance to shine. “Everyone gets to say their piece, you know? It’s not just about me and my song, it’s about the musicians that we’re playing with.”

The record is punctuated with snippets of dialogue from the recordings Yano gathered back at home in BC. On “so sweet,” three generations of family dote on their ailing forefather. “My mom is talking about how much she loves my parents and how lucky she is to have them. And she’s talking more directly to my grandpa, because I think she is really struggling with the fact that she’s about to lose her dad to dementia,” says Yano. “To me, it’s her confronting the fact that she’s losing her dad. And she’s still able to tell him how much she loves him, how grateful she is that he’s her dad, because he was really good to her. My grandparents are just amazing people.”

The title, and associated artwork — a literal portrait of a dog — are similarly dredged from a previous relationship. The cover was the sole piece of artwork in an old apartment he shared with an ex-girlfriend. “It was there for all the songs, in a way. I just think it’s the perfect picture to represent what the album is,” says Yano. 

Far from a simple trauma narrative or breakup record, Yano sees his songwriting as a method of processing complex emotions and situations. “It’s a good way for me to untie what those things are, and what they mean to me,” he says. “It’s almost as if writing the song is a way to paint the picture of what the life I’ve lived feels like, beyond what I can say about it.” In that, the music is a space to communicate feelings that the rigidity of conversation can’t get to. It feels like having lunch with his mom, like a break up or a resolution. “I think when you sing it, it feels different.”