By Liam Dawe
Through grief, groove, and lo-fi soul, the Calgary duo deliver the first of a two-part muse on self-actualization.
The gigantic green shipping container cracks open with the ritualistic hum of “St. Chroma,” Tyler, veiled in his signature CHROMAKOPIA mask and sculpted suit, emerges like a messianic glitch in the matrix. The crowd is immediately baited into the track’s cultish incantation, a hypnotic initiation into the chromatic delirium to come.
Commanding a crowd of nearly 17,000 in an unrelenting 90-minute grip is a rare alchemy. Attention spans flicker, audiences wane—but Tyler bends time to his will. Midway, just as the collective energy risks erosion, he pivots—ushering the crowd through his past eras via a B-stage record player, a recalibration that reclaims their gaze and pulls them deeper into his orbit.
A deluge of pyrotechnics, a monolithic catwalk descending from the heavens to connect the stages, and a light show that fractures the senses, are just a glimpse into the sheer technical expertise of this performance. Tyler could stand under a lone spotlight and still leave the crowd spellbound. But it’s his gift for world-building—for piecing together a universe that exists only in the fleeting timeline of those in attendance—that cements his genius.
By Liam Dawe
Through grief, groove, and lo-fi soul, the Calgary duo deliver the first of a two-part muse on self-actualization.
By Cam Delisle
The Manitoba artist spins prairie dust into falsetto-led indie folk on his debut EP.
By Yasmine Shemesh
The Counting Crows frontman opens up about rewriting songs, reflecting on the past, and what music still gives him today.