By Megan Magdalena
A story of nostalgia, community, and the magic of never outgrowing your favourite band.
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 Megan Magdalena
A story of nostalgia, community, and the magic of never outgrowing your favourite band.
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.