Truck Violence's second full length record, The weathervane is my body, is an attempt to answer, an attempt at conciliation through refusal. Karsyn Henderson and Paul Lecours grew up in a French Canadian town of 600 people, graduating in a class of nine. By fifteen they were running a local studio and radio station. There was no industry support, no infrastructure, no template for what they were trying to do, only the work itself and the conviction that it was worth doing. At 17, they relocated to Montreal, joined by Chris Clegg and Thomas Hart, assembled from different corners of the country, and began building Truck Violence from the ground up. The weathervane is my body, the band's second full-length record and first with San Francisco's The Flenser, is the product of that process. Every element reflects this. The group composition, the recording, the mixing and the visual media were all produced in house without outside intervention. DIY here is not an aesthetic choice or a marketing angle, it is the only honest option available. The album cover was shot on film by the band on Avenue du Parc in Montreal. A figure perches atop a small Quebecois-style house, handbuilt from reclaimed materials, spine curved, legs pulled in, bare-backed against a skyline that dwarfs everything beneath it. A rural thing dropped into the grit of the city, small and out of place and refusing to disappear. The body is naked and defenseless, open to every stimulus the world cares to deliver. This is the album in a single image. The weathervane is my body is a continuation, an expansion, a further scribbling together of that angry statement of purpose that is their debut album, aptly titled Violence. Rooted in the noise rock and post-hardcore traditions, and steeped in a DIY ethic that runs deep in Canadian underground culture, the record is uncompromising in its refusal to be anything other than what it is: immediate, self-determined, and built entirely by the hands that imagined it.

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Are we there yet? More specifically, are you there yet? There being the inflection point where the urge to recede into the blissful innocence of youth is in a constant tug of war with the inescapable pull of conscious adulthood. Where the joys of June and July descend into the autumnal weight of August and September. Are you at the point where you look around at the chaos and confusion swirling through our collective psyche and say, “It can’t get any worse than this,” or do you think, “This too shall pass”? Are you ready for Big Changes? Because Adam Sturgeon is. Over the years, Anishinaabe musician and artist Sturgeon has undergone a metamorphosis, shedding old monikers and reclaiming heritage. In 2021, the collective formerly known as WHOOP-Szo became Status/Non-Status as part of Sturgeon’s ongoing exploration of the complex roots of his family history. Together with Zoon’s Daniel Monkman (who makes a guest appearance on Big Changes), Sturgeon introduced the world to OMBIIGIZI in 2022 via their Polaris-shortlisted record Sewn Back Together. Regardless of which project Sturgeon is working on, though, the one thing that doesn’t change is how he treats it: like family, protecting it at all costs. Every reinvention, every reckoning, every return leads back to the same role: provider, protector, father. Big Changes (out March 6, 2026 on You've Changed Records) comes from living through what Sturgeon describes as “a war on people and their ways of being” while engaging in the everyday domesticity of dropping the kids off at daycare, heading into work, doing chores around the house, and figuring out how to survive “what is beginning to feel like a real apocalypse.” Inspired by his in-the-moment work with OMBIIGIZI, and with over 40 rough song ideas on hand, Sturgeon recruited Dean Nelson (Beck, Thurston Moore, Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks) and Matthew Wiewel (of Deadpan Studios and engineer of Status/Non-Status’ previous album, Surely Travel) to build a home studio in the old church he lives in with his family in London, Ontario. Everything on Big Changes “Is centralized around our Monday morning recording sessions,” he says, “and this routine of caring for my young family in a disintegrating and tough city.” For Sturgeon, Big Changes also reflects his lifelong dialogue with duality, a dichotomy “…felt through the contrast of being a mixed person,” who sees “racism perpetuated against people more visible than myself, while also not feeling like I’m Indian enough.” The record tussles with that uneasy and impossible balance of simultaneously walking in two worlds with conflicting values. It’s less a statement of intent than a lived reflection, one that acknowledges tension without resolving it. “I don’t feel conflicted about where I stand, but I’m not sure I’m always seen,” Sturgeon says, adding that, “[on Sewn Back Together, OMBIIGIZI] found balance in the dichotomy of being damaged and using it as a tool to move forward. Big Changes, however, is foreboding and inquisitive about what is to come.”  Despite its title, one thing that Big Changes doesn’t mess with is the music. Status/Non-Status hold fast to their intuitive and fluid style, their musicianship grounded in connection, familiarity, and an overarching trust in the power of their glorious noise. If anything, Status/Non-Status is more refined on Big Changes, summoning a sound that’s deliberate while retaining the untamed energy that first inspired them. Big Changes is about survival, but also about making connections in order to endure. It is the big noise we make together when the world feels like it’s falling apart, and the harmony that comes when we keep time with one another.

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