Jonah Yano Wastes No Words
Not a moment is misspent from the time Montreal-Based Musician Jonah Yano and his new 5-piece take to stage. Down to the Wire caught up with him at Ottawa Jazz Fest to discuss the power of performance, his “North star” Feist, and why music is sadder than words.
Jonah Yano. Photo by Curtis Perry
As the terminal twangs of a guitar trailed off, Jonah Yano and his bandmates split from the stage as systematically as they took to it 45 minutes earlier. Under an enclosed tent’s canvas gores and metal beams on the OLG stage at Ottawa’s JazzFest, Yano lowered the guitar strap slung over his shoulder, to rest again on a coverless cushion, drummer Raiden Louie adjusted his shades, and the two stage-set pillars stood like giant double-ended clarinets. For the most part, talk between tracks and walks to re-amp — or to-and-fro, side-to-side, upright or knelt — can feel like framework to professionals trying to give form to their art. An accessory to it, even. The centrepiece to this newborn Canadian collective’s artistry? Live performance. Jonah Yano — the band, not just the man — in show were sweeping stylistically, testing instrumentally, and, before all else, practicing near-telepathic musical communication: members of the group ‘talking’ only through tune between one another and to the crowd.
Highlights, mostly in low light as the sun set, were many because of the band’s shared want to not waste. In haste, a strummed C-major scale kicked off their set to the background murmurings of the sell-out crowd. Chatter in the audience continued for a moment as Yano and his five-piece’s initial play seemed to be only pre-show tech and tuning. But, after several rounds and without saying a single word, they smartly ramped up into a rhythm far more melodic, if more melancholic.
And so the show began with a rendition of ’Goodbye Blues,’ a Badbadnotgood release from 2020 on which Yano, then primarily a solo artist, featured, aiding an introduction free of preamble. A bass-line, tastefully tucked between gentle guitar notation, soon met with sax that could both soothe the heart and leave it sore. Chris Edmondson’s fingers fluttering, the brass exuded underbelly tones in a controlled oscillation. If a single note was out of place, the quick-minded collective improvisation — which was only notable when comparing their performance of tracks against original recordings — wouldn’t have allowed it to sound as a mistake would, as with the famed tale of Miles Davis and Herbie Hancock recording to tape.
Leighton Harrell. Photo by Curtis Perry
“Performance is the main thing in expressing the actual truth of the song. The records are an excuse to play them live”
Under new light, pink and white, a fold of ‘Goodbye Blues’ that elided seamlessly from this song to the next, came a track defined by its brass and brashness: saxophone more present with wild runs, the drummer’s grip less tight but no less precise; precarious but punctual. With his back turned to the crowd, Yano would bend over with his arm in lead, as if reaching at chords below the guitar's register to the ground; a single stitched star hanging from his tuning pegs. There was a point when, collectively, members of the group crouched to watch Leighton Harrell’s bass solo, that each pluck almost became visual. Washed in blue, the stage — apart from quivering strings of the bass, the tremolo of Benja’s guitar, and Yano’s swinging star — was as still as the crowd,
Raucous applause naturally followed. Introductory words came from Jonah later in the set, and were sparse: “Hey guys, how’s it going? I’m Jonah and this is my band.” Space between each word, in thought, suggested his questioning of whether they were pared down to bare necessity. “I’ll introduce you to them later. Ok, we’re going to play you some more songs.” And so they did. The music had spoken, after all – and it would again.
Later, after his show, which ranged over a back catalogue of tracks from Yano’s earlier projects, including the critically acclaimed portrait of a dog, DTTW caught up with Yano, who was swift in step from his set to Main stage, to attend Canadian alt pop icon Feist, one of his declared idols.
Chris Edmondson. Photo by Curtis Perry
“Performance is the main thing in expressing the actual truth of the song. The records are an excuse to play them live,” Yano said up front, glossing that it’s the “intimacy” of gigs that most effectively delivers the experience. With greater room for physical movement at Jazz Fest than his listening party, it’s an important comparison to draw, given that there was a greater feeling of interconnectedness throughout the former, between band and fan, that filled the air and captured the mind in a way that re-runs off turntables simply cannot.
The tracklist for Jazz Fest drew on both solo recordings of Yano’s, and with artists other than the personnel that joined him on the night. Where collaborative efforts with Badbadnotgood helped produce a nexus of singles, and the aforementioned, 2023 portrait of a dog, this new collective has made it part of their mission to incorporate his discography into their shared development, while also composing new material.
Their rendition of sombre ballad ‘haven’t haven’t’, for instance, rang at a fair distance sonically in live performance from the original recording..Positioned cerebrally, and without losing its stunning simplicity, select percussion and rim shots pierced, and held a sense of the present moment where on tape the song emits greater nostalgia. Guitar riffs replace piano chords, sax swoops instead of like strings, a nod per crashing symbol, to an off-beat bassline. Certainly, this tune was altered to be more alternative than the original recording, more rhythmic, but no less delicate, a performance engendering a faux-physicality, in filling the empty corners of the tent.
Raiden Louie. Photo by Curtis Perry
“I think a big part of music is trying to communicate things that are non-verbal. And that can sometimes be sadder than the words of a sad song.”
Stood with Yano, to one side of the mixing desk at Feist, his mien and manner were revealed as fans would approach for a word of respect, or a photo, to which he would respond always with succinct, sincere gratitude before returning his gaze to Feist. “This is my Northstar,” he leaned over to say at one point, “I can’t think of anyone who’s had a greater impact on my artistry.” Through the course of the show emerged elements of Feist that have filtered into Yano’s sound: a fluctuant dynamic range, with vocals peaking and plummeting at angular and creatively erratic junctions, the conscious left-leaning probe of what could pierce the mainstream but veers from the idealists veneer, most notably, their bleak streaks — stretches of sorrow in even the more optimistic opuses.
To Yano’s apparent enjoyment of one song, I asked if it was a favourite. “No, my favourite is truly devastating,” he answered obliquely. His records certainly pump the subdued and blues when emoting. Does he lean towards listening to sadder songs, generally? “I think so [he laughs]. Not all the time. Sometimes I catch myself in a spell of listening to the things that make me feel the saddest. So I think it helps me access that [emotion] to communicate it in my own writing.”
I half-quipped about finding greater depth in the downcast, and upfront he agreed. But quickly corrected: “well, there’s some truth in something that doesn’t convey a specific emotion as well. Because I think a big part of music is trying to communicate things that are non-verbal. And that can sometimes be sadder than the words of a sad song.”
Benja. Photo by Curtis Perry
“The album has left my mind […] Because a year before it came out it was done. So I sat with it for a long time.”
One can, because of this, understand why Yano keeps his talk brief – his message can best be worded through musical notation, a non-verbal communication. Our recorded discussion wrapped up before Feist’s final song rang out. Short, sweet, and to a stark soundscape. With Jonah Yano everything communicable can, and should, be understood within the context of music.
At 7pm, less than half an hour to when Yano was to perform, the cobbled quarters in front of City Hall were vacant. Within 25 minutes, the space was packed to the point where guests spilled from each wing of the tent. Equal excitement, it felt, to headliner Feist’s set. Just in different swings, numbers, and time signatures.
This sudden influx of attendees was no different on the night I first met Jonah. In celebration of portrait of a dog, two listening parties were held at the end of January in Toronto and Montréal one after the other. Having scouted this out, and through details of dotted Instagram-stories he put up the following day, I drove up to MTL to find myself in a semi-secluded, underground Japanese bar just off St Urbain late into the evening. Dimly lit, it seemed a discreet setting as goers in pairs and threes waited in booths or at the bar, until, as with tonight’s show, the record was put on. Within minutes, the function was full, all facing the two turntables and Jonah’s entourage in a semi-circle around the decks.
Edging through the tangle of guests, at Feist, for a better view, I asked how things have changed since we last met in Montréal. “The album has left my mind,” he smiled. A well received record that handles traditional genres with respect and precision, never neglecting the current… How could that be? “Because a year before it came out it was done. So I sat with it for a long time. And now I’m recording a new record with my bandmates, that’s what we were doing before this [Ottawa JazzFest].” Time in contemplation must also be kept to a minimum for forward-thinking artists. Aside from the next project, Yano dashed off details of the trip to Japan he and his band are taking in October to play a string of shows for the first time in the country. He seemed ecstatic at the prospect of these moments, but doubtless his music will come to better describe them.
Jonah Yano and DTTW correspondent Noah Snieckus at Yano’s MTL listening party last January
