Global Courant
After the rain had settled in downtown Toronto one Monday night, a group gathered in an auditorium for a private concert featuring eight world-class musicians from the Toronto Symphony Orchestra.
Other than the occasional sounds of ambulance sirens bending past and an intercom message stopping speech, there were few reminders that this was a hospital: the Center for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH).
And when the first notes were played, the small audience was transported.
LISTEN | An example of the piece that helped create group discussions for eight weeks:
CBC news2:08Listen to a sample of To Live, Ikiru
Inspired by current clients of the Center for Addiction and Mental Health, this is an example of a piece of original music written by Métis and French-Canadian composer Ian Cusson and played by eight members of the Toronto Symphony Orchestra as part of a collaborative pilot project aimed on healing
“It kind of felt like a new day was dawning,” Bruce King said of the performance. “And, more or less, being a part of that in nature.”
Alex Abramenko commented that the piece was “very romantic, very colorful, very lively”. He said it was like listening to a love song.
But Abramenko and King were not just spectators. Together with other CAMH clients who were also in the audience that evening, they played an important role in the creation of this piece. It’s all part of a new program that seeks to combine the healing power of music with culturally relevant indigenous knowledge.
Leap of faith
“We invited our patients to come and take a little bit of a leap of faith,” says Renee Linklater, the senior director of Shkaabe Makwa, part of the CAMH that focuses on Indigenous wellness. Immigrant clients were also involved in this pilot.
The question was simple: talk about music, to help a composer write an original piece.
“I know at first that might not have seemed very inviting to some people,” Linklater said, knowing that a few people were shy and not open to coming forward with their thoughts. A clinical practice leader was also present at these sessions to facilitate discussions.
“It’s funny because we didn’t really get together to talk about our lives,” recalled Ian Cusson, a composer of Georgian Bay Métis and French-Canadian descent.
Composer Ian Cusson addresses the audience prior to the performance. (Anand Ram/CBC)
“But talking about the music we loved, we couldn’t resist sharing.”
During his eight weeks with the group, Cusson says the music they listened to spans 800 years, leading to discussions about how they felt about it.
Find their sound
For King, sharing itself was a journey of identity. He remembers listening to Pavarotti and Bach the week before it was his turn to share music with the group.
“I was trying to find this piece that was so moving to me, but I couldn’t find it,” he said.
Bruce King sits outside an auditorium space at the Center for Addiction and Mental Health in Toronto. (Anand Ram/CBC)
Ultimately, those classic elements were found in an artist he listened to more often, the socially conscious rapper KRS One.
“And it just spoke to me. The song was Re Mind (Yourself), which was about talking about the fact that we can create anything we want,” he said.
King, who says he has no Indigenous status, described a “weird, surreal and subliminal relationship to the music” that people would share, and soon found himself happy to attend every week. Abramenko had a similar journey.
“I actually grilled Ian about what this is all about because I didn’t quite get it,” Abramenko said of the first experience, expecting to bring something closer to therapy.
Alex Abramenko was one of the participants in this pilot project and describes the final piece as ‘romantic’. (Anand Ram/CBC)
“And about a third of the way into the course, I realized it wasn’t about that at all. It was really about coming together — and kind of a psycho-magical experience, if you will.”
Abramenko, who is open about his depression, anxiety and borderline personality disorder, says the project has elevated music to a much more “non-negotiable” and “conscious” aspect of the process of working on his mental health.
Indirect media
For Sarah Bell, a music therapist and counselor in Nova Scotia’s Annapolis Valley, music opens a path for nonverbal expression.
“Music is the background of people’s lives,” Bell said. “Someone who’s, say, struggling with a certain emotion… They might say, ‘Yeah, this song is how I feel.’ Instead of having the words to say it.”
Bell, who was not involved in the project, uses non-invasive techniques such as songwriting or analyzing the lyrics of a song to help people of all ages, even those at the end of their lives.
She described how this could work for a patient under palliative care whose “breathing is very labored”.
“Maybe I play a guitar to accompany their breath and maybe that helps them feel connected to someone, even if they might not be able to say it.”
A sacred space
Bell is quick to recall that Indigenous healing has been accompanied by music for centuries, around the world and in different cultures. For Linklater, of Ontario’s Rainy River First Nations, creating a “culturally safe space” for this pilot was important.
Renee Linklater, senior director of Shkaabe Makwa, at the Center for Addiction and Mental Health in Toronto. (Anand Ram/CBC)
“We have cedar wood all around the walls,” Linklater said of the room where sessions were held. There was also a medicine wheel painted on the floor.
“So that’s a sacred space. And so we brought them (there) to start creating together as sacred beings.”
Linklater hopes that Indigenous people who have access to mental health services can see these types of programs as part of their healing journey.
Live on
The piece will be expanded next year with a more complete orchestration in the 2023/24 season. For Cusson, who was also inspired by Akira Kurosawa’s film Ikiru (the nearly 10-minute piece he composed is called To Live, Ikiru), the project changed him.
Composer Ian Cusson says the project gave him much-needed connection with others. (Anand Ram/CBC)
“I realized how hungry I was for people,” Cusson explained after the performance that night, describing those feelings as a holdover from the pandemic.
“So these weekly get-togethers became real touchpoints in my week, to connect with people in a fairly relaxed way about something we could all talk about on some level: music.”
That connection and retention, Linklater says, is part of the pilot’s success.
“We were able to get 10 people to start the group. I’d say it’s amazing that eight of those people were still part of the group in week eight.”
