Do you have a favourite tree?

I don't mean a favourite type of tree, but an actual individual tree. Maybe this is a strange question to ask, sort of like asking if you have a favourite wall or street sign. Trees are just kind of there, not something that often comes to the foreground of our thoughts unless there’s a problem (a tree branch falls on your car or something).

When I was a kid, I had a favourite tree. It was an extra tall one in the forest near a family farm where we spent summers. In the mornings I’d throw some snacks, books and binoculars into a bag and run to it, climb and just spend time sitting there reading or imagining. Oddly, thinking about it gives me a wave of nostalgia, almost as though I’m remembering an old friend.

While that may seem unusual, consider the role that trees have played in the folklore and traditions of communities all around the world. Often associated with wisdom and the interconnection of life, trees have acted as the central gathering spot for both sacred and social rituals. In many Indigenous cultures, trees are deeply intertwined with memory and connection to ancestors. And in some traditions, trees can act as a link between the physical and spiritual realms, places where one might even have a chance encounter with a guiding spirit or trickster god.

It can be humbling to think about all the history and lives that trees bear witness to. Engagements, rites of passage, festivals, quiet moments of reflection, storytelling, memorials, and every other milestone and event that has taken place under or around them. And that’s to say nothing of all the other, non-human living things that enter their presence.

Regrettably, in the history of urbanization, trees are often seen as an obstacle or burden in the way of development — something to destroy, domesticate or relocate rather than work with and around. Maybe this is why so many of us rarely think of trees anymore except as a problem. But it doesn’t have to be this way. There are lots of emerging models (drawing on ancient wisdom) in how our built environment can have a healthy relationship with nature.

Evergreen (where I work) began as a tree planting organization in a bid to bring nature back into our cities. For over 30 years, we've been inspired by the way trees work together with one another to create a canopy for life to thrive, offering everything from food, shade, rest to even a safe transportation network for non-human living things. That's why we now invest in the power of public spaces. Just like trees, they too are the vital layers that enable city life to flourish.

Note: this was a piece I wrote for our Evergreen Newsletter this month.

"Simple awareness is the seed of responsibility." — Jenny Odell

Walking is one of the best ways to build a relationship with where you live; but it requires paying attention. The more you walk through your community with a sense of attentive awareness, the more you begin to notice. This is an important step for feeling a sense of responsibility towards it. By slowing down and noticing, you begin to see your city from a different angle. And this can make you a better neighbour.

Rather than getting caught up in internet debates or social media's shallow form of social justice, attune yourself to what's going on in your own neighbourhood. Who is it designed for? Who is being excluded? Where are resources going and why? Who benefits from the way things are designed, and who is paying the price for it?

Did you know that our brains miss about 50% of what's happening in our peripheral vision when we're moving in a vehicle? Cars are a terrible way to really get a sense of how a community is designed. To truly get to know where you live, you gotta take a walk.

This week I was listening to a conversation with Chuck Klosterman on a Grateful Dead podcast/gameshow called Guess The Year.

To clarify, I have never gotten into the Grateful Dead and this is not a podcast I had ever listened to before. They are a complete blindspot in my musical tastes. I do, however, quite enjoy Klosterman's deep dives into various pop cultural niches. So I was excited to hear where this might go. As it turns out, Klosterman is also not much of a deadhead, something he admits to several times in the episode. He does spend some time making the case for why they are in his top five list of the greatest American bands. Where things do get interesting is when they shift into a conversation about whether you should be able to separate the art from the artist. It was a topic that they were sort of circling around throughout the whole thing, touching on the current way in which an artist's political views seem to matter so much to fans. Klosterman started to make the argument that it should be possible to be apolitical, suggesting that when he began doing music criticism, it was expected that you would be able to weigh the music on its own merit without letting who the artist is as a person influence your opinion.

Okay, I have some thoughts.

Nothing is ever truly neutral. We all act and create from a place that is deeply intertwined with our experiences and who we are as people. This includes our political or ideological beliefs.

Recently, I was reading a 2017 article on Death From Above 1979 that was responding to the (now old) controversy around their bass player, Jesse Keeler's, affiliation with Gavin McInnes, an alt-right figure. Fans (including myself) were frustrated and disappointed to learn about this. However, the author of this particular article notes that none of this should have been shocking and that this sort of men's rights politic has been a part of their brand since the beginning. Fans (especially male ones) had just been unwilling to notice it. But those political views becoming more public shines a backward light onto some of their more 'colourful' lyrical choices that may have just seemed silly at first listen ("where have all the virgins gone?") and even reframes the aggression within the music itself.

I guess my point is that context matters. You can't pretend like it's not there.

And this was always true. Critics have long loved to frame the way artists use their real-world trauma or suffering as a catalyst for their art. Regardless of whether that was the artist's intent. If a musician grew up in poverty or as a refugee or suffered abuse, we have no problem imprinting that onto their music. Maybe Klosterman is saying that pure criticism should avoid that, but I think it's naive to suggest that most criticism ever actually did or imply that this is a new problem as a result of some 21st century obsession with cancel culture or something (my words, not his).

Perhaps what is new is that the free pass that had been extended to primarily male and usually white (though not exclusively) artists has been somewhat revoked. And their art is being reevaluated retroactively in light of their beliefs, their affiliations, their actions, and yes, their politics. I'm not suggesting that we have this all figured out or that every criticism is entirely fair, but I do think it's reasonable to let criticism of the artist influence your criticism of the art.

The question that maybe we're asking here is, is it okay to stop listening to someone because I disagree with their politics or belief system? Or, can I continue to enjoy an artist even if it turns out they're a shitty person?

And I think that the answer to both of these is yes; but the choice is as subjective as the enjoyment of the art itself. While drawing some hard lines may seem more obvious than others, most of this falls into a murky grey area that might vary artist to artist. I can listen to the Smiths, even if it's become a lot harder to enjoy them after learning about Morrissey's anti-immigrant stance. Yet, I haven't picked up my Art Angels record ever since Grimes started dating Elon Musk. I do, however, still enjoy M.I.A., despite her increasingly polarizing opinions. Though admittedly I don't hold her quite as highly as I used to.

Complicated people can make great art. And sometimes the artists we admire turn out to be pretty terrible. Of course these things are going to colour our relationship to their work. I think what matters more than trying to hold to some unbiased judgment is an attempt to be fair. I think it's fair to consider who someone is when trying to interpret what they create. Nothing happens in a vacuum.

This is probably why they say don't meet your heroes.

Just picked up Donald Fagan's 'The Nightfly' on vinyl and I love everything about it.

If you've never heard it, check out I.GY. It's the kind of song I imagine myself playing as a DJ at some smokey, neon-saturated club.

Oh, I used to DJ. Just weddings and the odd work event, but it was fun nonetheless. I remember one time playing a Donna Summer song while a lone older woman danced unashamedly, arms out, cocktail in one hand. That's the sorta vibe this song gives me.

I just finished the final book in Tana French's body of work (so far) and I don't think I've ever so voraciously enjoyed a bunch of novels before.

If you haven't read (or heard of) Tana French, she writes murder mysteries set in Ireland. At times they even flirt with horror. The mysteries are compelling, but her character writing is even better. She writes in the first person and is particularly skilled at writing an unreliable narrator. The book I saved for last, the Witch Elm, did this in a way I will be thinking about for a while. It was a takedown of white, male privilege that unfolds in a slow burn throughout the book. It had me questioning my own life at times in some real introspective ways.

The book confronts you with questions of whether or not you can trust your own memory on how certain events played out, especially when it comes to assumptions of how those events may have affected other people. My own adolescence is somewhat wrapped up in a haze of generalizations and a certain degree of distance or detachment. Like the narrator, at times a lot of my memories feel unmemorable. This book challenges the assumption that others, particularly people less inoculated by privilege, experienced things the same way.