When the frigid winter ends and the earth absorbs every last blanket of snow, infinite dust blooms from the prairies. If you walk down a twilit dirt road in the middle of nowhere, south central Saskatchewan, that dust creeps onto and into you, cementing your relationship with the endlessness of the place—endless skies, endless wind, endless dust. Megan Nash knows this feeling more intimately than most. Despite taking her music all over the world, her songs always retain some piece of the prairies. There’s the grit of dust in the crunch of an overdriven guitar; the howl of wind in a soaring, hypnotic eruption of horns. And there is a boundlessness in her voice—electric with timbres both luminous and dusky, coloured with the textures of her poetry—that can’t help but recall those spellbinding skies.
With her 2017 album Seeker, Nash used that voice to establish herself as an artist with a singular vision. Mining loss, heartache, grief, dreams, and desire over lush soundscapes, she revealed herself as the titular seeker—someone with a suitcase they never really empty, whose reach always exceeds their grasp. In the time since Seeker, Nash’s life has taken tumultuous turns. In her own words, the new music she’s been working on was written, “in the cracks of a foundation—in moments of reflection during years of whirlwind romance, gut wrenching heartbreak, reviving friendships, and lifesaving dog love.”
