Tanya Tagaq doesn’t really deal in subtlety; she’s far too enraged with the state of the world to piece together niceties for the sake of not offending someone. The Inuk throat singer and experimental musician/writer works in bluntness, calling out oppression and injustice as it happens. Her new album, Saputjiji (which gets its name from the Inuktitut word meaning “designated protector”), follows the track from her previous records in that it minces no words or tones in getting its message across; Tagaq’s music isn’t so much a pointed finger as it is a knife to the throat.
That Saputjiji opens with a fierce declaration and message that is impossible to misconstrue is practically par for the course then. “Fuck War” is a gutteral and unforgettable example of how powerful and impression Tagaq’s traditional throat singing (known as katajjaq) is. Her voice goes from hoarse and gritty screams to ecstatic high pitch wails as a metallic drum track pings alongside her and flecks of distorted electric guitar and synths simmer to a discordant boil. The need and time for nuance and subtext is gone, and Tagaq sounds like she’s got a full revolution marching behind her.
While Tagaq is often at her most impressionable and memorable when she channels her ire and indignation into incendiary attacks at oppressors past and present, Saputjiji’s most intriguing moments might be when she deals in the photo negative. Towards the middle of the album she dips into a pair of mystical ballads addressing the suicide crisis in Nunavut. On “Exit Wound” she works with noirish textures, scratchy violins hovering about spare piano chords, making for a stark and moving stillness to contrast the fire of the other tracks. “When They Call” builds a backdrop of monochrome strings over five minutes before Tagaq enters with multitracked vocals, sounding not unlike Fever Ray in the process. “Though I know it hurts inside / I’m begging you, don’t take your life / We need you here just to survive / Your bones, your teeth keep us alive,” she urges plainly, addressing that culture exists in each and every individual, and everyone is part of the fight.
These tracks also open into the album’s latter half, where unfortunately the focus and impact wane. Like Tagaq’s previous album, Tongues, much of the material here is taken from her 2018 book Split Tooth (which now has a new stage production entitled Split Tooth: Saputjiji, which Tagaq recently premiered); regrettably this means that a notable amount of Saputjiji feels like offcuts from the last record, ideas that don’t quite have a place to go or a particular focus in mind. “Bohica” ushers in a woozy, trance-like state, Tagaq’s voice swirling around violin and skittering drum tracks – but it feels like an interlude amongst other interludes, a blank canvass that needs filled in, or a leftover mood piece that demonstrates her range but lacks an emotive hook. On the 88 second “Expensive Plane Tickets” the wail of what sounds like an animal and a grainy radio broadcast weave alongside a decaying electronic loop; it’s a fascinating texture but fizzles out to nothing.
When Tagaq brings words, sometimes the meaning feels too far out of reach. “Lichens” feels missing context, like an extract from a book that needs more of a lead up to explain phrases like “Three lies / Four fists / Eight facts / Stones collected / Warmed by body.” On the other side, sometimes the lack of nuance works against her. On “Foxtrot”, Tagaq brings in Fucked Up’s Damian Abraham to beat chests and snarl with, but it amounts to nothing more than spelling out an expletive with the NATO phonetic alphabet. Not only are there much better ways to use Abraham, the bit becomes tiring all too quickly and even at 93 seconds it feels too long.
Were Saputjiji to arrive on the heels of Tongues, it would perhaps feel a little less disappointing, but four years later it’s hard to get as much from it as with her previous albums. Shortened to an EP it may still have had the feel of a victory lap, but an impactful and well-earned one. There’s still material to get your teeth into: the trudging “Black Boot” with its vivid imagery, the feverish and threatening “Razorblades”, the starry instrumental closer “Imiq”, and generally just the way Tagaq uses katajjaq in fascinating and inventive ways both in the background and foreground. While Tagaq is still vehement as ever, as a whole, Saputjiji feels lacking in a little direction for her fury. Her best work comes when the target is clear, and sometimes the aim feels less like a pointed target and more like a gesture to the world in general. Still strong, but without precision, the cut isn’t as deep.
