Singing the Land: Finding Connection through Song
by Rebecca Hass November 10, 2025.
In the last year I have had so many incredible opportunities to be in the space of composing music. It was never in my mind that this would be part of my practice as a creative being. I have had so much encouragement, and I have found such great joy in welcoming the melodies that come to visit. I keep trying to find a way to express my journey in words, and my vision. Here is what it feels like today.
When I was little, people in my small Ontario town knew me as the girl who sang all the way to school and back. At home, I was the star of our kitchen parties—singing folk and country songs while my uncle played the spoons and my grannie step danced. Looking back, I realize that was my first lesson in what music can really do: bring people together.
Over the years, my path took me far from those early roots. I spent decades as a classical mezzo-soprano, performing on big stages across Canada and abroad. I lived almost entirely inside the world of my European ancestors—German, English, and French—where music was complex, intellectual, and carefully constructed. It was beautiful, but something in me was still searching for a deeper kind of connection.
It’s only in the last few years that I’ve begun to bring all of myself into my creative work, including my Georgian Bay Métis ancestry and the teachings passed down from my dad and my grannie. This has completely changed how I think about music—why I make it, who it’s for, and what it can do.
Learning to Value “Simple” Again
My classical training taught me that “complicated” meant “better”, but in the years I have sat and drummed with my urban Indigenous community, I have reconnected to my ancestral understanding of music. Elders and knowledge keepers have helped me remember that a song’s power is in its ability to be shared. A song that’s easy to learn and sing together opens our hearts and spirits. It allows everyone in the circle to feel the rhythm, the words, and the story—not from the head, but from the heart. The songs that I was singing in urban Indigenous community were inviting people in, and I realized, that is what I wanted to do with my music too.
Listening for the Songs in the Land
When I’m out walking—on city trails, by the ocean, or in the woods—I often hear melodies. They arrive quietly, like little whispers. Sometimes they fade as quickly as they come. Other times, they stay with me, and I find myself humming them over and over. I’ll record them on my phone so they have a chance to grow into songs.
My Anishinaabe brother and Elder, René Meshake, taught me that the music is already in the land—you just have to listen for it. That idea changed everything for me. After more than thirty years of performing other composers’ music—studying every note, every phrase, every emotion, searching for perfection in my vocal instrument—I’ve come to a point in my life where I want to listen differently and sing differently.
Why I Make Music Now
These days, I see music as a way to bring people back to themselves and to each other. As someone of mixed European and Métis heritage, I carry many musical languages inside me. My work now is about letting them meet—finding ways for different traditions, stories, and voices to sit together in harmony.
We live in a world that can feel divided, fast-paced, and disconnected from the natural world. But when we sing together—when we share breath and vibration—we remember something ancient and true. We remember that we belong.
Through my compositions and community gatherings, I hope to create spaces where people can reconnect with their own ancestors, with the land beneath them, and with the joy of making music together.
Looking Ahead
Composing in this new way feels both exciting and humbling. I’m still learning, still listening. Each new song feels like a small discovery—a thread that leads me toward deeper understanding.
After a lifetime of performing others’ work, I’m finally finding my own voice. And it’s rooted in something simple, yet profound: the belief that music has the power to heal, to gather, and to remind us of who we are.Sharing songs for me is a radical action. I know that when we sing together, and we sing the land, we become one once again with all our relatives.
