Standing in the back of the London Music Hall on Oct. 13, you could feel the floorboards groaning under the collective weight of a crowd that has spent the last two years starved for a genuine, sweat-soaked rock show. The air was thick with the scent of stale beer and anticipation. Toronto’s Monowhales aren't just playing a set; they are exorcising demons.
The trio—vocalist Sally Shaar, drummer Jordan Boon and guitarist Zach Cassier—is currently tearing through a cross-Canada headlining tour for their latest record, *Tunnel Vision*. It follows a massive stint supporting B.C. titans Mother Mother and a Juno win for Breakthrough Group of the Year. But the accolades feel like secondary noise when you see Shaar on stage. She is a live wire, a performer who doesn't just sing but vibrates with an intensity that borders on the feral.
But behind the anthemic choruses and the bright lights of the Juno stage, there was a period where the music almost didn't happen. The recording of *Tunnel Vision* wasn't just a creative milestone; it was a survival tactic.
Shaar is remarkably candid about the mental health crisis that nearly derailed the project. She describes a period of total withdrawal that preceded their time in the studio.
“It’s true. Essentially, the way the true story goes is the week leading up to the studio where you do a lot of pre-production, and we had done a lot of that already, I unfortunately was very unavailable and completely did one of those things where I was unreachable. You couldn’t get in touch with me on the phone, nothing, because I just didn’t exist on this plane, on this planet mentally,” Shaar says.
It is a terrifying admission for any frontperson. The industry expects a constant state of "on," but the human psyche has a way of short-circuiting when the pressure becomes a vacuum.
“I feel bad about it. I know how hard that can be on the other side of people that care for people like that. But at the end of the day, I would say in a lot of ways for all of us, but in these particular circumstances, the album saved my life,” she explains.
The guilt of the professional machine often acts as the only tether left when everything else falls away. For Shaar, the financial and emotional investment of her bandmates became the catalyst to keep moving.
“I remember deciding, okay, I feel too guilty not to be there at the sessions and record it because we’ve paid too much money. We’ve flown in this producer, and we’ve worked so hard,” she says.
There is a brutal honesty in that sentiment. It wasn't a sudden burst of inspiration that brought her back; it was the weight of responsibility.
“The guilt that it took to not do that for my bandmates was too great. And I decided that I’m going to go in, I’m going to finish the songs and that’s going to be the last thing I need to do on this planet,” Shaar admits.
And yet, the studio became a sanctuary rather than a tomb. The process of tracking *Tunnel Vision* allowed for a slow, agonizing re-entry into the world, aided by a support system that didn't flinch at her darkness.
“And I’m very grateful that I had a lot of support and love, and I spent a lot of the time in the studio just on the roof, speaking to Jordan for hours and him just helping me talk the life back into me,” Shaar says.
The music itself served as the final piece of the puzzle. When you listen to a track like "Stuck in the Middle," you aren't just hearing a polished alt-rock single. You are hearing the sound of someone clawing their way out of a hole.
“And the music helped. It was very therapeutic to be singing and screaming songs like Stuck in the Middle when that was exactly what I was feeling. It feels very honest on that record,” she notes.
That honesty is what separates Monowhales from the pack of generic "uplifting" indie acts. There is a jagged edge to their sound, a sense that the joy they project on stage was hard-won.
When asked about the bond between her and her bandmates, Shaar is quick to acknowledge that her survival was a team effort.
“Absolutely. I’m very grateful to say in this life that I have a wonderful support system and I know that’s not the same for everyone so I would love if this album could help people in that way and help support them if they don’t have that,” she says.
The live show is where this gratitude manifests. Shaar has an aura that is almost impossible to ignore—a mix of punk rock defiance and pure, unadulterated pop charisma.
“Yeah, it’s definitely my favorite thing to do on the entire planet and I think that was what was so hard during that time, too, I hadn’t been able to do my favorite thing in the world,” she says.
We really didn’t think we were going to win. We were like the smallest band on the roster of nominations, and we were just grateful for the nomination. I did tell my management, 'Listen, whether we win or not, I have a show in like 10 minutes, I’m going on stage in London, don’t tell me. I need to not have any bump of emotion up or down.' And of course, three minutes before going on my phone is like ding ding ding ding, everybody texting me... and my manager calls me and he says, 'You won!'
The pandemic-induced hiatus from the stage was clearly a major factor in her mental decline. For a performer whose identity is tied to the exchange of energy with a live audience, the isolation was a death sentence.
“So, it kind of feels like what am I doing? What am I doing all of this for? We were in an apocalyptic world where it just feels like everything is done. Making it onto the stage and opening for Mother Mother on that tour, I can say now, post that traumatic time in my life was the best thing that ever happened to me in the 30 years that I’ve been on this planet. I’m so glad that I lived through it, got to do that, and it’s just reignited my light in my life to just remember what I want to do with it and how excited I am to be in the room with people and connect that way,” Shaar explains.
The Mother Mother tour served as a masterclass for the band. Watching a group that has mastered the art of the cult-following provided Monowhales with a blueprint for their own trajectory.
“Yeah, I would say first and foremost, they’re fantastic people. So, the rumors are true, we became very close to them over the time. And they were so gracious and kind to us and side stage watching us. And then the same way, I was always side stage at every single Mother Mother show that night, and I was rocking hard,” Shaar says.
It wasn't just about the music; it was about the mechanics of the performance.
“Just taking it all in, the audience, the energy, the way that the band is and the music they make and the performance. I was like, ‘How can I learn from this?’ I just want to watch and take from this, it’s like going to school. I’m learning so much being here. Yeah, their fans are so fantastic. They’re so fantastic that they’re now with us, on our feeds and interacting and just welcoming us with open arms and love the same way they do with Mother Mother, so I’m really grateful for those fans,” she says.
That fan engagement was on full display in London earlier this year when the band received the news of their Juno win. It was a chaotic, surreal moment that happened just minutes before they were set to take the stage.
“Yeah, the funny story about that one is, in all honesty, I know everyone says this kind of thing, but we really didn’t think we were going to win. We were like the smallest band on the roster of nominations, and we were just grateful for the nomination. That was enough. We were happy with it. And so, I did tell my management, I’m like, ‘Listen, whether we win or not, I have a show in like 10 minutes, I’m going on stage in London, don’t tell me. I need to not have any bump of emotion up or down,’” Shaar recalls.
But in the age of the smartphone, an information blackout is impossible.
“And of course, three minutes before going on my phone is like ding ding ding ding, everybody texting me and I’m like, Oh, no. And then my manager calls me and I’m like please don’t call me, and he says, ‘You won!’. And I’m like, ‘This is amazing but also I have to go, I’m getting on stage.’ And I swear before I got on stage, I had to lie down on the ground for a full minute and meditate and read just my body to be able to then go back on stage and do what we did that night,” she says.
She managed to keep the secret for the duration of the set, a feat of emotional discipline that speaks to her professionalism.
“I was really excited to let you guys know, but I made sure to play the whole set before I told you to contain the energy even within,” Shaar says.
The album itself, *Tunnel Vision*, was birthed from the strange, digital constraints of the lockdown era. While many artists found the Zoom-writing process soul-crushing, Shaar thrived in the virtual environment.
“I have an unpopular opinion and not even all my band agrees on this. I loved writing on Zoom. I am a technological, weird, whiz, internet loving kid,” she says.
There is a specific kind of efficiency to digital collaboration that suits the modern indie-rock workflow.
“I grew up on it and I just feel comfortable like I’ve had Skype calls and webcams my whole life. And so, to then adjust to that I was like, that’s cool, not that weird for me. Again, not for everybody, I understand how it’s different, but I just felt like I grew up with it and I quite liked that I could press mute, walk away, make a cup of tea, think of the next lyric, think of the next musical melody that maybe could go in and walk back over while everyone’s still working, play it, email it to Zach and then he instantly gets it and puts it in the track,” she explains.
Shaar draws a direct line between their process and the indie-electronic legends The Postal Service.
“It just seemed like such an efficient, fun way to do something that we would have never done without the pandemic. So, I think the music is going to be different and it is because it was done in not the most ordinary way that we would have never tried, a lot like Postal Service. I really connect with that. I don’t know if you remember the band Postal Service?” she asks.
“The story goes that at the time, it wasn’t as easy with email so I know that they were literally mailing pieces of music to be cut back and forth and that’s why they’re called The Postal Service. I always remember being in love with that idea that you could make music with people all over the world, which we did on this album. We worked with people in California, Germany, it didn’t matter because the barrier of people wanting to do this was broken so they were open to doing this. In a lot of ways, I think it did something really cool for our music to be doing it in a less normal fashion,” she says.
This global collaboration hasn't stripped the band of their local identity. If anything, *Tunnel Vision* feels more rooted in their Toronto origins than their previous work. The song "New Threads" captures a specific kind of urban nostalgia.
“I’m so glad because it definitely was written to feel very nostalgic and I know that all of us relate to it. Even thinking of us as high schoolers or teenagers and then reflecting on the difference between then and now. But in general, just the lyric ‘I got these new threads’ is like letting go. The thread, you’re stepping on a thread and walking away, and it all unravels into the next thing. Now you have a new pair of pants and a new group of friends and it’s better for you,” Shaar says.
It’s a song about the necessity of shedding your past to survive the present.
“It’s really something that I don’t hear talked about that often that we shed our skin while we grow, and we grow into new skins,” she adds.
Then there is "Rich," a track that redefines the concept of wealth through the lens of community.
“Yeah, and I think the band has different people they devote it to. I know Zack devoted it to his girlfriend. That’s who makes him feel rich. I know for me, damn do my friends save my life literally and make me feel rich. Same with the fans. Like, I look at my fans, now they’re in the shows and we get to play the song and you, you make me feel rich, you know? This is about you. So, I like that you can take that song and make it about your loved ones or your dog or whatever it is that sparks you. That song is to be able to do that for you,” she says.
The band’s connection to Toronto is visceral. They aren't just a "Toronto band" by geography; they are a part of the city’s architectural and cultural fabric.
“Absolutely and that’s why we love playing our hometown so much. Even in the song Rich we mentioned Queen Street which I don’t think we’ve ever mentioned a street name in our songs before, so we thought it was about time. We have mentioned The Hard Luck in our song Alive but that’s more of a deep cut from Toronto if you know what Hard Luck Bar is. I think we’re embracing more and more that we love where we’re from and it has such beautiful special qualities to be in the city and if we can share it in any way then we’d like to get it out there in the world,” Shaar says.
Visually, the band is just as meticulous. Shaar’s involvement in the music videos for *Tunnel Vision* ensures that the aesthetic matches the sonic grit.
“Absolutely. I co-direct almost all of them on this album because I think that a video or photo or whatever it is that comes from the band, a piece of merch, should always be an extension of the art. You’ll see that with all the merch coming out and exclusive stuff that we try to deal with, so many easter eggs, even if no one notices, it’s fun for us,” she explains.
The visual component is baked into the songwriting process from day one.
“But in terms of our videos and visuals, as soon as a song is written, I’m already in my brain thinking what does this look like visually and then trying to get it on paper. And you know, I do that for almost every single song no matter what it is. Even if it doesn’t come out, that’s just the way my brain works is, I have to build these worlds in my head while I’m writing the song and that’s what helps me get into it,” she says.
Despite the Juno and the rising profile, Monowhales remain remarkably grounded. There is no sense of "having made it." Instead, there is a relentless drive to keep pushing.
“I think when you get this deep into what you’re doing, if you’re doing this full time, you’re obsessed with your work, so to me, I don’t let those things ever get to my head,” Shaar says.
The award is a milestone, but it isn't the destination.
“I’m really grateful that people are recognizing our work but at the same time, we’ve got a lot of work to do. We always have our noses down and we’re going on to the next thing. Like that happened,” she concludes.
And as the lights dimmed at London Music Hall, it was clear that for Shaar and the Monowhales, the next thing is the only thing that matters. The tunnel vision is real, and it’s focused entirely on the future.
