How Indigenous-owned record labels are carving out a better path for traditional music and artists
- adampoitras
- Apr 12
- 3 min read
When Ted Whitecalf started Saskatoon-based Sweet Grass Records, it was 1993, and CDs had only recently become more popular than cassette tapes.
Whitecalf, who is Cree from Sweetgrass First Nation, grew up listening to and appreciating traditional Indigenous music, but it was difficult to find in any format. He wanted to give the genre the high-quality production and recordings it deserved, accompanied by packaging and promotion.
“Our people are singers, we are all musicians,” he says.
Whitecalf had just graduated from college and he was working with the Saskatchewan Indigenous Cultural Centre, creating audio, video and books on Indigenous language and traditions. But, the centre wasn’t interested in Whitecalf’s vision when it came to music. So, he left his job and launched Sweet Grass Records with the goal of showcasing Indigenous music and artists.
Whitecalf travelled all over North America, visiting powwows and recording the artists he met. He quickly made a name for himself and Indigenous artists started reaching out to him to record them.
Within a year of opening, Sweet Grass Records got its big break when its recording of the Stony Park Singer’s Stony Park album was nominated for a Juno in what was then called the Best Music of Aboriginal Canada category. That nomination connected Whitecalf to EMI Records, a label Sweet Grass now has a partnership with, and since then its artists have gone on to collaborate with the likes of Barenaked Ladies and Nelly Furtado.
Red Music Rising and Ishkodé Records, are among other Indigenous-owned labels championing Indigenous music – and fighting to give their artists a seat at the music industry’s table.
Ishkodé draws inspiration from the Anishinaabe’s Seven Fires prophecy, which foretells an era of eternal peace between settlers and Indigenous peoples when they come together to build the eighth fire. The label’s guiding principle is “songs for the eighth fire” and Ishkodé is dedicated to supporting storytelling by Indigenous artists as a mode of self-determination.
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For Sweet Grass Records, finding success and longevity in the music industry has meant doing things the 'right way.' For Whitecalf, that means taking a culturally specific attitude toward recording.
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While artists such as singer-songwriter Wyatt C. Louis, Canada’s Got Talent winner Rebecca Strong and “powwow-step” artist The Halluci Nation are attracting attention, a 2019 APTN survey found that nearly 75 per cent of Indigenous artists don’t have management, and 41 per cent of respondents said funding was the biggest challenge for them.
Whitecalf says when he first started Sweet Grass, he often acted as a manager because the artists didn’t have one.
“This means looking for a recording studio, and looking after hotels and expenses,” he explains. “I paid for studio time and engineers, for the printing of the cassette or CD, and then making sure the group got paid through sales or given production to sell themselves.”
For Sweet Grass, finding success and longevity in the music industry has meant doing things the “right way.”
“I want to do things better, otherwise I don’t even want to do it,” Whitecalf says.
For him, that means taking a culturally specific attitude toward recording. When he first started Sweet Grass, he reached out to Sweetgrass First Nation to ask if he could name his business after it.
“I didn’t want to abuse it in any way, and Indigenous groups use sweetgrass spiritually to smudge and everything else,” he explains. Smudging, smoking tobacco and other cultural practices are also respected at Sweet Grass.
Its collaboration with EMI Music, which distributes records worldwide for the label, has given Sweet Grass the opportunity to distribute Indigenous music worldwide while maintaining its creative freedom and prioritizing its artists without compromise.
For Whitecalf, the label isn’t just about making and selling Indigenous music, it’s also about honouring his culture and creating a record of stories and music for future generations. Since opening its doors more than 30 years ago, it’s also published and recorded spoken word albums and branched into photography and merchandise sales.
Whitecalf is invested in recording the stories of elders, in particular. He records them in the hopes they’ll be given to Indigenous children so they grow up hearing their stories and learning about their culture. To further future-proof the label’s catalogue of Indigenous music, Sweet Grass re-released newly digitized versions of its vast library, so the songs are more easily accessible to everyone.
“It is work I love and a career that I am proud to have had,” he writes on the Sweet Grass website.
Rebecca Gao
Special to The Globe and Mail
Published April 10, 2025
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