Some albums whisper. Others wail. ‘Shadows & Machines’, the new full-length from Canadian alt-rock artist Digger Jonez (a.k.a. Close Encounters), lives in the tension between both. Out now, with lead single “Treemen,”, the record marks a raw, unflinching statement from a Northern Ontario Ojibwa artist who has always seen music as survival.
Born Lynden Jonez, Digger grew up with his roots tied literally to the natural world: his given name comes from the Linden tree. It’s fitting, then, that his earliest song—and now ‘Shadows & Machines’ flagship single—was born under open sky, when he was homeless after high school and living in a Toronto forest. “I was amazed at the disrespect for nature by an overly materialist society,” he recalls. “Treemen came from my heart. Do not cut us, protection is a must, do not waste us, money cannot be eaten.”
The track feels like a manifesto. With its jagged guitars and cathartic rhythm section (Cory Aird on drums, Steven Jones on bass), “Treemen” works both as protest anthem and invitation to rage against complacency. “Treemen, Treemen, fighting for children, protection against corruption, with the roots in these lands,” Jonez sings, balancing urgency with defiance. It’s the kind of chorus that sounds both timeless and necessary, echoing through generations who have camped, marched, and prayed in Canada’s forests.
“I love playing this song as my concert opener,” he says. “It feels like an anthem and a call to arms for people to take environmental corruption seriously. Everyone loves to go camping, but who will confront billion-dollar companies when you can’t breathe or drink water anymore?” That tension—between escape and confrontation, nostalgia, and activism—runs like live current throughout ‘Shadows & Machines’.
While the record roars with heavy riffs and industrial grit, it never loses sight of its human center. Jonez is as comfortable weaving hip-hop cadences into his guitar-driven rock as he is pulling lines straight from his lived experience. His shows, often described as full of “comedy, dance, and inspiring music for all ages,” translate that genre-bending approach into an almost theatrical urgency. It’s part of why he was named RBC’s Emerging Artist of 2022 and why fans across Canada are eager to follow wherever this project goes next.
Listen on Spotify here: https://open.spotify.com/album/1jziMlLMqlCzWVpVWj94q5
At the heart of ‘Shadows & Machines’ is Jonez’s ability to turn biography into allegory. His liner notes read less like backstory and more like survival guide: trauma spun into resilience, disillusionment reframed as anthemic catharsis. It’s a continuation of what he calls the “diary of what went wrong and what went right that year,” each record a timestamp in his evolving relationship with community, music, and land.
In many ways, “Treemen” is the album distilled. Biblical imagery collides with environmental crisis: “A vine hangs down from a tree / Looks like the cross of Jesus.” Religious symbolism, ecological urgency, and political fury all converge into a hymn for those who still believe roots matter, both literal and ancestral.
For Jonez, who carries Ojibwa heritage from Northern Ontario, this is more than metaphor. “With the roots in these lands” is a declaration of cultural belonging and responsibility. By collapsing personal history into collective memory, he gives voice to what too often goes unheard: Indigenous environmental knowledge as rock and roll testimony.
If ‘Shadows & Machines’ is the storm, “Treemen” is the lightning strike. Loud, unrelenting, and impossible to ignore, it demands that listeners not only hear but act. Jonez has built an album where hope and anger are not opposites but coconspirators, where survival sounds like distortion and joyride blues. The call will be clear: rage, protect, remember, endure.