Exploring Ora Cogan’s World: Sound, Spirit, and Storytelling
Ora Cogan. Photo credit: Zoë Alma.
At High Line Brewing in Inglewood, a small and cozy venue that feels more like someone’s living room than a concert hall, the space was dimly lit, filled with the quiet hum of conversation, the scent of hops in the air, and a growing sense of anticipation. Before the first set began, I found myself simply observing. I listened to people chatting, watched the musicians set up their instruments, and tried to take in every detail around me. There was something grounding about being surrounded by strangers who were all there for the same reason: to listen and to feel something genuine.
As the lights dimmed, a soft haze of smoke drifted across the stage, catching the glow of the coloured lights and moving like part of the music itself. When the first notes began, it felt as if the air shifted. Being in such an intimate space made every sound feel closer, every vibration more alive. You could feel the emotion in each voice and the quiet energy of the audience, completely absorbed in what was happening on stage.
Each performance carried its own kind of magic. Ora Cogan’s set felt like a spiritual experience, full of emotion that lingered even after she stepped away.
Opening for Hermitess, Ora Cogan delivered a performance that was nothing short of mesmerizing. Known for her singular voice and cinematic compositions, Cogan’s music exists in a space where the traditional, the experimental, and the psychedelic converge, creating a soundscape that feels both intimate and otherworldly.
As someone already familiar with her work, I found the live experience even more compelling. Cogan began her set by quietly tuning into her violin, letting delicate, textured notes fill the room. Gradually, she layered humming and abstract sounds, looping them to create a dreamlike, almost spiritual atmosphere. The effect was haunting but beautifully immersive, the kind of performance that draws you inward and makes you forget where you are.
Cogan’s voice is the heart of her music. It is haunting, ethereal, and deeply emotive. The instruments around her don’t compete; instead, they form a subtle second layer that frames and amplifies her presence. Each song unfolded like a spell, deliberate yet organic, as if she were conjuring emotion through sound.
There was a cathartic quality to her performance, a sense that she wasn’t merely performing but channeling something deeply personal. The audience seemed entranced, collectively suspended in her sonic world. It was an experience that felt both spiritual and cinematic, a testament to the power of her artistry.
Cogan’s sound captures something quintessentially Calgarian: a blend of indie folk and country roots with an undercurrent of mystery and introspection. The violin remains her signature, weaving through her compositions with an eerie grace that lingers long after the final note.
Watching Ora Cogan perform, it is hard not to feel that she is on the cusp of something greater. Her ability to create an atmosphere that is both haunting and healing marks her as an artist to watch, one whose voice feels destined to echo far beyond the local stage.
Read REVERIE’s conversation with Ora Cogan below.
REVERIE: How long have you been performing and how has music influenced your life?
Ora Cogan: I started performing when I was really young. I’ve always been pretty excited about music, all kinds of music. I love exploring different genres and learning about traditional music and its history. I’m also really drawn to experimental and conceptual stuff. Honestly, I love country, I love metal, love it all. I like diving into everything and seeing where it takes me. Yeah, I guess I started out as a wee baby singer-songwriter, and then I found the noise community and the noise scene in Vancouver. That really opened things up for me and shaped the direction I’ve taken since.
REVERIE: Are there any favourite musicians that you’re listening to now that are inspiring your work?
Ora Cogan: Oh, there are so many. I’ve recently been collaborating with Lori Goldston, she’s done all sorts of incredible work and plays the cello. She’s amazing, always doing more research and experimenting with new sounds. eah, and I really like Hilary Woods too — she’s really cool. Lately, I’ve been listening to a lot of older music, Ellie Krieger in the car, older country and Appalachian folk, as well as traditional Greek, Turkish, and Eastern European music. I’ve been learning traditional songs like Clover and Balkan fiddle tunes, and some Scandinavian music from this wonderful violinist, Ester Gnander.
REVERIE: Would you say that the people you’ve mentioned influence your sound? You have such a unique style, I feel like I haven’t heard many artists who sound quite like you.
Ora Cogan: Oh, thank you! And yeah, I think they do influence me, but it’s also just how I process everything. I listened to a lot of 90s music growing up, Hole, Nirvana, ’90s hip-hop. Sade was actually the first record I ever bought. Then Bonnie Raitt, lots of country and folk, traditional music from around the world, Nina Simone — and then I got into older blues, soul, and even metal and pop. Yeah, I think everyone you listen to leaves an imprint. If you’re paying attention, that influence just naturally becomes part of what you create.
There’s just so much in music that excites me. I see it as being part of something larger, learning, connecting to stories, championing what deserves to be uplifted, and doing that in a respectful way. I didn’t grow up in a traditional or religious household — more like in a messy, complicated society — so I’m still figuring out what that means. But I think it’s about being conscious of that and trying to hold space for stories and music that matter.
REVERIE: Would you say Bury Me differs from the music you’ve made in the past? In terms of themes, the process, or even how it came together?
Ora Cogan: Yeah, definitely. When we were recording, it just felt like these songs had their own character, like they needed their own space. It became clear that this album was something distinct, something that stood on its own. A lot of it felt like this liminal sort of space — a little Ren Faire, a little esoteric, kind of halfway to the spirit world. That’s really how it felt to me. So, it started to take on its own character, and I decided to release it as a small seven-inch record. It’s just four songs, one of them I did with Lori Goldston, and my friend Al played accordion. It was fun to make. I recorded some of the accordion and a few other parts myself at my studio in Nanaimo, BC. And then Lori recorded her parts remotely, and we did a bunch of the rest at my friend Ian’s studio in Victoria, where we recorded the record. So, it was definitely a big team effort.
REVERIE: I’m sure music is really healing for you, as it is for many musicians. You’ve also mentioned that Bury Me is like an ode to the spirit world. What does that mean to you, and how does that show up in the music?
Ora Cogan: I think it’s hard to talk about this kind of thing, because if you could just explain it in plain English, you wouldn’t need to write songs about it. It’s so deeply felt, kind of embedded, that it’s hard to pull apart in a rational way. Maybe that’s why I created something like this record. It’s trying to express something that feels beyond words — something meditative and cosmic. When I was writing it, it felt like a space that held death, grief, and love all at once — this sort of liminal, reflective space.
REVERIE: How has grief specifically influenced your music?
Ora Cogan: One of the things I love about music is that it gives you a space to express things you don’t always get to share openly. In most situations, it can feel like a burden to talk about heavy emotions, like you might bring people down or make them uncomfortable.
You know, that in itself is so special, taking something that feels impossible to even talk about, something so heavy, and turning it into something you can actually dance to. It becomes fun or even celebratory, but you’re still engaging with really hard, painful stuff.
Through that process, you get to move through it and change your relationship with it. It’s like what people say about tough experiences — you can’t make them disappear, but you can change how you relate to them.
That’s a big part of what this music is about. It’s transformation. Sometimes it shows up in extreme sounds, sometimes through humour, or just finding a sense of lightness in the fall of things. That shift, that transformation, is where the healing happens.