Bria Salmena’s debut solo albumBig Dogchronicles a story of transformation–a deeply personalexploration of resilience and a declaration of artistic independence forged through collaboration. Longcelebrated as the frontwoman of Canadian post-punk outfit FRIGS and as a vocalist in Orville Peck’slive band, Salmena culminates her artistic evolution onBig Dog. Anchored by her commandingvoice—alternately tender, raw, and defiant—the album traverses the terrain of vulnerability andconnection, marking the arrival of an artist boldly coming intoher own.A few years ago, Salmena was at a low point in life when a friend affectionately called her “big dog”during a pep talk. Though just a throwaway term meant to lift her spirits, the phrase struck a chord.When searching for a way to sum up the collection ofsongs that saw Salmena digging herself out ofsuch a dark period, the answer was obvious; the term perfectly embodied her journey from the murkydepths of despondency and self-sabotage towards a complete artistic and personal transformation.Big Dogis a record of big emotions and big ambitions. Musically, the record takes elements of hypnotickrautrock and shimmery shoegaze, opulent goth and pulsing darkwave, with a smearing of electronictextures for a sophisticated and often uncanny sound. Amidst this vast sonic landscape, Salmena’spotent lyrical imagery and gorgeous vocals stand dead center, perfectly in focus.For Salmena, it is impossible to unlink the personal journey represented byBig Dogfrom thecollaborative relationships that went into its creation. Though the record is being released under herfull name, “none of this would have been encouraged or possible without the support from mycommunity,” she says.A long time participant in independent music, Salmena started her career as frontwoman for critically-acclaimed Canadian post-punk band FRIGS; most recently she was a vocalist in Orville Peck’s liveband. In both these projects, she worked with producer and multi-instrumentalist Duncan HayJennings, who is not only Salmena’s closest creative collaborator but also her closest friend. Theirlongstanding artistic relationship is defined by a “sensitivity to each other’s process and a sharedvision—a lot of [Big Dog] is my experiences, but we’ve shared a lot of them,” she says. Prior toBigDog, the two gave classic and modern Americana songs a goth-y dream pop treatment on both ofSalmena’sCuntry CoversEPs.Salmena and Jennings, who were living in Los Angeles and Toronto, respectively, wroteBig Dogoverthe course of several years. As they worked, it became apparent that Salmena’s songwriting had takena raw and intimate turn, which began to affect the writing process—in a good way. “We went deep,”says Jennings. “We had some in-person writing sessions that were pretty heavy and affected themaking of the record, as well, because there were a lot of elements recorded in those moments thatwe really wanted tokeep when we moved into the studio.”  When Salmena and Jennings were ready to bring outside people into the process, they wereintentional in their choices. Graham Walsh (Holy F**k, METZ, Debby Friday, Alvvays) helped the pairfurther refine their budding mix of rock and electronic music, while Meg Remy (of critically acclaimedexperimental pop project U.S. Girls) focused primarily on Salmena’s vocals. Remy helped coax outthe unforgettable performances that lie at the center ofBig Dogthrough a series of cathartic meetings,pushing Salmena todig even more deeply into the meaning of her lyrics and really think about differentways of using her voice, the instrument Salmena calls “my bread and butter.”Big Dog’s sound hovers between two worlds, gritty punk honesty always simmering below gleamingatmospherics, impossible to ignore. Is this pop music roughed up by a rock sensibility or rockemboldened by pop’s sense of scale? It’s both. There are alternative rocktouchstones—you’ll hearLive Through This, Kate Bush, Mazzy Star—and one genuine alternative rock icon in Lee Ranaldo,who contributes guitar to "See'er.” But there’s also a sleekness that’s just as much a callback to ‘80scoldwave as it is to ecstatic forms of dance music. The split effect can be eerie, as on the clanging“Rags,” a song that seems to groan and shimmer. It can be soothing as on the fractured pop song“Hammer,”Big Dog’s one true love song. Or it can be both at the same time as on the Mazzy Star-esque “Twilight,” the oldest song on the record and one that features a stripped back soundforegrounding its sense of naivety and surrender.At the center of everything is Salmena’s rich voice, a constant warm glow within a mesh of mechanicalsounds. It’s ever-present and impossible to ignore, whether Salmena is angelically harmonizing withherself, murmuring in her lowest registers, or pushingherself into an uncomfortable falsetto andstaying there. “I just need it, need it, need it,” she repeats on “Stretch the Struggle,” a song aboutbeing suspended in that anguished moment between realizing something needs to go and actuallyletting it go,her voice slowly becoming subsumed in pulsing electronic beats and bubbling synths.At its core,Big Dogis more than just a record about discovering who you are through the processingof painful experience. It’s a record about discovering that you are never really alone. In many ways,Big Dog’s entire existence is a testament to the bravery it takes to be vulnerable, to open up to people,to trust yourself, and know that what you feel matters—to step into your power both as an individualand part of a greater whole. To Salmena,thisis what it means to be a big dog. “No artist is an island,”she says. “I would not have been able to find the resolve that isBig Dogas a record or concept orfeeling I have about myself without the community around me.” -Mariana Timony