Photo by Chris LeDrew

Atlantic Canada’s music scene has always been filled with rich, diverse sounds, from sea shanties to hip hop, with artists building followings far beyond home. And for over three decades, the East Coast Music Association (ECMA), the nonprofit that runs an annual awards show and industry marketplace, has been part of that story, connecting emerging talent to promoters, labels, and bigger stages.

But the reality is most of the people who built that system are ready to retire. “This generation that grew up in the ’80s and ’90s is nearing the end of their performance,” says Bob Hallett, the ECMA’s newly appointed executive director and former Great Big Sea member. Succession is key, he says, and there’s space now for a whole new generation of diverse voices. Except not everyone believes the ECMA, as it currently exists, is equipped for the job. For over a year, the organization has been in turmoil over money, governance, and whether it truly reflects the communities it claims to serve.

It began in September 2024, when the ECMA introduced reforms to its award categories and nomination criteria. The changes, championed by then-CEO Blanche Israël, a Moroccan Canadian cellist, shifted the judging criteria away from streaming numbers and economic success, instead focusing on cultural impact. Some award categories were consolidated, including Video Director of the Year and Visual Artist of the Year, into a new Content Creator category. Meanwhile, the Audio Engineer of the Year award was eliminated entirely. The changes were meant to modernize the organization and create more space for underrepresented artists, but musicians felt blindsided due to lack of consultation with the membership.

The move triggered immediate backlash, though not over the equity goals themselves. Musicians complained they’d been shut out of the decision-making process, with changes made seemingly overnight and no explanation of how or why. Some artists saw their categories disappear without warning. This propelled Halifax-based artist manager Sheri Jones to launch a petition that drew more than 550 signatures calling for transparency and consultation. Many who signed supported the call for better representation but felt the process had been rushed.

By January 2025, Israël was fired. In subsequent media interviews, she pointed to deeper structural problems around the organization’s application process and reliance on artist application fees, and the failure to reflect the diversity of Atlantic Canada’s music community. She’s also criticized the association’s high consultant fees. But rather than engage publicly with those concerns, the ECMA went silent, a pattern that persisted through the spring and summer, with multiple media requests for comment going unanswered until Hallett stepped in.

In March, several artists withdrew their nominations for the award show, which were held in St. John’s, Newfoundland, in protest. Stephen Hero, a New Brunswick rapper whose track was nominated for Rap/Hip-Hop Release of the Year, told CBC that artists felt shut out. “There is a feeling that [artists] don’t really know what’s going on and we think that we should know,” he said. He believed Israël was making positive changes around representation, but without transparency around her firing, he couldn’t support the organization.

Rapper Wolf Castle, from Pabineau First Nation in New Brunswick, was nominated for both Indigenous Artist of the Year and Rap/Hip-Hop Release of the Year. He also withdrew. “As exciting as it is to have been recognized by my peers, I don’t feel great about the event as a whole,” he wrote on Instagram. Eventually, Juno and Polaris Prize winner Jeremy Dutcher pulled all eight of his nominations in solidarity. “It’s important for us as artists to speak together and start to ask questions of an organization that purports to support and speak for us,” he told The Canadian Press.

The petition that Jones launched last fall called for more member consultation, a demand echoed by many of the artists who later withdrew their nominations. Now, Jones says she’s optimistic about the new leadership and believes the focus should be on rebuilding rather than criticism. The shift in tone suggests some members are willing to give Hallett a chance, even as questions about structural change remain unanswered.

By summer, the ECMA had appointed Hallett as executive director, alongside Andrée Gracie as interim managing director, and launched a five-year strategic planning process.

Hallett doesn’t dodge the obvious tension. “That’s definitely the elephant in the room,” he says when asked about the optics of his appointment. “I’m a middle-aged white guy, right? There’s no hiding that fact.” But he argues that the ECMA needs stability right now. “If I’m good at this, I should be able to work myself out of this job in a couple years,” he says. He frames his role as temporary with a focus on creating pathways for diverse leadership, not through “token hires,” but by building a sustainable model.

In Hallett’s telling, the ECMA still matters because it connects artists to national and international markets with over 1,000 industry interactions happening at the annual showcase event. Musicians are entrepreneurs by necessity now, he argues, and the ECMA’s role is to provide the tools and connections they need to survive.

The ECMA was among the first regional music associations in Canada when it launched in 1988. Similar associations emerged later in other regions, including BreakOut West and MusicOntario. The ECMA’s formula combined a trade show, showcases, and an awards gala to create a marketplace where artists can connect with promoters, labels, and booking agents. Whether that marketplace still delivers value is the question.

If artists no longer trust the organization (or can’t afford the application fees and travel costs to participate) the model falls apart. Israël herself, in a recent interview with The Coast, questioned whether the awards show format even makes sense anymore. “You would need a board that is willing to fundamentally change the activities of this organization, and has a clear idea of what the point is,” she said.

The ECMA’s crisis isn’t unique. Across Canada, cultural associations are wrestling with similar questions about representation, governance, and relevance. Who do these organizations actually represent? And with social media, streaming platforms, and DIY careers, do artists even need formal associations anymore?

“To reach ultimate success, you have to have platforms along the way,” Hallett says. Regional associations provide stepping stones that artists can’t easily replicate on their own, and without them, he argues, “there’s nothing that’s going to adequately replace it.”

It’s a fair point. Music associations connect artists to national buyers, help secure funding, and create showcase opportunities that would be difficult to arrange independently. For musicians based outside major markets, having that kind of regional support can make the difference.

But that only works if the association still functions as intended, as a legitimate representative of the artists it serves. Associations claim to speak for everyone, but the ECMA’s turmoil exposes a harder truth: representation isn’t just about award categories or policy statements. It’s about power: who holds it; who benefits from it; and who gets shut out.

Hallett’s succession argument makes sense in theory. The generation that built Canadian arts organizations like the ECMA is aging out, and new leadership is overdue. But succession requires more than good intentions. It requires institutions willing to actually cede power, not just make room at the edges.

The ECMA’s next chapter will test whether Hallett can deliver on that promise, or whether his appointment was just another compromise that prioritized stability over real transformation. If cultural associations can’t model the change they claim to champion, the question isn’t whether we need them. It’s whether they’re already obsolete.