Thefirstsong I ever heard by Tia Wood was "Losing Game" -- and it came at the perfect time. I was just resurfacing from a breakup with a Dutch man who told me he loved me to the moon and back, asked me to come live with him in the Netherlands, invited me to spend Christmas with his family -- and then promptly ended the relationship with me over FaceTime days later, out of the blue. I also found out that he'd started dating his best female friend a week later.

When Wood sings the lyrics, "How can I be safe when your love is a losing game?" or "Moving your mountains, moving your seas, still I can't find the love you saids for me," I feel it. She's another Indigenous girl like me, looking for something real in a world that hasn't always been genuine to her.

A 25-year-old Nehiyaw and Salish singer from Saddle Lake Cree Nation, Wood grew up in the Canadian province of Alberta, crafting songs about love, loss, ceremony and community -- all through the lens of culture that I could relate to. Indigenous artists and creatives carry a different kind of responsibility through our art because we are paving new paths that younger generations are paying close attention to.

Wood is entering the pop/R&B music scene as that representative, and she carries her culture proudly with authenticity and a voice that honors the legacy that lives within her lineage.

What role has music played for you in your life growing up, and what does it mean to you now?

Growing up, music was all around me. I grew up around a very musical family: my sister, Fawn Wood; my uncle, Randy Wood; and my dad, who was one of the founders of Northern Cree. My mom, aunties and grandma were all part of an all-girls drum group. So it was all around me. It played a huge role, and it was inevitable that I would pick it up.

What started my whole journey was a lot of traditional music. I find, for me, it helps me get closer to learning more of my language, because I feel that the only way I really pick up words is if I'm learning them through a song in Cree. I sing with a group called Blazing Bear, and I'm learning other languages now because of that, and I'm learning what they mean. So it plays a huge role in my life. It sounds so cliché, but it's so true that it's like therapy.

No matter what I'm going through in my life, where I'm at or how I'm feeling, I always feel 100 times lighter going to sing -- whether it's powwow music, peyote music, hand game music, round dance music or the type of music I make today. It's honestly the most important and special thing in my life and probably will be that forever. Honestly.

Is there a specific traditional ceremony or traditional song that has been the most special or influential for you?

Probably any songs that were on my sister Fawn's albums, because some of the straight songs in there were composed by my father, Earl Wood, and those were some of the first songs I ever learned. When I moved to LA, those were some of the songs that really kept me sane and made me feel closer to home. Some other songs would be from the A. Paul Ortega album, because it played in the background of my childhood, and it represents the beginning as well.

These last couple of years have been pretty revolutionary in terms of Indigenous representation and storytelling. How does it feel for you to be part of that movement?

I'm so thankful for everything. It's surreal because growing up there was such a lack of representation. You weren't able to turn on the TV, radio, or open a magazine and see as much Indigenous representation as you can now. We're definitely just the tip of the iceberg, this new wave of Indigenous representation. Now we have ["Reservation Dogs"], "True Detective"; we have more Indigenous faces on runways, like Quannah ChasingHorse and Nanabah Grace, Phillip Bread and Heather Diamond Strongarm. We have more people on the radio, like Snotty Nose Rez Kids, Sebastian Gaskin and Ruby Waters.

To be a part of that is so crazy -- I'm just so in disbelief of it sometimes. As a little girl, I had those dreams, but I never thought they were reachable.

Speaking of these dreams that felt unreachable, your debut album just dropped with Sony Music -- a major music label. What has that process been like for you?

It's been so relieving. My first song I ever released was "Dirt Roads," but I was sitting on that song even before Sony came into the picture. I still have trouble saying, 'Yeah, I'm with Sony Music,' because it's just so crazy. The whole process was a learning experience. You get put in these rooms with people that you don't know. It's a bit intimidating when they've probably never heard storytelling from an Indigenous perspective. It was a lot of awkward sessions, but we got through it, and I met some amazing people who helped me write all of these songs and added more to the storytelling.

It's been so busy since it came out, even before that. This is the busiest year I've ever had, and I'm not even done yet. But it's been so great because I got to travel to some amazing places, share music and meet a lot of amazing musicians and friends. It's been a crazy ride, but such a good one. I'm very, very thankful.

You transitioned from Saddle Lake to LA -- obviously two very different places. You know, as someone who also comes from northern Alberta and now lives in New York City, I feel like I can really relate. But what has that transition been like for you?

You know, it's probably been the best decision I've ever made for myself. It was so crazy for me, because I grew up on the rez [reservation]. To go from, you know -- reservations are really quiet and really out there in the bush. So to go from that to one of the biggest cities was probably the craziest culture shock and transition that I've ever gone through. When I used to live in the rez, I used to always say, "Oh, it's so quiet here. Nothing ever moves, nothing ever changes."

Then, once I moved to LA -- that's one of the things I missed the most. LA, everybody is just hustling there. It's so loud. Everything is moving every single day so fast. It was a crazy decision; a lot of growing pains, but a lot of beautiful friendships, experiences, and opportunities.

Are there any kinds of lessons or morals that were instilled in you growing up in Saddle Lake that you carry with you while navigating the music industry in LA?

I think one thing that I always carry with me is to always sing with pride and to always tell myself that I belong where I belong. That's something that I still struggle with -- all of these new opportunities, like Billboard, when I got to go to the Junos, or any cool opportunity -- I always have a little bit of imposter syndrome. One thing my parents taught me and my sisters was to sing with pride, remind yourself that you deserve to be where you are, always stay true to yourself, and be proud of where you come from -- to always remember that you're not only representing yourself, but you're representing your people.

So whatever stage I step on, or whatever room I walk into, I always tell myself that. I carry the rez with me wherever I go, and I carry my people and their voices wherever I go.