LOCAL DISCS

LOCAL DISCS KAELI

Secret (Independent)

➧ KAELI CERTAINLY got Straight music editor Mike Usinger’s attention with the package she sent her new EP in. The music itself was on a USB flash drive with her name and URL (www. kaelimcarter.com/) engraved on it. This was tucked inside a hollowed-out book that also contained an RFID card case, and a stainless-steel straw. That last item, according to a note from the artist, “will protect your DNA from being stolen off your drinking glass”, because that’s definitely a thing that happens to all of us, right?

As soon as a duly impressed Mike handed me all of the above, I set it aside and looked up Kaeli’s five-song Secret EP on Spotify, because this is 2019. And Kaeli McArter’s music is noth- ing if not contemporary; imagine an indie-pop Lady Gaga or Kesha. Not the glitter-and-vomit Ke$ha of “Tik Tok”, mind you, but the empowered version as heard on “Raising Hell”.

Kaeli’s “Freedom” and “Round 2” are very much in that independentwoman vein, and all of the songs boast impressively slick production, burbling with synths and electronic beats. The spooky closer, “Haunt Me”, is the EP’s high point, showcasing McArter’s powerfully plaintive singing over a subtly dubstep-inspired soundscape.

CHAMPIAN FULTON & CORY WEEDS

Dream a Little… (Cellar Live)

➧ I HAD NOT PREVIOUSLY been a fan of jazz singer and pianist Champian Fulton, but I’m coming around. That’s thanks to this intimate duet record, which places the 34-yearold in the company of local concert booker, label owner, and alto saxophonist Cory Weeds. And it’s not so much the quality of the music that’s turning my head, but the quality of the listening.

Unconfined by a rhythm section, Fulton sounds freer and more playful than on earlier releases; her playing is bluesier and more muscular, especially in the lower registers. She’s also grown into her voice: the kittenish mannerisms and nasal inflections that seemed so affected early on in her career have coalesced into a mature style that honours the jazz past without aping it. Weeds, wisely, lets her shine, contributing sprightly melodic improvisations but never overplaying.

WASHERS

Drown (Independent)

➧ IT’S HARD TO KNOW where to begin when it comes to describing Washers. The band itself offers this on its Facebook page: “Four piece eclectic feedback worship from Vancouver”. That’s not bad, actually, especially the “eclectic” part. On the surface, the quartet’s sound is akin to ’90s spiritof-Seattle grunge—that’s where the feedback comes in—but that would be too simplistic a definition. There’s also a sense of surging urgency and drama to these songs that recalls emo titans like Sunny Day Real Estate. (Okay, so we’re still in Seattle in the ’90s.)

That’s still not the whole story, though. As noisy as things get, singer garrett k tends to deliver the lyrics in a Morrissey-esque croon—except when he doesn’t, as on “Manleash”, where he lets the dogs out with a throatshredding howl.

This much is certain: these guys have no qualms about reaching for the epic. For evidence of that, check out this album’s title track, which closes the whole affair in a 12-minute spazz-out of math rock, posthardcore, and sheer noise. It’s pretty great, and will likely leave you with the impression that Washers must be jaw-droppingly good live.

COACH STROBCAM

Coach StrobCam (Independent)

➧ MY FAVOURITE SONG on Coach StrobCam’s debut six-song CD EP is, by far, “The Problem”, which manages to insinuate itself into the listener’s psyche with the apparent intent of provoking an anxiety attack. This is thanks to an insistent chorus by Pete Campbell of “The problem is you”—the last word delivered like he’s pointing his finger square at you, leaving you no room to deflect.

I much prefer that song to the almost spiritual sweetness and apparently sincere sense of gratitude that inform “Milk and Honey”, but it’s remarkable nonetheless that the EP— with keyboards and accordions by Greg “Coach” Kelly and honey-sweet harmonies from Rachel Strobl— manages to span such a range, in the course of a mere six songs. I described it in an interview with Campbell on the Straight website as what might happen if Ray Davies wrote songs with Burt Bacharach, and it’s still the closest I can come to an apt description of Campbell’s songwriting this time out, but it sure is nice to see that the long-time David M. collaborator and former member of Pink Steel, the Wardells, and the Sweaters hasn’t lost his touch.

This is probably the prettiest, easiest-to-listen-to music of Campbell’s long and undersung career, offering a truly unique flavour of smart Vancouver pop; it also (hint) makes a pretty great headphones album.

THE WILD NORTH

Welcome to… (Independent)

➧ AS THE TOASTMASTER to a certain quarter of Vancouver’s rootsrock scene for over a decade now, Elliot C. Way has seen his own music with the Wild North maybe be a little overlooked. The band itself has been busy for almost as long, as a denimwrapped Wrecking Crew for Vancouver and points beyond. Keyboardist Matt Kelly and drummer Leon Power were both recruited into City and Colour. Guitarist John Sponarski tours with country artist Aaron Pritchett, among others. Bassist Erik Nielsen sits in with everyone, everywhere.

Add to that an admirable commitment to a vintage form of downtime lifestyle debauchery—the kind you might have encountered in Texas circa ’73 or Vancouver before it went all artisanal ice cream and tech-sector micro-dosing—and it comes as no surprise that it took over six years for the Wild North to finally put the finishing touches on its debut album. Still: at long last, here it is, as good as you’d expect from an outfit that’s grown from already hot to way hotter over those years of fitfully hitting the studio. Starting with “Even the Greats”, the record’s sonic orientation suggests junk-sick John Cougar Mellencamp stealing from Neil Young, but with a heaviness that finally overcomes everything seven tracks later in the fabulously ominous “Fools Gold”.

The biggest surprise might be the beefiness of Way’s vocals, presumably seasoned over periodic bouts of living in his van. It’s a rock record for sure, Nebraska-ish “Margaret” aside, and there’s at least one wink to the lighter moves of the Band in the clavinet murmur heard in the chorus of “Worlds on Fire”. Or maybe it’s a jaw harp, or maybe it was telepathically embedded into the track directly from Way’s feverboiled brain. Fitting for a record that seems to have emerged largely through sheer force of will.