Century Egg, Dorothea Paas, and Keeper E.
Century Egg
Little Piece of Hair // Forward Music Group
Little Piece of Hair is the latest release by Halifax-based basement-pop act, Century Egg. The EP is short and to the point - totalling only six tracks - but feels far from succinct, in the best way possible. Dancey before anything else, Little Piece of Hair is explosive and upbeat. The instrumentation is raucous and engaging, offering little respite from the album’s mission statement: “dancing and being free and rediscovering the joy in music and our lives, despite the shells around us.”
Century Egg riffs and fuzzes along with the best of them, the whole time managing to maintain a positive demeanour and thoughtfulness alongside a clear rock and, at times, punk influence. Far from being pristine, Little Piece of Hair embraces its jagged edges. Nestled alongside the carefree dance-the-night-away ethos is the uncomfortability and ennuis that comes with life, and Little Piece of Hair is all the more raw and genuine in its celebration of life for it.
The first single, and the first song on the project, is “Do You Want to Dance”. The perfect opener, it is rough, jovial, and thoughtful altogether in asking the simple question: do you want to dance? Vocalist Shane Keyu Song sings loud and fun, peppering in quick, dense verses as their voice jumps wildly and without worry, foreshadowing the wild and competent style of the EP as a whole. The title track, “Little Piece of Hair”, is a cute ode to a little piece of hair that has fallen out and is thus “very curious”, “wants to explore”, and “doesn’t care”. Fun and almost effortlessly thoughtful, Shane Keyu Song’s vocals on this track and the EP as a whole are matched perfectly by Century Egg’s driving and dedicated instrumentation.
Little Piece of Hair is a statement, and that statement is joyous, unassuming, and beautifully communicated. Alternative and pop and rock all at once, Little Piece of Hair is ecstatic and thoughtful in equal measure. Guitar noodles and chugs and blares, climbing to the extreme highs and lows of the vocals and lyrics. All-in-all, the EP is everything it should be, and yet another credit to the talents of Century Egg, and the Halifax scene as a whole.
- Devon Acuña
Dorothea Paas
Anything Can’t Happen // Telephone Explosion Records
Anything Can’t Happen is the anticipated debut album from Dorothea Paas, well-known for her guitar and vocal contributions to U.S. Girls, Jennifer Castle, and Badge Epoque Ensemble. With a nostalgic and warm alt-folk-pop sound that is sweetly melancholic in just the right measure to feel really genuine, Anything Can’t Happen is full of personal revelation and vulnerability, and offers a striking expression of hope, fear, and resilience situated in the midst of every young adult’s favourite psychosocial dilemma — intimacy or isolation?
The signature and strength of Anything Can’t Happen is in Paas’ voice. With a high register and a strong, clear delivery shaped by years of singing in church choirs, the vocals lend an ethereal quality to the album, and are layered with harmonious complexity that evokes the Laurel Canyon folk-pop sound of the late 60s/early 70s, made famous by artists like Joni Mitchell, Carole King, and James Taylor. The instrumentation is guitar-centric, with sounds that range from clean acoustic to lo-fi distortion, and made California-dreamier with the addition of chiming Rhodes piano and expressive nasal-toned bass fills that recall the touch that Jaco Pastorius had upon Hejira. The adult contemporary aesthetic of aging hippies carrying some heartbreak and turning inward also resonates some here, but Paas favours a more loosely-flowing approach to song structure that pieces together seemingly disparate musical ideas to great effect. This style also leads to wonderful surprises, like in the impactful singular chorus (or is it an outro?) on title track “Anything Can’t Happen”, an overhaul which comes about two-thirds of the way into the song and carries through until its end.
Long lyrical phrases carry Paas’ thoughts uninterrupted across chord changes and different movements, and in so doing draw a continuous thread along entire tracks. This adds to a sense of the singer processing though self-talk, and sorting through thoughts too complex and still-evolving to contain within one small verse. A good example is found on “Perfect Love,” during which Paas also crystalizes the central conflict and declaration of the album: “Although it was once said, ‘perfect love casts out all fear’ / I think fear is always in love / It’s the risk inherent in allowing anyone near / But if I deny anything that might be lost / I will never love, never hold you close / Oh I know that nothing lasts forever.”
The sublimely frank lyrics are but one part of Anything Can’t Happen that cultivates a real sense of vulnerability and honesty from Paas. There is also the amplifier hum and hands scraping on textured guitar string metal on brief opener “One” — a track that feels like an unfinished thought, but is returned to on closing track “Running Under My Life”, perhaps because some conversation topics are too heavy to jump into right away. There is the ambient soundscape on “Container” that seems to sit you right on a park bench next to the singer. There is the searching acoustic guitar piece “Interlude”; it feels impromptu and personal, like standing at the doorway while your roommate noodles on some emerging musical idea. Lyrically, “Running Under My Life” is the most anguished and raw track of the album, and as its sorrowful message of loss unravels into a haunting and dissonant drone, it serves as a powerful affirmation that choosing intimacy despite the risk is a crucial act of hope and defiance.
- Julie Maier
Keeper E.
The Sparrows All Find Food // LHM Records
In a year of artists wondering where they fit and pondering what sort of impact their release will have, we’ve seen many breakthrough artists find a perfect footing in the forever-changing landscape of the Canadian music scene. For shows, not a great time, but for digital releases, the market has been ripe with hungry ears wanting to find new artists to cling to. This laid the perfect framework for breakout artist Keeper E. to release her debut, self-produced EP The Sparrows All Find Food. The 7-track release is a mix between fun pop sounds like Sylvan Esso and Vampire Weekend and nods to past electronic/pop legends like (and please, no one kill me) Owl City and Lights, all tied together with truly excellent production. I feel as though my words could write pages and pages on the production skills of Keeper E., known to her friends as Adelle Elwood from Nova Scotia.
With the first few listens, what jumps out is the sweet and steady voice singing melodies akin to lullabies—a gentle lilt or rocking in the cadence emphasizes the “bedroom” aspect of this bedroom-pop. While Keeper E.’s melodies might sound sweet, there is nothing predictable or traditional about this songwriting. Each song is built like a daring feat of architecture, layering unstable synthesizers over pounding, sometimes industrial percussion. I’m reminded of Bon Iver’s 22, A Million with each surprising swell, pluck, or temperature shift.
With the sparse but intentional instrumentation, Keeper E’s voice and lyrics keep listeners fully entranced. Her use of repetition helps to pound her messages home. There are questions of longing, loss, finding direction and meaning, and self-reflection: “I think that I’m the most serious woman to call herself a silly girl” is a line that I can’t seem to forget; I find myself repeating and repeating it to myself daily. There’s a refreshing honesty in these lyrics, not muddied up in metaphor and pretension but blunt and forthcoming. I get the sense that these songs pour out of Keeper E. like they write themselves.
It’s important to note how easy this album is to listen to. Whether in the background while doing dishes or intentionally sitting down in the living room with a beverage and something to inhale, this album just flows. Keeper E. doesn’t rely on huge sounds, orchestral or cinematic anthems, or a full band of instruments to tell her stories, but rather finds subtle, repetitive rhythms to gracefully set words upon, and small yet powerful sparkles in her production to fill each song with life and energy. As she says in track 4, “I’m not a leaf in a river, I know what I’m here for”; this intentionality translates so well on The Sparrows All Find Food. Keeper E. is a name to remember.
- Lana Winterhalt
