BEGIN:VCALENDAR VERSION:2.0 PRODID:-//Find Local//findlocal.community//EN CALSCALE:GREGORIAN METHOD:PUBLISH BEGIN:VTIMEZONE TZID:America/Denver BEGIN:DAYLIGHT TZOFFSETFROM:-0700 TZOFFSETTO:-0600 TZNAME:MDT DTSTART:19700308T020000 RRULE:FREQ=YEARLY;BYMONTH=3;BYDAY=2SU END:DAYLIGHT BEGIN:STANDARD TZOFFSETFROM:-0600 TZOFFSETTO:-0700 TZNAME:MST DTSTART:19701101T020000 RRULE:FREQ=YEARLY;BYMONTH=11;BYDAY=1SU END:STANDARD END:VTIMEZONE BEGIN:VEVENT UID:79b212f1-4c58-4cd1-af6e-88c2efb1d2e5@findlocal.community DTSTAMP:20261012T010855Z DTSTART;TZID=America/Denver:20261112T200000 DTEND;TZID=America/Denver:20261112T220000 SUMMARY:Cat Clyde & Dean Johnson DESCRIPTION:Cat Clyde Where is my love? Cat Clyde howls\, opening her new album ‘Mud Blood Bone’ with abandon. Can’t find my love? It’s not the s omber lament of a longing woman\, but a feral eruption\, the roar of an animal on the edge. Her voice crumples with dismay\, a swampy croon over romping keys. I got a hole in my chest I can’t take the emptiness Where is my love? It’s the essential question of ‘Mud Blood Bone\,’ a void el even frenetic songs sizzle to fill. The Canadian songwriter’s fourth ful l-length and first release with Concord Records finds her at a point of personal evolution. “I wrote these songs at the end of a big cycle\,” sh e shares. “Love was not present in my life and I didn’t know where to fi nd it or how to get it back.” Essential to the search\, Clyde discovered \, was relinquishing old notions. “In the past\, I felt like love chaine d me\, controlled me\, put me in a cage.” Produced with Drew Vandenberg (Toro Y Moi\, Faye Webster\, S.G. Goodman) and recorded at Chase Park Tr ansduction in Athens\, Georgia\, Clyde’s new collection exists in a soni c overlap\; the rockabilly grit of contemporaries like Sierra Ferrell\, The Deslondes\, or Nick Shoulders\, meets the vulnerable\, folk rock vol atility of Big Thief or Angel Olsen. “Drew was the perfect person to hel p me assemble the players and bring this collection to life\,” says Clyd e. “Everyone brought their own unique gift to the studio. I create from a place of instinct\, and once we all locked in\, it felt easy\, and we were able to capture the songs live.” Liam Duncan of Boy Golden was anot her integral collaborator. “He was there from day one demos to the album ’s finalization\,” Clyde explains\, “as a great friend\, musician\, and anchor to the original sentiment of each song.” Clyde’s foundational rel ationship with music began through a vent in the floor. “I’d lift the ru g up to hear my grandfather playing his fiddle along to cassette tapes i n the basement.” This was in North Ontario at summertime family gatherin gs\, the best of which would culminate in impromptu family jam sessions. “I can’t really remember a time when I wasn’t singing.” After a fleetin g\, childhood stint with the piano\, Clyde took on the guitar around age thirteen. “When I discovered Blues music—well—that changed my life.” Th e riffs of Lead Belly and Robert Johnson were too complicated for her sm all\, preteen hands to master\, but they inspired Clyde to write her own songs. She busked through adolescence\, joined a punk band called Shit Bats in college\, and recorded her first album in a friend’s basement be fore she graduated. Four full-lengths later\, Clyde’s voice vibrates wit h that ferocious confidence of one who’s been doing this her whole life. ‘Mud Blood Bone’ exudes a nomadic independence. Clyde penned some of th e songs in her 1973 Boler trailer\, parked temporarily on a farm in Onta rio\, others on a narrow boat in England\, and the rest in transit from one festival to another\, letting lyrics stream freely from a jetlagged dream state. “Constantly being on the move\, having to navigate new envi ronments\, it forces me to be present\, and to confront my own feelings\ ,” Clyde says. “You can’t hide behind comforts. You have to know exactly who you are\, and what you want.” The result is uninhibited\, raw\, pur e\; it’s the sound of personal truth discovered in real time. Clyde is c racked wide open and what spills out—equal parts despair\, invocation\, discovery\, and celebration—is the love she went looking for. “When I li sten to this album\, I know that my power belongs to me. Love lives insi de of me. I can always find it.” ‘Mud Blood Bone’ was released on March 13\, 2026. Dean Johnson I Hope We Can Still Be Friends By Erin Osmon Wit h I Hope We Can Still Be Friends\, his debut for Saddle Creek\, Dean Joh nson makes a pact with the listener: He will sing you his truth in the m ost heartfelt and charming way possible\, if you promise to keep an open mind. The title partly stems from the playful way the Seattle-based sin ger\, songwriter and guitarist communes with his audiences at concerts. “I hope you’re not afraid to talk to me after the show\,” he’ll say\, sw eetly\, before launching into “Death of the Party\,” the album’s seventh song. Centered on the “energy vampire” archetype — the exasperating win dbag we’ve all encountered at some point — its lyrics are at once intell ectually biting and unmistakably hilarious. His tender voice rings out l ike the ghost of Roy Orbison or a misfit Everly brother. “Words don’t co me easily to me I notice you don’t have that problem It sounds to me you cannot stop them\,” Johnson sings over acoustic guitar strumming\, and gentle bass and drums\, like the narrator in a dark comedy whose coming- of-age misadventures have made for an excellent film. Johnson spent year s tending bar at Al’s Tavern in Seattle’s Wallingford neighborhood. Ther e\, he encountered folks of all stripes\; and regulars enthusiastically murmured about his budding musical greatness — There’s the best songwrit er in town! Johnson was a kind of local lore\, a long-held family secret \, before the singer finally broke out in 2023 with his debut album\, No thing For Me Please\, at age 50. “‘Death of the Party’ is a great exampl e of that\,” he says of the sociological experience of bartending. “Bein g in that environment\, lyrics did solidify. If I was working on a song\ , it wasn’t unusual for some new aspect of it\, or a line that was too v ague\, to suddenly come into focus.” I Hope We Can Still Be Friends is e ssentially an anthology that bridges Johnson’s earliest days as a songwr iter with his present-day outlook and abilities. There are songs that ha ve been in his setlists for years\, and others that will be new to fans. Each of its 11 tracks contains jocular social commentary or lovingly re ndered affairs of the heart. The album’s songs about love and relationsh ips offer another way to interpret its title: as a parting thought to an ex. Like all of Johnson’s cable-knit writing\, the title is a clever ba nner for the album’s dual nature\, the thing that binds its tragedy and comedy masks. Johnson explains that he didn’t set out to make a concept album. It’s a coincidence that about half of the album’s songs are a bit sardonic\, and the other half are more lighthearted. The singer playful ly refers to the former as his “mean” songs\, which is why the album’s b ack cover is adorned with a warning that says “Beware of Dean.” Like Joh n Prine or Kris Kristofferson’s country-adjacent sound\, devastating hum or and economical profundity refracted through a barroom’s haze\, the al bum is filled with easygoing twang\, sad characters\, universal truths a nd the absurdity of everyday life. “Carol” recounts the numb consumption and dissipating cultural attention that is besieging America. There’s a search for optimism amid meditations on dying in a plane crash in “Befo re You Hit the Ground.” Romance that is best forgotten steers “So Much B etter” — only Johnson could weave electroconvulsive therapy into a gentl e\, chuckle-inducing missive on unbearable heartbreak. I Hope We Can Sti ll Be Friends floats in a liminal plane between timely and timeless\, it s minimalist instrumentation elevating Johnson’s affecting voice to new heights. Recorded at Unknown Studio in Anacortes\, Washington\, the reco rd was produced by Sera Cahoone — the Seattle-based singer-songwriter Jo hnson describes as a “soulmate sibling.” Overdubbing took place at Seatt le’s Crackle & Pop! For the sessions\, Johnson assembled a small band of friends including Abbey Blackwell (bass)\, multi-instrumentalist Sam Pe terson and Cahoone (drums\, backing vocals)\, who created a familial ton e on the already intimate album. I Hope We Can Still Be Friends\, with i ts sharp observations and stirring personal insights\, holds space for b oth intense reflection and emotional release. You may laugh\, or cry or both. In this sense\, the album is powerful medicine — a way to both exp ose yourself to and inoculate yourself against the ugly\, absurd\, exist ential and heartbreaking. At its core rests a basic truth that is often difficult to remember or accept: Happiness wouldn’t exist without sadnes s as its counterpart. On his uncanny ability to so clearly see and then encapsulate humanity in all its messy glory\, Johnson offers this core m emory\, drawn from his childhood on Camano Island in the Puget Sound. “I was raised on a bluff\,” he says. “I’m not trying to make it sound dram atic\, but I did have a sweeping view.”\n\nTickets: https://www.tixr.com /groups/aggietheatre/events/cat-clyde-dean-johnson-201587\n\nhttps://fin dlocal.community/event/79b212f1-4c58-4cd1-af6e-88c2efb1d2e5 LOCATION:Aggie Theatre\, Fort Collins\, CO URL:https://findlocal.community/event/79b212f1-4c58-4cd1-af6e-88c2efb1d2e 5 STATUS:CONFIRMED SEQUENCE:0 END:VEVENT END:VCALENDAR