A lot of debut albums scream “Look at me!” like a toddler at a birthday party. Dave Des doesn’t do that. His record steps in quiet, puts tea on the table, and stares you down until you’re ready to have an honest conversation. It’s not a fireworks show. It’s the morning after a long night, and somehow that hits harder.
Dave Des is what you’d call a late bloomer. He spent decades smoothing in the city before bailing for Saltspring Island, that little creative pocket off the BC coast. And thank god he did. Something about that ocean air cracked him open. Now he’s got Catharsis Caught: nine songs that sound like a lifetime of notebooks finally given a melody.
The title track, “Catharsis Caught”, opens with a harbour setting, a vessel untying its ropes and wandering toward deeper waters. But Des isn’t singing about a pleasure cruise. He’s asking the kind of question that keeps you up at early dawn: if you walk away from something that’s draining you, are you a coward or are you finally thinking straight? He lets the question sit there, heavy and honest.
“Poison Envy“ gets nasty. This one’s about jealousy that does not simply visit, but moves in and redecorates your insides. Des sings about a poison that turns red blood green. “Somebody save me from me… There’s a poison in me… Somebody save me from this poison in me!” It’s ugly and uncomfortable, yet real.
Then comes “Hippocampus.” That’s the memory centre of your brain. Des treats memory like a basement you thought you locked. But a random smell or a half-heard sound cracks the door open, and suddenly you’re reliving some mess you swore you’d buried. “We talk of times. Some that we want to remember; others we’d rather forget.” THIS is what I call smart writing.
“Wreckhouse Winds“ is where the album shows its beasthood to the maximum. Midnight steering wheel, “ink-black tarmac rivers”, an 18-wheeler breathing down your neck. The line is three words on repeat: “There’s no time to think, just feel.” That’s pure instinct music. It’s “revenge served cold.” Really cold.
“Head In The Sand“ depicts that modern anxiety spiral. The “Om” chants aren’t peaceful. They’re desperate. There’s “no serenity, wisdom, or courage to know the difference”. A guy buried in bad news, pretending he’s fine. He literally has no words. We’ve all been there.
“More Than Blue“ stares down grief. Shadows everywhere. Darkness that feels like it might never lift. “It’s hope that preys on those who give it away.” But Des slips in a lifeline: “And that new rainbow will shine more colours than blue.” Not a cure. A reminder that you’re not one-dimensional.
“Broken Things“ asks what damage teaches us. Can a crack make you stronger? Can a scar be something other than ugly? Des doesn’t pretend the break never happened. He lets the cracks show.
“Back To One“ closes the loop. Breaking away. Starting over: “So now it’s back to one… Follow me now”. Learning to walk again.
“Sky’s Open“ flips the script. “coffee’s ready”. Small daily rituals. It’s not a Hollywood ending. Nahh, it’s a Tuesday morning where you decide to try again. “Every battle was won yet the war was still lost… Life happens”. That’s more valuable than any explosion.
The sound is acoustic-leaning, intimate, clean enough to let the writing breathe. Des recorded this with local musicians and producer Hownd, and you can feel that community spirit in every track.
Is this for everyone? Nah. The catchy parts don’t tackle you from behind. But if you’ve ever sat in a parked car after a fight, wondering if leaving makes you brave or stupid, this album’s for you. Dave Des took the long road. Turns out, late bloomers make the most interesting noise.