We're Still Here Missing You
Not even two years ago, Kaylee Cole sat down at a piano. It had been nearly a decade since the twenty-two year old had played, and as her hands and her voice gently cozied up to a sound that was earnest, almost unconsciously haunting, and breathtaking in it's elegant sincerity, her brain opened up to a style of songwriting that reflects a careful reverence toward what it means to be human. With the release of her first full-length album this month, We're Still Here Missing You, Cole goes to show how art that emerges quickly and effortlessly is often the stuff that penetrates the deepest into the core of it's audience. It's the blackberry bush that pops up out of nowhere-ripe, healthy, and confident-then quickly becomes the fruit, the comfort, the decadence that you rely on most. You didn't even know how much you craved/adored/needed blackberries, but when they thrust themselves into your universe, they are simultaneously exotic and familiar. A welcome change from your supermarket apples and bananas; they are repeatedly refreshing. Cole grew up in the quiet, wee town of Bay View, Washington, then moved to Spokane in 2005 to study business. Just months after she hunkered down with a keyboard-revisiting the wispy memories of childhood piano lessons and essentially re-teaching herself the nuances of music-Cole played her first Spokane show in April 2007. By January 2008, she was out in Seattle on a mini seven-show tour that warmed the ears of repeatedly rapt audiences. Cole's diverse audiences across Pacific Northwest gigs have gobbled up her two EPs, waiting hungrily for the release of the album. Recorded in September 2008, We're Still Here Missing You, collates Cole's unpretentious lyricism with a style of music that does not waver in it's organic attention to unique, charming melodies. By turns smoky and whimsical, the changes within a single vowel sound can hook a listener into Cole's thoughtful, lovely world. Before you know it, your mouth is so crammed full with fifteen huge blackberries-some sweet, some tart, some complicated-and you're so enormously satisfied you don't even noticed the thick line of juice dripping off your chin.