BeatRoute Magazine ON Edition - October 2019

B.C.'s Dead Soft find quiet
in the chaos with a zen
approach to life and music
By DAYNA MAHANNAH
A
ladder rattles noisily in the
back of the white Chevy Express
van, which doubles as a
work vehicle when not hauling
band equipment around on
tour. At night, only the van’s
headlights illuminate a single,
deserted road encased by
the surrounding forest.
“We call this the tunnel,” Nathaniel
Epp’s voice reaches through the rattle as
he drives. It’s the end of another day on
Gabriola Island for grunge band
DEAD SOFT
Dead Soft, where Epp (vocalist/
guitarist) and Keeley Rochon
Saturday, Oct. 12
(bassist/vocalist) work their The Astoria (Vancouver)
respective jobs as a landscaper Thursday, Oct. 17
and cashier at the tiny island’s The Palomino Smokehouse
(Calgary))
only grocery store. “Now I know
everyone on Gabriola,” Rochon
Friday, Oct. 18
laughs. “It’s nice getting to
Sewing Machine Factory
(Edmonton)
know the community a bit
Friday, Oct. 25
more. People here are so different.
It’s a different pace of life.”
The Beguiling (Toronto)
It’s been two years since the
musicians escaped the claustrophobic rental
market of Vancouver and moved to an island
of 4000 people off the coast of BC. It’s
even smaller than their hometown of Prince
Rupert, where the two met in high school
and played DIY shows with their own bands.
In 2011, Epp and Rochon formed Dead Soft
while living in Victoria, before making the
move to the big city. “All my life, Vancouver
was like, the place,” Epp says. “I never saw
anything past Vancouver.”
Parking in a gravel driveway next to old
touring vans, the couple lead the way to a
small cabin overlooking the Pacific ocean.
Inside, it’s picturesque and snug, allegedly
built in the 1970s by “some crazy hippy
guy.” The walls are wood-paneled in wood,
covered by a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and
collection of vinyl. Plants, quirky jars, and
cameras decorate the room. The fridge is
plastered with uniformly styled US state
magnets collected at various gas stations on
past tours.
Rochon recounts their first Vancouver
gig alongside Vancouver band Woolworm,
which landed Dead Soft on the inside of
the city’s “insular” music scene. They spent
seven years working day jobs, funneling
their earnings into the band and struggling
in Canada’s most expensive city to establish
a music career. It paid off. “Vancouver made
our band,” Rochon says. But the city eventually
lost its glitter — they were unhappy.
“It’s kinda funny because it’s partly because
of the band that it was hard to survive.” Epp
loads the fireplace with wood from a stash
outside. “Moving to Gabriola was purely for
ourselves. We were like, whatever, we’ll make
it work or we won’t.” Curled up in an armchair,
Keeley lights up — “And it did work!”
Last year Dead Soft signed with indie
label Arts & Crafts, which boasts a
roster of international artists including
Feist, Dan Mangan, and Broken Social
Scene (who Dead Soft opened for at
SXSW 2019). The three-piece band
(drummer Alex Smith lives in Abbotsford)
will tour North America this fall to
promote their debut album, Big Blue.
Named after the dusk sky glow only
visible without light pollution, the record
hits notes of aggressive melancholy and
dark humour clinging to upbeat melodic
rock riffs.
The unconventional move away from
a music epicentre has meant more
travel — to the city to rehearse with the
rest of the band or to work — and much
more quiet. Last winter, a
storm blacked out most of
the island for six days. Without
electricity or running water,
the two kept their food
in coolers outside and filled
jugs from the creek. Rochon
powered through a portion
of her book collection and
Epp whittled a bird feeder.
“It was awesome.” Gabriola
Island’s scenic retreat
affords the musicians both
time and freedom to focus
on their art. “Not having a neighbour
upstairs that tortures me makes a pretty
big fucking difference to my world,” Epp
says, perched next to the record player.
Just out of sight from the porch window
is a studio shed filled with old Dead Soft
posters, instruments, and recording
equipment.
Within the quiet stirs the chaos
that an upcoming tour and new album
inhabit. Yet touring holds a sense of
normalcy the musicians look forward
to — suffering and all. “It’s about being
willing to quit your job and give up all of
your creature comforts to be immensely
uncomfortable. You have to have
a sense of humour about it,” Rochon
insists, glowing in the orange light of
the room. “You have to be like, ‘I feel like
shit right now. This is hilarious! I’m so
overtired that I’m weeping and laughing
at the same time.’” Epp nods earnestly.
“If you’re all about security and comfort
and doing what makes the most sense,
then it’s not something you should do.”
He is met with gales of laughter by
Rochon.
It’s the same attitude that has landed
them in the serenity and subtle seclusion
of this little island — a dicey place
for building a musical career. Epp and
Rochon have assessed the risks and are
willing to work through them. “You can’t
get hung up on being in a certain place
or in a certain scene.” Epp has taken to
“burping” a jar of homemade sauerkraut.
“Things that really matter aren’t where
you appear. It’s what you do.” Indeed,
when the power goes out, Dead Soft will
be just fine. ,