At one point during the pandemic, I spent a long time trying to describe to my then-young child what a cootie catcher is – I didn’t know the word for it, and describing it was impossible. I’d never heard the term before, and I gave up. Eventually they went back to school in person and one day came home with one, and I lost my shit a little: “THAT’s the thing I was talking about months ago!” which was met with a blank stare.
Much like their namesake, the Toronto-based four-piece indie band cootie catcher is both tricky to pin down and full of youthful sweetness. Their second album, Shy at first, has the warmth and charm of a work-in-progress despite being fully conceived and professionally produced.
Lead single “Friend of a Friend” is the litmus test for the record — a song that could be mistaken for something from the Juno soundtrack. Like the Moldy Peaches in a blender with The Postal Service and The Rural Alberta Advantage, it features lo-fi, his-and-hers (and hers) vocals, plus some weird electronics and a wildly overcaffeinated drummer. And good luck getting that chorus out of your head.
Shy at first sometimes sounds like a rehearsal session, like the band members are trying things out, with placeholder lyrics or strange melodies, then suddenly it clicks into place in a moment that often feels unplanned, as on “Do Forever”:
Nolan Jakupovski (guitar), Sophia Chavez (electronics) and Anita Fowl (bass) hand off vocal duties to each other throughout most of the tracks, while Joseph Shemoun’s frenetic drumming adds balance to the slack, ad-hoc sound. Unexpected anthems emerge from songs that sound deliberately incomplete, as on “Diary”, which is sure to be central to the live show:
The band is so much tighter than it sounds on first listen. You can see it on the live performance. Jakupovski introduces each song like he’s trying to blend into the wallpaper but the performance is tight and well-rehearsed. This recording from CKUT has a delicate precision to it that reminds me of the weirder Pavement songs:
Even the frequently awkward lyrics are charming. Album closer “Going out in style” sounds like a bit of improv, but even the non-sequitur lyrics are charming as hell (that’s it for me / I’m going out in style/ my face is a corrupted HTML file):
Like the cootie catcher my kid brought home from school, Shy at first is surprising and kind of adorable—unexpected melodies, quirky lyrics, and moments of pure joy. It’s messy, it’s playful, and it’s the kind of record that sticks with you. Not because it demands your attention, but because it quietly earns it.
