CAT CLYDE & DEAN JOHNSON - LIVE AT COMMUNITEA FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 2026
DOUBLE BILL:
CAT CLYDE & DEAN JOHNSON
live at communitea
Friday, November 6, 2026
DOORS: 7:30pm
SHOW: 8:00pm
Tickets $46 + $3 ticket fee & 5% GST
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 somber 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 eleven frenetic songs sizzle to fill. The Canadian songwriter’s fourth full-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,” she shares. “Love was not present in my life and I didn’t know where to find it or how to get it back.” Essential to the search, Clyde discovered, was relinquishing old notions. “In the past, I felt like love chained me, controlled me, put me in a cage.”
After a fleeting, childhood stint with the piano, Clyde took on the guitar around age thirteen. “When I discovered Blues music—well—that changed my life.” The riffs of Lead Belly and Robert Johnson were too complicated for her small, 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 before she graduated. Four full-lengths later, Clyde’s voice vibrates with that ferocious confidence of one who’s been doing this her whole life.‘Mud Blood Bone’ exudes a nomadic independence. Clyde penned some of the songs in her 1973 Boler trailer, parked temporarily on a farm in Ontario, others on a narrow boat in England, and the rest in transit from one festival to another, letting lyrics stream freely from a jet lagged dream state. “Constantly being on the move, having to navigate new environments, it forces meto 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, pure; it’s the sound of personal truth discovered in real time. Clyde is cracked wide open and what spills out—equal parts despair, invocation, discovery, and celebration—is the love she went looking for. “When I listen to this album, I know that my power belongs to me. Love lives inside of me. I can always find it.”
DEAN JOHNSON
With I Hope We Can Still Be Friends, his debut for Saddle Creek, Dean Johnson makes a pact with the listener: He will sing you his truth in the most heartfelt and charming way possible, if you promise to keep an open mind. The title partly stems from the playful way the Seattle-based singer, 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, sweetly, before launching into “Death of the Party,” the album’s seventh song.