Edmonton Sun

April 8, 2007

Best Kept Wet Secrets

By Fish Griwkowsky

The Wet Secrets

Rock Fantasy

Indie

Now that it's the future let's take advantage of it. Hear a parable!

The Wet Secrets are one of Edmonton's top few bands - pretty funny considering they don't technically exist. Pretty much everyone involved is off doing other things like being in Shout Out Out Out Out, organizing the street performers festival or standing around being unstoppably hot in pairs.

Still, that didn't stop CBC radio 3 from noticing Lyle Bell, Trevor Anderson and the entire tight pants gang have put their next record - for free - up at thewetsecrets.com.

If you head there, instructions coax you to take a CD you don't really like, admit that, purge it from its case, replace it with this one. The cover art is there, too, a brilliant little piece by Calgary's musical mountaintop Chad Van Gaalen. But the next thing that happened, to everyone's surprise, is the album suddenly cracked the national top 10 on CBC3 national.

In other words, all that talk of hard work and getting behind your music and making the calls turns out to be nonsense, thanks to the basic rule that if you're good enough, the world will come to you. So, spend the most time on your art; worry about promotion if you have to later.

Recall, as well, that this band's first album was quite intentionally written and recorded in a week. So, the theme, really, is to make a good thing, put your hands in your pocket, walk away.

Which brings us finally to the music. Bell, also lead singer of Whitey Houston, has played his bass as a guitar longer than any of the big bands, the sound so thick you want to drive public transportation on it. Former emergent-artist Anderson's drumming has become such a tight thing it makes you wonder why he spends his time doing anything else. The album's half new, half remakes of some of their best songs off Whale of a Cow. I was against this idea, being snotty, until I heard the new mixes of Boat Gas Death Train, I Tea Bagged Myself and Chinball Wizard, all of them absolutely perfected in the studio. They're heavier and more purposeful songs now, still with the wild jazz horns, raunchy lyrics and several part harmonies that make this band so live up to its moniker.

But the nostalgic, gay '80s pounding of Grow Your Own F---ing Moustache A--hole coupled with its frankly insane lyrics is a step up to the ceiling from the top shelf. It's got a real Morrissey swagger, but with that unique bass-horn-cymbal thing. And Secret March should be thrown into quarantine it's too infectious.

But really, what's it cost you to check it out, aside from time? Speaking of which, we all get the joke that you aren't trying too hard, Wet Secrets. But why don't you see what happens when you do? Or is that all we get?

5 suns out of 5