‘I can’t really describe how it felt watching someone you’ve known your entire life perform in front of thousands of people.’
Dial tone memories and party girl anthems stand proudly in place of a support act – because the only appropriate opener for a tour that is the musical equivalent of reading your diary out loud in the club is nostalgia herself. The above is delivered by Harry, older brother and now awestruck cheerleader to one Miss Caity Baser. He’s joined by friends, family and fans who spill out across the airwaves like we’re all at a barbecue, shuffling stories while we wait for sunset. Her dad, whose name is mentioned to hoots and applause, relays a tale of a much younger Caity, mid-tantrum in a hotel, with the playful intensity and detail of someone who always knew her fierceness would do more than just provide familial folklore. Rosy-cheeked and ready to make chaos, he describes her just as expressive and just as determined as she appears now.
A grown up, although still beautifully childlike, Caity appears like a memory made real, floating in polka dots with a vodka Redbull in hand – in what appears to be a wine glass because who said party girls can’t have class. Class would soon become the theme of the night. Through choked-up anecdotes and sisterly pep talks, Baser bares her soul on that stage. Don’t worry though, it’s not too highbrow. Affectionately obscene ad-libs still peep from behind the curtain, and she may be classy, but you’re never above toasting the downfall of people who’ve done you wrong. Maturity is nothing if not your inner child taking back the power.
There are no notes to be given on opening track ‘Watch That Girl (She’s Gonna Say It).’ It’s honest and twinkling. A song to draw your fears out of the shadows and invite them to dance with you in the light. Here, Baser does just that, her stunning vocals twirling around the keys as if these two elements are all that exist. “It’s just me and the piano.” You get the impression that in her world, through all the lovely madness, this is probably often the case.
Tonight’s more stripped back, although not in any way compromised, vibe is an ode to the way Baser breathes life into her songs. Many of which start their journey into the cosmos of pop with nothing more than some keys and a crumpled page of lyrics which are subject to change at the drop of a beat. It’s a genius way to debut new music, by sitting the audience atop the piano and having them not only hear it for the first time, but feel its creation at their fingertips. The next two performances are a glimpse at where Baser is headed. An astounding new direction where her truth runs free and vocals to cause levitation follow behind like a coming thread.
‘The Story of Her’ is not about Baser, but someone so close to her that they could be. More generally, it seems to be about understanding how a person behaves today with the perspective of all their days that came before. Who we become is at the mercy of who we were. A compassionate and patient song unfolds at Baser’s feet as she perches back in her chair. The nuances of her voice have echoes of a jazz singer, gentle, emotionally rich and so elegantly controlled. Who Baser becomes at this moment is a vision.
More in the spirit of her previous exports is ‘You Don’t Know a Thing About Me.’ Baser admits she’ll never reveal the precise meaning behind this song – “because I don’t have to,” she peacocks to a chorus of “amens” – but what can be concluded is that energy is too precious to be wasted on a ‘less than.’ Given the tumultuous relationship with romance that has played out across her previous recordings, seeing Baser glow over a man who allows her to “worry less and smile more” feels like the rightful ending of a storybook you come to treasure. There’s rise and fall in the way it’s delivered and certain vowels are flicked away to imitate her dismissal of those that don’t serve her, a gesture accented by the silhouette of an acrylic nail.
No night with Caity Baser would be complete without intermittent karaoke, a segment she admits her team weren’t keen on as they politely suggested she might want to sing more and allow the crowd to take over a bit less. Baser, ever headstrong, has other plans: “Fuck that we’re having fun… can you let us live!” ‘X&Y’, ‘Kiss You’ and ‘Pretty Boys’ are given delicate new arrangements although, the energy radiating from every line still very much impersonates the kind of exasperated voice note delivered to your girls from the bathroom as you prepare to head back out into a crowded party. It’s a fun way to break up the new material and remind the audience that not everything is so serious – sometimes it’s just a kiss, or an almost.
The next two songs are the undeniable jewels in Baser’s new ballad Barbie crown. Posing with poise on her stool (she’s still recovering from a leg injury, not that you would be able to tell), with blonde locks hugging her shoulders, she introduces ‘The Weight of You (I’m Glad You Died).’ The first, and perhaps only, word needed for this song is strength – an old friend this entire evening. The strength to talk about a moment that changed you and the strength to show what living looks like after. The strength to sit so composed and smile at everyone moved by the retelling. The specifics of Baser’s story hardly seem important, what matters is the purpose of the song which is to offer a hand to anyone who’s experienced something they shouldn’t, and to thank karma for her intervention. Swatting at tears and cobwebs, Baser laments: “I’m glad that you died ‘cause now I don’t worry, but no matter what I do I’ll be carrying the weight of you.” The room is one held breath waiting to be embraced, “I think we both needed this” she speaks into the silence.
Similarly, ‘Drank Me Dry’ shows off just what Baser is capable of as a vocalist. She settles into the inflections of Celeste or Olivia Dean as her war on pretty boys adopts a more tonal, adult outfit. “You picked a glass and poured me out.” It’s delivered so coolly, as if under oath, there’s a no nonsense, swirling your drink in your hand, aesthetic to it. It sounds like someone whose days of tolerating mistreatment have been tipped with the wine down the sink.
‘Beautiful Girl’ represents the last of the unreleased material. It’s an arm wrapped around tiny shoulders and a kiss on the forehead of the mirror. “I love her!” Baser declares of miniature Caity. Everything she is, she is because little Caity was. Creative and forceful, loud and unapologetic, spontaneous and open to living. Waves and mouthed “I love you”s punctuate the storytelling as if they were being offered from aboard a parade float to all the little girls disguised as twenty somethings that make up the crowd. You can imagine a small version of Caity, eyes wide and giggling as, for a moment, she becomes a Disney Princess – singing to summon the birds.
This love letter tips perfectly into ‘Running From Myself’ where Baser steps comfortably into the future. Where her debut album awaits and who she was can dance and sing with who she is. “The only thing that’s left to do is stop running from myself.” A philosophy that will no doubt invite magic.
The best summary of Baser’s fairytale may have been given right at the start of the night by her dad as he wrapped up his recollection of that young, distressed but determined girl in her hotel room:
‘If you’re wondering how the story ended, it all ended happily.’
