Written by Hashnain
Asal came onto my radar on a frigid yet all-encompassing heat of a winter’s sun, at a studio tucked away in a sublime little corner of Marpole.
It’s almost comically placed in the area, unknowable from the outside, but the rent’s stable, and the location silent after 5. So, perfect by Vancouver standards.
It’s a vehicle for the talented producers: KULTARGOTBOUNCE, aka KGB, Kultar Chohan, the resident manager, and Kyle Bhawan, a multimedia visionary. They’re carving away a niche of their own with some of the city’s most talented artists. But they deserve an article of their own, so I’ll leave it there for now.
Kyle’s the reason this article’s getting made, so I believe a certain amount of dues had to be noted. Our plans were simple that day: smoke a little and listen to some good music. And so, we dove into some of our favorite MV acts. Still, as we started to pull act after act from our portfolios, he had me beat with a single, special, recommendation: Asal.
It’s gotten me on a trail slim in proportions. The tracks and rumors are infrequent and informal.
She’s a ghost like no other.
Her socials are her only info, and her music is sublimely her own. It left me scratching my head, and yet all the more enthralled by the mystery. Yet, it’s one that I won’t encroach on, for the music is enough, but I’ll dole you out the little that’s known.
Asal, aka, Asal K., is a musician based out of North Vancouver, likely in a local studio that begins with the mind. She’s floated around a few studios, but nothing concrete, and that’s where my info ends. That’s all we know. A 21st-century ghost!
With that out of the way, let’s get to the real reason we’re here: the music.
Her fans, across a dozen socials, describe her music as 070 Shake with their hypnotic, gravelly vocals and propensity for melancholic melodies. The words fit but feel disingenuous in an era where everything is a type beat or sounds like [Insert name]. So, we’ll let those comments lie.
Her blowup can be best described as TikTok’s apparent ability to Hyperbolic Time Chamber someone’s career and shift their trajectory by a mile. For some acts, it’s a moment at the top, with wings held together by glue; the fall back to earth often in seconds. For others, it’s a chance that becomes a choice as they double-down and continue to make headway, grafting wings of their own.
And of the two options, Asal appears to have wings made of metal and memories, as each track rings true to herself and a sound that’s been taking shape for half a decade. And that’s where our first track arrives.
Simply titled, “1:05,” it feels like both a plea for help and a moment of forsaken catharsis as Asal roams over a piano melody that haunts one’s very soul. For a track nearly four years old to sound as contemporary as it does, with the added context of it being her 2nd track to ever drop, is wild. Yet, “1:05,” alongside “Run,” reveals a soundscape tied to the melancholy, as if each track is a memorial to another emotion or moment.
Yet, as the years passed and Asal continued to release tracks, the reps and curation began to stand out. Tracks like “Don’t Follow Me,” and “My Turn,” turn the notch on Asal’s hypnosis significantly. The rumbling sonics and rugged vocals craft tonics made for late-night contemplation and words whispered into silence.
“It’s my turn to leave you crying on the floor…” “All your fans really my fans on the low…” “I better never see you at a fucking show…”
Yet, 2023 was when you can perceive the double-down. The moment her wings evolved into something that can weather the stratosphere. Six tracks, six classics. Each blown up in their own right, with sonics unipolar and genres an immaterial concept.
Whether it’s Headache’s nearly alternative or indie soundscape, or Liar & Players’ house-esque bounce that has you moving slightly manically, Asal appears to ignore the paradigms of labels and laws as she struts a Venn Genregram second to none.
Because it’s alternative, soul, or RnB. But you could also place somewhere in the melodic hip hop space, cause the bars are second to none. With a storyline unique to Asal alone. One of family, and faith, and the way they often tangle, and entwine. Twisting until they shear, or snagging until they become a pathwork.
“Why is everything fun in life illegal,” and a dozen other bars that hit home just a tad harder at home than I thought Canadian music could. Faith, versus Facts, and Facts, versus Folly. It’s a strange combination to navigate, and for those who must, it’s often forsaken, and fickle.
And with 2024 well underway and music beginning to trickle out, this is the year the world falls into the melancholic melodies of Asal and never finds its way out. For “That’s How It Goes,” is the advent of an era we’ve yet to see in our hollowed streets. Mimicking and surpassing its betters in a province whose love is as frigid as the mountains we wake to.
And maybe that’s why Asal’s music fits so firmly in my mind, as our sound. The sound of a city enclosed by ancient mountains with memories as timeless as the cultures whose bones lie within it.
And that’s a good enough spot to end it. This is my attempt to broadcast one of the city’s most talented artists before they’re selling out shows from here to New Mexico. Whether you agree or not lies with your preferences, but if you’re hearing what I am, there’s no stopping the avalanche that is Asal. Sudden and damning, Asal’s might be the one to reshape our slopes.
And so, as always, I bid Asal a bone-deep Godspeed. May the westerly wind forever call your name, and Icarus only a warning of the hubris of your peers.