Review: KEN Mode – Venerable

Apart from boneheaded ice-hockey fans who have just witnessed their team lose the final of the Stanley Cup, there has never been an angrier troupe of Canadians than KEN Mode. Yet whilst the average disgruntled hockey fan will express their disgust through the act of the good old fashioned riot, KEN Mode channel their vitriol into a terrifying aural beast.

Venerable is essentially comprised of the jazz-based atonality of Jesus Lizard, beefed up with a dose of abrasive contemporary metal in the mould of Mastodon before they tried to be Pink Floyd. It’s an initially befuddling miasma of bludgeoning riffs that dart hither and thither in an almost ubiquitous dissonance that marks conventional melodicism as some kind of immoral practice. Sure, melody exists if you dig hard enough, but only in the most twisted and mutated form, repeatedly spat out in a wretched and unrecognisable heap.

So it begins with ‘Book Of Muscle’, cemented to a brutal chug that sounds like the guitar’s strings are actually being punched such is their pulverising sound, the track forming an perfect summation of the fury yet to come. Vocals are doused with distortion, eliminating any chance of clarity in the midst of grating turmoil. Not that any distortion is required, given the vocalist’s tortured delivery, spilling contempt and acerbic anger in every furious snarl.

Tracks such as ‘Batholith’ advance at blistering pace, their goal to lay waste to eardrums whilst claiming no allegiance to any one time signature and frantically hurtling through space in a flurry of atonal and jagged riffs. ‘The Irate Lumberjack’ is the first of two extended tracks, rooted in an uncharacteristic simplicity and advancing at a measured march rather than the paranoid hyperactivity that characterises most of Venerable‘s shorter tracks. It sees KEN Mode at their most expansive and least direct, proving that for all their outward aggression they’re capable of much subtler arrangements.

The eight minute ‘Never Was’ is a particularly furious and uncompromising assault, a storm of guttural chug bookended by blankets of pure white noise whilst a particularly venomous vocal repeatedly declares that “Religion is a cancer”. Like acid on the ears, the coruscating noise seems potent enough to burn flesh. ‘Flight Of The Echo Hawk’ is perhaps the anomaly of the record, a lone bastion of relative clarity free from the throat destroying screams- offering brief shelter in the form of standard melodicism amidst the chaos.

KEN Mode may be a raging mass of bile but they are so only because they are aware of the truth of our failings. They choose to holler and scream and actively address the inconvenient truths and malfunctions within our societal systems as others react by burying their heads in the sand. The almost unfathomable vitriol is tied to some pretty impressive musicianship and a commendably high count of notes per second. Unfortunately, records like Venerablehold a limited appeal, but to those enamoured by aural violence, KEN Mode’s latest work is a required listen. It manages to be technical without alienating the non-instrument playing listener, socially aware without coming across preachy. In short, it’s a blast of pure terror; a visceral storm that is strangely enticing.

4 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Mothertrucker – The Power Of Independent Trucking

Bravely sporting the most uber-macho of band monikers is four-piece Mothertrucker: the imagery in the name soliciting an inevitability of a sordid aural pummelling that rings mostly true across these six solely instrumental compositions. Although Mothertrucker are a bunch of certified bong-fiends, this isn’t just a selection of groove-laden fuzz delivered by a troupe drooling crusties. Instead, the group’s progressive intuitions provide a selection of tracks that twist and mutate from bleary-eyed bludgeons into moments of startling clarity and purity, all the while admirably sidestepping the pitfalls of tedium that purely instrumental acts are at constant odds to avoid.

With vocals defiantly absent, it’s left to the guitars to take precedent and construct an engaging narrative, which they do with a certain aplomb. There are some truly crushing riffs on display, soaked through with last night’s dirty bongwater and lathered in fuzz. ‘Duff’ is a plodding stoner feast, with strings tuned so low at times they seem to be dragging on the ground – until the guitarist steps on a frazzled effects pedal that transports his instrument into the stratosphere in a series of soaring guitar lines. The post-rock indebted ‘Vigo’ lays in stark contrast to the rather uncompromising chug of ‘Duff’ and the metamorphic sprawl of ‘Reef’, eschewing delicate nuances and melodicism that betrays their macho-inclined namesake. Winding its way towards a somewhat transcendent finale, ‘Vigo’ commands a stunning and affecting resonance, the sheer emotional impetus contained in each instrument’s sublime delivery is certainly commendable. In a recurring musical theme of transformation, closer ‘Crypt Stalker’ mutates from delay-ridden twinkly guitar lines into a sordid and rollicking monster in which squalling guitars tear at the aural palette like a knife through a canvas. By the time the closing death-throws are reached, the track is unrecognisable from the skyward trajectory implied by the Explosions In The Sky guitar work, marking out the intro as a lucid daydream in opposition to the grit and violence of the track’s finale.

Despite songs lengths that reach toward the seven minute mark, there is no instance of the music getting bogged down in tiresome repetition or stalling due to lack of worthwhile ideas. Mothertrucker’s are undoubtedly progressively minded, always aiming to take their songs toward musical pathways you’d least expect yet refrain from the often enticing pitfalls of long-windedness and over indulgence. The EP is a perfect example of a progressive instrumental band getting it right, maintaining interest through inventive musicianship and an abundance of dynamism that challenges expectation – music that aims for the epic but doesn’t mull about in getting there.

4 out of 5 high fives!

Review: The Slow Death – No Heaven

If you enjoy listening to “zero fucks given” punk whilst experimenting with how many beers you can ingest before you can’t see than The Slow Death are an essential addition to any soundtrack of alcoholic self-destruction. Eschewing tales of alcoholic excess, The Slow Death’s raucous and rollicking punk sound comes with infectious party vibes in tow, albeit the kind of party where you wake up with no trousers, covered in someone else’s blood with a convenient amnesia as to what the hell got you in such a predicament.

Sporting vocal chords blackened by infinite cigarettes and the burn of cheap whiskey, frontman Jesse Thorson is the epitome of gruffness- his voice straining in its ragged delivery, flecks of lung accompanying every gurgled holler. And whilst their riffs and chord progressions echo that of every other up-tempo punk band of the past thirty years, The Slow Death make a noble drive towards the anthemic. ‘I Need A Drink’ is every punk’s new drinking anthem – the caveman chorus chant of “goddamn I need a drink” a rallying call for a night of unbridled debauchery. Vocal purity is injected into the mix courtesy of Annie Sparrows of The Soviettes fame, her no less forceful vocal delivery sounding downright angelic next to the gravel tones of Jesse, giving those sing-along choruses on ‘No Heaven’ an extra boost. The furious pace slackens only once, for the measured motivational advice of ‘Raise Your Head Up’, where Jesse spurts the familiar “the world sucks but keep your head held high” shtick.

There’s very little on No Heaven that we haven’t heard before from various guises. This is simple four-chord major-key punk with a positive message tucked somewhere between all the allusions to filling your veins with as much alcohol as is medically possible. The Slow Death stick resolutely to the traditional punk formula and there ain’t a curveball in sight. Yet, the energy levels remain intense and The Slow Death are clearly intent on playing until their fingers are bloody stumps and voices are as ragged as someone on a diet of tarmac and sandpaper. Get the beers, put No Heaven on full volume and prepare to wake up naked in a puddle of your own vomit.

3 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Reservoir – I Heard You As I Walked Away

Before emo was hijacked by a swarm of walking fringes spurting MTV friendly pap, emo was a curious and awfully passionate sub-genre. Intense and consuming, it required a substantial amount of emotional investment – donning a pair of black skinny jeans and smattering of ill-advised piercings just wasn’t enough. Channelling nineties emo and post-hardcore into a mixing bowl of fraught emotionality, Reservoir are certainly not a band susceptible to bouts of crippling self-awareness. Hearts are worn firmly upon sleeves, emotional vitriol bleeds from every orifice, uninhibited passion leaks from every pore.

The line between faintly melodic aural chaos and pure cataclysmic meltdown is straddled repeatedly to consistently brilliant effect, the band threatening to collapse in on itself in a fit of angst-ridden rage. Whilst these moments of potential implosion may initially grab attention like a full on slap to the face, the majority of the record consists of a more measured and grounded emo that centres on distortion-free guitars and some rather sumptuous jangly chord progressions. Mid album instrumental ‘I Heard You As I Walked Away’ is arguably as affecting in its delicate melodic nature as any of the band’s more explosive tendencies.

Vocally, Reservoir are all over the gaff. Often several members will be wailing in unison in what isn’t exactly the most tuneful vocal performance ever committed to tape, yet the inner tumult behind their cries and pained vocals is all too palpable and easily recognisable to those familiar with the trappings of the original, ‘pure’ brand of emo.
On opener ‘Before I Leave’, Reservoir exhibit two settings: fragile ultra-sensitive American Football types and freak out explosive catharsis. It’s a startling juxtaposition – emotional frailty and intense despair co-existing, delicate emo giving way to a terrific furore.

Violins appear for the downbeat ‘Samantha’, gifting their despondent and forlorn tones in a somewhat cliché manner to a song that is already inexorably gloomy. ‘Bedfellow’ and ‘Sleeping Away The Storm’ are two mesmerising five minute masterpieces bearing similar structural and aural makeup that exist as the standout tracks. Originating in melodic arpeggios, the songs sway and shift from fragile verse to exultant chorus, building alternatively to an exhilarating and cataclysmic crescendo on ‘Sleeping Away The Storm’ and a twinkling coda on ‘Bedfellows’.

Reservoir’s brand of alternately chaotic and delicate emo may have been purported in several guises by many a troupe of ultra-sensitive Rites Of Spring worshipers, yet these pensive lads take on the emo archetype is for the most part a efficacious exercise. I Heard You As I Walked Away is a studious exploration of the everlasting loud/quiet dynamic technique and a tumultuous foray into tortured emotion. In short, an original emo kid’s wet dream.

3.5 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Self Defense Family – You Are Beneath Her [EP]

Self Defense Family, formerly knows as End of a Year, have already gained a loyal following amongst punk fans who value integrity and unabashed creativity over predictability and pandering to the whims of the standard exponents.  The prolific band are firmly amongst those who have taken the punk manifesto to heart and applied its one main rule: there are no rules, a guideline that many punk bands seem sadly unaware of or ignorant to.

You Are Beneath Her is a brilliant exercise in their idiosyncratic punk vision, unashamedly hooky yet adrift from any notion of contemporary pop-punk, you won’t find any high-school saccharine tales of awkward romances here.  Instead, the lyrical fare remains heavy in its emotionality, providing some essence of darkness amongst the comparatively up-tempo instrumentation.

Singer Caroline Corrigan takes the spotlight for the E.P’s four tracks, replacing outspoken frontman Patrick Kindlon’s gruff delivery in a flux of members that marks Self Defense Family as a defiantly unorthodox band, folk-like in their revolving membership policy. Her cooing vocals sit beautifully amongst the delicate acoustic opener ‘Eric Hall’ yet also stand up strongly against the band’s furore on the remaining three tracks. Layered harmonies on ‘Jeni Leigh’ provide a joyous depth to the otherwise basic production style, a production method used sparingly on the E.P but to sumptuous effect.

The straight-forward and propulsive ‘Marissa Wendolovske’ exudes urgency, the tempo upped and smattered with melodically inflicted chords. Closer ‘Philip Jose Farmer’ arrives amongst the ambient noise of a video game arcade, soon giving way to the most versatile song on the E.P as Caroline rallies against unoriginality: “Is there any good idea lame asshole won’t steal” she laments.

Instrumentation and production quality reeks of the classic Dischord Records house style, it may be basic but is certainly not unoriginal, the guitar work obviously taking much inspiration from Ian Mackaye’s Fugazi years: gimmick free and wonderfully simple.

You Are Beneath Heris a fantastic example of Self Defense Family’s continually studious punk. Caroline’s understated voice acts as focal point, delivering Patrick’s Kindlon’s typically opinionated lyrical fare with a breathless elegance that may seem oddly divorced from the dogmatic content, yet her warm vocal grain provides a soothing experience for the ears. A wonderfully intellectual little punk record that offers a genuinely individual and slightly eccentric take on the ageing genre.

4 out of 5 high fives!