Continuing on my binge of singer/songwriter based folk music, I came across this gem from back in the 90s. Palace Brothers is one of the earlier projects of Will Oldham, who went on to release several other records under different monikers, many reaching critical acclaim. Days In The Wake is one of his earlier albums, exhibiting a display of quiet acoustic tracks accompanied by clever lyrical work.
The strongest impression the album gives is delivered through a certain delicateness in Will’s voice, often trembling and sometimes warbling to a point where it fetters out. Combined with some of the lyrics, the music can be described as bittersweet. He uses interesting wordplay with his lyrics, delivered as if they were out of a children’s book whilst carrying adult themes such as loneliness, pain, death and loss. That vocal delicateness complements both the childish and adult sides to the wordplay, making the more childish lyrics sound as if they were from a nursery rhyme while the more adult lyrics purvey a sense of shattered innocence and damage. The acoustic work isn’t anything too complex, but it complements the music nicely and gives each song a very relaxing tone.
This won’t be an album that strikes you as amazing right away. Some of the wordplay is a little strange, and until you really begin to listen to what’s going on in each song, you probably won’t draw huge enjoyment from it. Trust me on this one though, it’s a fantastic album which is both calming yet slightly neurotic at the same time, and will do the trick when you’re having a bit of down time at home.
A pretty good showcase of their riffwork. Catchy? Yes. Different? Yes. Awesome? Fuck yes.
I don’t know if I’ve made it clear yet about how good this band is, but I figure if there was an album to pick, this would be it.
Hot Snakes re-unites the Reis/Froberg duo of Drive Like Jehu and Pitchfork fame. Citing the length of songs as the reason for disbanding Drive Like Jehu, Hot Snakes as a band took a drastic turn to making music that sounded more ‘rock and roll’ yet still outdoing most bands through John Reis’ GOD tier riff work. Thunder Down Under is a live record made especially for Triple J, showcasing some of the band’s best work before they disbanded in 2005 (not to worry, they reunited in 2011). It’d be pretty safe to call it a ‘best of’ album in a way. The live recordings also add a new strength to a lot of the tracks making some of them sound loud and raw, like you were at one of their shows.
This album should be a pretty good entry point for anyone looking to get into the band or try out some fantastic modern rock (what I feel is a dying genre). Thunder Down Under has live versions the best tracks from their last two albums and two songs that (I imagine) are B-sides or from EPs. The tracks involve clever and rhythmic drumming layered down with some catchy, near hypnotic riff work with Rick Froberg’s signature high toned yelling. Many different styles are employed from song to song, including furious, almost hardcore riffs, some heavy blues type riffs and then some indie rock tracks which will have you dancing around the place or headbanging inappropriately in lifts or busses. I recommend this based on the fact that most people who’ve heard it (namely rock/indie enthusiasts) get a certain spark in their eye that you get when you see an unusually pretty girl. So I guess what I’m trying to say is that people want to have sex with this album. I’m pretty confident in that statement.
The opener for Entrench. Give the rest of the album a listen on the bandcamp, there'll be a link at the end of the page. That said, you cannot deny the wicked guitar work! YOU CANNOT!
The captains of insane Canadian noise metal, KEN Mode, have returned to plunder your booty with their highly anticipated album, Entrench. Ok, so by highly anticipated I’m pretty sure I’m only referring to my opinion – but then again this is my blog so suck it, I’m still right. What we get in this album is some impressive technicality delivered with a certain callousness that grips the listener with the urge to bang heads and break everything with the same ferocity as a stampede of pissed off rhinos.
The album reflects on their old work in many ways, combining the brutality of their older albums with the polish and diversity of their newer albums. The use of spoken verses defined and set a tone on their first album and they’ve chosen to incorporate that often in the new album amidst the usual chaotic howls. The instrumentals are fiery, rapid and incredibly constructed much in the same way that a lot of tracks off their second album were, and it’s all brought together with the same polish that the last three albums had which results in a berserk, yet crisp sound. What’s fast and aggressive on the track is done perfectly with a certain respectable technicality to the instrumentals. The bass tone is visceral and roars like the exhaust on a motorbike. There are moments where all the instruments start playing in absolute sync to create a furious onslaught of musical perfection. Other moments are incredibly heavy, ‘No, I’m In Control’ can only be described as bass induced carnage (I think they used two bass guitars on the track along with some lead guitar layering), every note unleashed bellowing with a well toned thunderous growl.
If I have one criticism of the album, I believe it felt a bit too short. If I had two, it'd be that the album was a bit too short and the 'prog rock' tracks weren't executed as well as their heavier stuff or even previous attempts at prog. Otherwise, they’re back in fine form. Entrench is full of mind-blowing math riffs, bass heavy tracks and powerful, well timed drumming. Plus there’s a cameo by Dave fucking Verellan from Botch. And it’s good. What’s not to like?
Also Jesse from the band sent me the lyrics for the album. I'm asking on their facebook if I can put them up but I aint gonna do it unless they're cool for it. Please don't stalk me all you randoms.
http://kenmode.bandcamp.com/album/entrench
EDIT:
Yeah I'm chucking them up. Doubt anyone's gonna mind but they're more than welcome to say if so.
All the legal hoo hah should be in the starting thing - all lyrics belong to ken mode, not myself etc etc
Guilty
Parties: Jesse Matthewson - Vocals, Guitars, Bass, Piano, MicroKorg ●
Shane Matthewson – Drums ● Andrew LaCour – Bass, Vocals ● Piano on
‘Counter Culture Complex’ by Andrew LaCour. String orchestration on
‘Monomyth’ by Andrew LaCour. Strings on ‘Monomyth’ and ‘Counter Culture
Complex’: Natanielle Felicitas – Cello, Michael Scholz – Violin, Carolyn
Scholz – Viola, Julian Bradford – Double Bass. Additional vocals on
‘No; I’m In Control’ by Tim Singer, ‘The Promises of God’ by Dave
Verellen, and backing vocals on ‘Your Heartwarming Story Makes Me Sick’
and ‘Daeodon’ by Adam Dyson. ● All songs by KEN mode, except ‘The Terror
Pulse’, by KEN mode and Chad Tremblay. ● All lyrics by Jesse ●Produced
by Matt Bayles and KEN mode. Recorded September 2012 @ Private Ear
Studios in Winnipeg, MB, Canada by Matt Bayles ● Mastered by Ed Brooks @
RFI Mastering in Seattle, WA ● ’cloudghoultrillghost’ sculpture by Ben
Bonner. Photography by Ryan Klatt. Layout and design by Randy Ortiz. KEN
mode logo by Aaron Turner ● www.ken-mode.com / www.facebook.com/kenmode /www.twitter.com/kenmodenoise / www.kenmode.bigcartel.com / www.kenmode.bandcamp.com● Band: kenmode@shaw.ca● Management: Josh Eldridge josh@conspiracypr.com● US, Australia, South America Booking: Erik Jarvis Erik@tonedeaftouring.com● Canadian Booking: Adam Sylvester adamsylvester@theagencygroup.com ● European Booking: Nanouk de Meijere nanouk@avocado-booking.com
● KEN mode uses Orange Amplification, Bare Knuckle Pickups, Levy’s
Guitar Straps and Gig Bags, Vater Percussion Sticks, and Paiste Cymbals ●
All songs copyright KEN mode
Counter Culture Complex
“Poor
baby boy, is that a negative spell honing in like a loaded black cloud
set to burst? Hang in there for just one minute while I trivialize your
emotion, your motivation, your hopes, your dreams. You cannot feel ire,
you will not shed tears. A lesson to learn: as long as there's pain, as
long as there's fear you should feel ashamed of every instance of
indignation you’ve ever felt. As long as you are male, you don’t deserve
this un-fulfillment. Your pigmentation disallows your choler.”
I’d
like to thank you for the speech you’ve delivered from your
condescending high-horse, like you’re the only one that’s lived;
traveled; experienced destitute from an elevated Maslowian bubble.
You’re smarter than this, and human psychology is more complex than you
prefer to credit. But I won’t argue. I’m not seventeen anymore.
No; I’m In Control
Help
me limp through the hour where the last remnants of my sanity are
plagued by the burden of consequence. Encourage focus from chaotic
despair; focused indifference; focused repudiation. Frustration, not
chaos, reigns. I am the weapon to usher in your destruction: I am
control; I am command. This is for the survival of the fittest;
repercussion be damned –a tradition of bridge made ash. Let’s break this
situation down like an old world primate; driving the point home more
poignantly: this simply will not stand. My brain turns to a dry porous
sponge as the broken record skips; reminders of just how loathsome
you’ve become. No; I am in control.
Your Heartwarming Story Makes Me Sick
I
fail to see the humour in having a pulse. Your insipid hopes and
dreams will only serve as a further catalyst to an ageless resurgence,
and reminding me ad naseum drives the point home stronger than ever. I
refuse to be sorry for denying a spoon fed a destiny that simply cannot
fit. I hope you enjoy slaving away for someone else’s dreams just so
your wife can have a bigger house. If this is your fairy tale, then your
heartwarming story makes me sick.
The Terror Pulse
I’m
not playing. Logic keeps me bound; keeps the pieces in check, and every
beginning has its orchestrated conclusion. This is a lack of everything
that was claimed to have stood for. A lack; skittering and
unapologetic: within the eye of the storm, taking refuge in small
comforts; easy answers. Playing Judas and shirking accountability. A
serious lack. That was wrong, it wasn’t okay and no, I’m not okay. This
is goodbye to the man you once knew. Or did not; it doesn’t matter
anymore.
The Promises of God
I
thought I’d learn, but I’m an idealist. I thought I’d wait, but I
deserve it. How about we go out of our way to complicate the process?
There’s a certain thrill to this strategy, no matter how idiotic it may
seem. Let’s blur the lines until the flames drown in wax and there’s
nothing left to give/take. I want it: all. This close to dawn I'll
relinquish to a single word. I refuse to live like I'm alone given this
framework. Give me a sign that I'm not simply being absurd. I've
stumbled through years on broken time to reach such conclusions. These
are the promises of god.
Romeo Must Never Know
The odds are not in our favour. There’s little hope left.
What
optimism existed has been strangled to the very last breath.
Shuddering on strangers floors at 5 am; focus a shattered mess near the
litter box that this apartment’s aroma resembles far too clearly;
allies become foes in the blink of an eye.
But This Won’t End.
Augment me. Cut out the poison; detach from chaos; pacify desire; quell instinct;
But don’t Quit.
Too many hours logged, too many miles conquered, too many grey hairs.
Too much love to let go.
Secret Vasectomy
I
feel like something profound and meaningful should be espoused from
this platform; words wise beyond their years - a message of some purpose
or consequence. There is nothing. I pretend to dig deep, but the words
are passionless, derivative…the sentiment is painfully hollow. Slumped
over in a chair once hoped forgotten, facing enemies passed as quick
fixes to greater, deeper set issues. Suitable diction proves elusive –
as my mind dances like a mongoose ‘round a cobra - but I’ll bury broken
muses; my own hidden Burgess Shale. Pull up another black hood, warming
my cold weathered hands, curl up in lose fit flannel and self-preserve.
Figure Your Life Out
The
procrastinator. It’s far too easy to hide behind abundant distractions
and coyly whittle away at the hours with hollow preamble these days.
Trade one uphill battle for another. Old injuries strain deep as my
hunched shoulders and neck, slightly askew, peer forth awaiting just one
word, a solitary notification: Am I alone? Is someone there? Tongue to
teeth; feet curled beneath a finely crafted adjustable chair; time,
seemingly irrelevant: this is my black hole. I am lost to possibility;
equally terrified and delighted. Figure your life out.
Daeodon
Staring
at a blank slate; reaching out for nothing, expecting nothing, wanting
nothing, but cycling through the process consistently and obsessively in
an attempt to avoid any kind of forward motion. I wish I could tell you
why, but I'm unaware of the motivation. I don't want help; I don't want
to move. The act of physical combat is the only thing that remotely
excites me enough to leave my quarters day in and day out. Stereotypical
enough to laugh at the concept that the only temporary relief to this
weight is the adrenaline rush from having the life choked from your
body. Get me on the road, so I can live again.
Why Don’t You Just Quit?
Have
to keep my words close; keep them safe and succinct. So much has
changed, but I can’t tell just how thoroughly. Maybe this ice age is
reaching its twilight and we’re reading too far into the damage done -
maybe there is still hope; maybe this is ridiculous.
Expression
is suicide, admittance: sure death. Granite to steel, familiar bookends
to this chronically distorted heightened perceptive state. I hate this
hell; this is weakness, this is forfeit.
Monomyth
For Morgan Kemp…RIP These are not skies for dreamers. I can hold my breath, but I’ll die here waiting.
Elements of Blues and Rock to create something that's not quite BluesRock. Pretty well constructed song I'd say.
So a couple of months ago, what with my distaste at everything that had been released this year, I went back and started properly listening to The Pixies as opposed to only hearing ‘Where Is My Mind’ on the radio and thinking, “yeah! This is ok.”. Anyway, fun facts! In many ways they were the backbone for a lot of the better acts of the nineties. Other artists including Kurt Cobain and David Bowie also give them a pretty solid rep. I’ve listened to Doolittle to find out why.
One of the things The Pixies (are said to) have pioneered lay in their song structure. Songs in many instances would keep calm/quiet but then explode into full force with all instruments going guns blazing and Frankie Black screaming, wailing or howling over the top of it. “Tame” is a brilliant example of this, even though it’s one of the more abrasive tracks on the album. Outside of this, all the songs are pretty differently structured and the only two similar sounding songs would be “Debaser” and “Gouge Away” but that’s still a stretch. Also, beside the point. All the songs sound fantastic in their own way. “Wave of Mutilation” is calm, happy and surfy, “Hey” is bluesy and soulful and “Crackity Jones” has this speed and insanity that lies similar to hardcore punk. I haven’t even described every track yet, but it’s incredibly versatile without getting too experimental or just plain weird.
The instrumentals aren’t anything too brilliant though, and as a musician you’ll notice this. The guitar, bass and drums is pretty simple in most instances but it all sounds good by use of clever tone and the correct timing of when to use a certain instrument over playing everything at once or resorting to wanky solos.
Anyway, it’s one of those albums that everyone recommends but everyone’s too lazy to listen to it. Just do it, they don’t say you should for no reason. Heck it was good enough for Cobain and that dude married that walking Chlamydia farm Courtney Love. You gonna put yourself a rung down from a guy who dated Courtney Love?
(Disclaimer: Cobain was an ok guy and I’ve got nothing against him. Sorry if I’ve offended any Nirvana or Kurt fans in general. Hole fans though – seriously? Love is incredibly self centred. The only reason she didn’t name the band after herself is because the record label wouldn’t let the words ‘Filthy’ and ‘Aids Ridden’ into the title.)
