Having had the pleasure of bathing in KEN mode’s particular oily ooze whilst reviewing their last full-length album (2022s ‘Null’) it proved almost impossible to fully grasp what the band were attempting. Re reading the slightly hysterical and hyperbolic praise I lathered on that release, it certainly gives you pause for thought when attempting to possibly reign in the praise and try and find a cinq in the armour, a soft underbelly to plunge in the critical blade, to gut, burrowing to redress balance, to slither and fillet some justice. No-one likes a sycophant. It stinks like pair of shit filled pants on a hot tube train in mid-August.
BUT it can’t be helped when a band explode onto the scene, remain busy with a prodigious creative output that has seen Winnipeg’s KEN mode, simply walk the path less trodden and continued to evolve their own brand of discordant, slinky, sly, dirty, and confrontational post metal that pilfers from the best that the scene has to offer. Comparisons to The Jesus Lizard, Slint, Shellac and Botch are often banded around and whilst all of the aforementioned bands do represent good musical signposts as to the DNA of the band, KEN mode have taken the messy, metallic leaves of their earlier albums and strained, stewed, and filtered their juices to arrive in our hot cup of disquiet, sorrow, and pain in the form of a more rounded, fleshed out and bolder collection of songs.
This isn’t to say that this album lacks the metallic stomp of previous efforts, it’s just more refined, and dare I say it, grown up. Void was recorded at the same time as 2022’s Null and it’s most definitely a companion piece released on the anniversary of its baby brother. I would imagine, the band having recorded the sixteen songs that represent the two bodies of work and simply placed them into two piles marked angry and despair. There are similar motifs present in both albums, manifesting themselves as hunger for happiness but a realisation that we’re dammed to find fault, sadness, and darkness where light, sunshine, and belief should flourish. And whilst each album should be judged in its own merits, Void’s composition was intended to be dragged alongside their last album Null into the court of public opinion to be judged as a pair.
As with Null, Void is one hundred percent a more mature and expansive sounding collection of songs. Some of that is due, in part, to the contribution made by fourth band member Kathryn Kerr, as she adds a layer of the avant-garde (saxophones/keyboards) which elevates the dark tone, being accretive to the wailing chaos, all angular, paint stripping guitars, vocal howls and scattergun, incessant drums, beating a retreat to the back of your mind where the dark things live. But what Void seems to have done (and it certainly builds on the more experimental leanings of Null), is propel KEN mode on this musical journey they seem to be on. And whilst there are certainly moments on Void that hark back to their earlier material, much of the album strays away from this musical blueprint to create a more nuanced, disturbing, and mature sounding aural nightmare. It feels confrontational, angry yet conversely, more accessible, playful, and welcoming. This may sound like a contradiction, but this is a deliberate ploy by the band to continue to keep their fans on their toes. Nothing wrong with that and its somewhat delicious that bands such as these Canadians, continue to produce bodies of work that seek to confound, entertain, and frighten in equal measures. In summary, Void as both a standalone collection of songs AND a collaborative companion piece to Null, is an exciting and arresting album which is nicely parcelled up in the shadow of album closer ‘Not Today, Old Friend’ which crumbles along on a spidery, twisty guitar riff straight from the Fugazi school of excellence, which acts as the juxtaposition to twinkling keyboards and strings. It’s a quiet, understated denouement that encapsulate most of what is good about this album. It may lack the raw power and immediacy, on the whole, of their previous albums, but it’s in these quieter moments where the kernel of what makes KEN mode a band worthy of your attention exists.
(8/10 Nick Griffiths)
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