Kaki King - 'Junior'

Five albums into her career, guitar virtuoso Kaki King is starting to show signs of fatigue. Having made the most technically accomplished (Everybody Loves You), epically spacey (…Until We Felt Red), and straight up catchy (Dreaming of Revenge) albums of her career, perhaps she was about due. While her new release Junior is by no means a bad album, it does fall short of the quality standard she has established for herself.

Part of this comes from King’s shift away from her strengths – namely, less guitar. Everybody Loves You showcased her knack for a percussive style, one that emphasized slapping and fret tapping over power chords, but since then, she’s downplayed that style in favor of more indie rock fare, even fronting an actual band on guitar and vocals. But King’s talents as a singer and lyricist aren’t quite on par with her guitar skills, which sink Junior a little.

Admittedly, the record starts out fine. The first four tracks sound like Dreaming leftovers – kind of ambient yet catchy and self-contained. But then “The Hoopers of Hudspeth” goes for a slower acoustic style, but it’s mostly filler. Follow-up “My Nerves That Committed Suicide” bites Red’s style a little too much.

The album’s second half features two strong, pissed off tracks, though. The post-punk-y “Death Head” sounds like early Bloc Party, while closer “Sunnyside” finds King getting painfully, earnestly, angrily direct about getting rejected by an ungrateful lover. It’s not quite as nuanced as the work she did with The Mountain Goats for Black Pear Tree, but man does it hit hard.

Ultimately, there are enough good songs on Junior to warrant a stellar EP. As is, though, this 11 track collection will disappoint fans. While it’s not the worst place for newcomers to enter King’s discography (that would be Legs to Make Us Longer), I’ve already named three others that outpace Junior in every essential way. This one strikes a decent holding pattern, but it’s still just a holding pattern.

Baroness - 'Blue Record' / Kylesa - 'Static Tensions'

This article is 666 words long.

Surely, future generations will speak of Savannah, Ga. in the same breath as Seattle, Wash. or Athens, Ga. Its nascent metal scene has given rise to several bands that transcend scene politics. The biggest so far is probably Mastodon, from nearby Atlanta, who earned hipster approval outside of metal circles. Indeed, Georgia has been turning out metal bands that defy metal expectations at a rapid clip. Take, for example, last year’s releases Static Tensions by Kylesa and Blue Record by Baroness.

Both bands deal in sludgy, heavy, awesome tunes. It’s certainly technical, but not to the point of exclusion. When Pat Mathis joked to Spin’s David Peisner about “…that whole heavy, doomy Southern kind of metal. When you get these old punk guys who listen to the Allman Brothers and start a metal band, that’s kind of what you get,” he was pretty accurate.

Stylistically, Kylesa and Baroness are of a piece. But dig deeper, and there are differences. Baroness is more willing to get expansive, often jamming out songs without sacrificing energy. They have a gritty appeal, but they’re not afraid to explore guitar solos or the occasional haunting, acoustic part. Blue Record, the follow-up to 2007’s even more awesome Red Album and perhaps a nod to the Beatles’ singles collections from the ’70s, even takes breaks from rocking to explore feedback and ethereal, Alice in Chains-style melodies. Mastodon gets a lot of credit for being a metal band non-metalheads can appreciate. The same could be said of Baroness.

The band’s song lengths aren’t distractingly epic – “Swollen Halo” is the only song to exceed five-and-a-half minutes – which should be attractive to, say, punk fans. Sure, the record is heavy, but it’s also easy to follow. After the delayed intro of “Bullhead’s Psalm,” the record shifts into turbo with “The Sweetest Curse,” a track that announces its metal intentions without sacrificing appeal. Over crushing riffs, John Dyer Baizley and Pete Adams bark out impressionistic lyrics and generally kick ass. They’re a little less technical or hardcore than Mastodon, but these guys deserve to be appointed Next Indie-Approved Metal Band. That said, Blue Record finds the band occasionally indulging in sounds that some folks might not be able to follow. Call them Metallica moments; times when the group busts out acoustic interludes and chugging riffage. This is of course balanced out by songs like “O’er Hell and Hide,” in which drummer Allen Blickle pounds out a rolling dance beat for most of the song, adding a bit of boogie to all the noodling. Blue Record is very much a crossover album, hinting at the better aspects of metal’s roots while incorporating other genres to form something earthier and more fun.

By comparison, Kylesa’s Static Tensions sounds downright obliterating. The low end is way more powerful here, recalling sludgy acts like Big Business or The Melvins. Just, ya know, with more solos. Album opener “Scapegoat” weaves a double-tracked drum solo throughout the tune, tempering all the bile with something a little more tribal. “Perception” opens with some backwards dialogue (Subliminal messages! Metal!) before hitting the band’s trademark grinding style before segueing into an ethereal section. Guitarist Laura Pleasants adds some otherworldly vocals to the mix, combining with drummer Eric Hernandez’s beats to create a sort of druidic experience. The album is pretty steadfast in its rocking – 40 minutes of butt-whoopin’ – but Kylesa slips in these little moments that A) let the listener know how accomplished the musicians are and B) differentiate Kylesa just enough from the pack to reveal their songs as revolutionary.

Peisner’s article mentions that the scene is starting to splinter as bands move away, but I can’t blame them for doing so. Baroness and Kylesa both released stellar albums last year, and had I been on top of my shit, both would have wound up on my best of 2009 coverage. As is, though, I’ve found a great entry way into a musical scene that I intend to explore.

Kentucky Knife Fight - 'The Wolf Crept, The Children Slept'

OK, Kentucky Knife Fight, your name is intriguing. I am intrigued. But how does your record hold up?

Hailing from Missouri, Kentucky Knife Fight aspires to Stooges-style rock ‘n’ roll (OK, and the Rolling Stones… and the Black Crowes…) on The Wolf Crept, The Children Slept. Sometimes it pays off – dig that early track “Lil’ Sister” – but the record peters out before the halfway point. It’s just a hair too bar band-y to truly recall Michigan’s greatest proto-punk group. While the record is no means a failure, bummer or stinker, it certainly doesn’t deviate much from its bluesy rock sound during its 42-minute running time, switching it up only to try on the occasional country-leaning tune.

That said, by virtue of its very style, I get the feeling that Kentucky Knife Fight puts on a good live show. The guitar work on tracks like “South Roxanna Wiggle” hints a band that probably knows how to improvise epic jams. “Wiggle” segues nicely into the next freewheeling song, “17.”

But while the band has a handful of solid riffs, there’s nothing particularly revelatory about any of the songs. Babyboomers might be stoked to hear KKF attempts to recall “when rock ‘n’ roll was dangerous” or whatever, but honestly, that’s what the Back From the Grave series is for.

Kasms - 'Spayed'

On their full-length debut Spayed, U.K. no wave act Kasms strike a midpoint between Bikini Kill’s anger and alienation and Le Tigre’s dance-centric revelry. Either way, frontwoman Rachel Mary Callaghan sounds a bit like Kathleen Hanna, and that’s awesome. Not that Kasms fit perfectly under the riot grrrl label. The band calls their style “shriekbeat,” which I’m guessing is supposed to be deathrock without the campy sci-fi/horror bent. The band retains that style’s sense of atmosphere, drone, and echo, plus a passing reference to surf rock rhythms here and there.

The band’s overall sound owes just as much to the recording techniques employed by guitarist and former Test Icicles member Rory Brattwell’s recording sensibilities. Dude prefers quick ‘n’ dirty live takes on a reel-to-reel tape machine, resulting in an alluring haze that some shoegaze bands spend at least twice as much to achieve. Kasms are at their best in the murkiest depths, something that apparently applies to their live shows. Callaghan has been known to start a fight or two or three.

But fistfights are for jocko homos. What I’m interested in are hooks, and Spayed sinks in its best right away with album opener “Male Bonding.” Swirling dissonance quickly cuts to a rollicking drum beat, needling guitars, and Callaghan’s infectious vocals. Rock ‘n’ roll was born from sexual come-ons (it’s in the name), and Callaghan’s cool insistence that she “dance with your dad” balances the sexual and the predatory from note to note.

It’s obvious why “Male Bonding” ended up as a single, though it does set up track two, “Insects,” for a disappointing fall, if only initially. See, “Male Bonding” is “the hit.” It’s the danciest, catchiest, bestest song. So when “Insects” reveals Spayed’s real M.O. – dark and seductive and reminiscent of Teenage Jesus and The Jerks and maybe even mid-period Pretty Girls Make Graves – it’s kind of a sucker punch. But it’s still good, just in a different way. What follows is arty, angular anger.

Despite doubling as a collection of early singles (“Taxidermy,” “Bone You”) Spayed comes off remarkably solid throughout. It boasts 12 tracks in 32 minutes, and every single one is a rabble-rousing lo-fi mini-masterpiece. So, for those of you wishing for a new New Romance AND a new Pretty on the Inside, here’s a compromise. Ignore the title; this one’s got balls.

The Kills at the Theater of Living Arts

The subtle art of droning was in full bloom at the Theater of Living Arts, courtesy of The Kills, The Horrors and Magic Wand. While the TLA has never exactly had the best sound, that weakness turned to be a plus, enhancing the swirling fits of garage rock noise emanating from the bands. The bands drew an interesting mix, with The Kills pulling in hipsters a-plenty – Big shiny garish clothes! Pseudo-ironic mustaches! Sweatbands? – and The Horrors attracting more of a punk/metal crowd. How else can you explain the kids in Misfits and System of a Down tees? And while I missed Magic Wand’s set (I had vegan BBQ chicken pizza to eat, clam flammit), I still gotta say, overall, this was a tasty show.

The Horrors put on a damn fine show. Bedecked in black and synths, the band tore away at their instruments while frontman Faris Badwan mostly kept his back to the audience. There’s a definite shoegaze element to the band’s new Primary Colours that elevates their previous garage band sound, and they’re all the better for it.

Though there was a mini-exodus following The Horrors’ set, a decent amount of people stuck around for The Kills’ 11 p.m. set. Though they ended up playing for only 50 minutes (plus a three song encore), it’s worth giving the band some slack over the short set, if only because lead singer Allison Mosshart was hospitalized like a week ago for breathing problems and still found the energy to give Philadelphia folks a whirlwind of a show. Mosshart constantly paced the stage, hungry and anxious, while guitarist/vocalist Jamie Hince tore at his instrument and called on the crowd to dance.

The set leaned heavily on material from last year’s career highlight Midnight Boom, and songs like “U.R.A. Fever,” “Alphabet Pony” and “Black Balloon” got a huge reaction. Mosshart was noticeably rougher live, again probably thanks to her cold, but the newfound grit gave the songs a dirtier new perspective. Her vocals became more bluesy, which in turn played well off of Hince’s guitar work. The band was also droned more live. Midnight Boom was packed with dance beats; its live interpretation bears more in common with The Jesus & Mary Chain than PJ Harvey. Again, though, this generally worked to the band’s advantage.

Still, the murkier, hazier live sound didn’t suit The Kills’ older songs quite as well. Granted, “Fried My Little Brains” and “Pull a U” sounded good, but “No Wow” felt flat. The song started off slowly building itself into a fervor, just like its studio counterpart, but it led to a climax that never came.

Not that it mattered. Bluesy, hypnotic, salty, sweaty, sexy, writhing, alive. These are the words to use for describing a Kills show. The band clearly gave its all for the crowd and was rewarded with wave after wave of applause.

The Mountain Goats & Kaki King live at the TLA

The Mountain Goats and Kaki King played delightfully lengthy sets at Philadelphia’s Theater of the Living Arts Friday, Nov. 7, one of the last stops on the bands’ aptly titled “The Last Happy Night of Your Life Tour.” Now, head goater John Darnielle is the sort of performer who can pretty much play anything and blow away a crowd; he’s a Bruce Springsteen, a Tom Waits, a Tori Amos. And with bassist Peter Hughes and drummer Jon Wurster, the guy had some serious rock muscle behind him. But in order to fully appreciate his electrifying performance that night, you need to have been to at least two more Mountain Goats shows: March 20, 2008 at Philly’s First Unitarian Church – the last time the Goats played the city – and any other set ever.

The Church show was, to keep it simple and direct, pretty fucking shitty. The band was sloppy, and Darnielle was ever so slightly ticked off at the crowd’s abuse of flashbulb photo-taking. After about 35 minutes, The Mountain Goats left the stage, citing vague personal issues. Basically, Darnielle had one heck of an off night.

But here’s the thing: The Mountain Goats are actually one of the best live bands touring today. You think I pass out Springsteen comparisons lightly? Darnielle is like the idealized version of your crazy Catholic uncle: Slightly tipsy, affable, a goofy dancer, and a lover of fine music. He speaks to audiences like he’s like they’re old friends having drinks. In short, he is a cool dude.

So that’s the set-up, the New Hope-ian joy and the Empire Strikes Back-ish fall. Now here’s the actual plot outline: Darnielle knew he let down a lot of folks last time he was in town, and he apologized for the March show several times during his set. To that end, he and his band needed to make absolutely sure every face was thoroughly rocked, every booty adequately shaken.

But first, Kaki King had to play. Good thing she rules too.

Hailing from the fine state of Georgia, King has been hailed by many guitar magazines for her dexterous, percussive guitar playing. Building off her unique acoustic style, she’s developed more and more as a songwriter with each album. Her latest, this year’s Dreaming of Revenge, is arguably her catchiest. It dominated the first half or so of her set, starting with opening number “Bone Chaos in the Castle.” One by one, members of her backing band came out to join her as she laid down a fret-tapping frenzy. The tune accidently slid into a slow rut when drummer Matt Hankle started playing, but to be fair, he had just broken his ankle days before. Drumming is never easy when you’re down a limb. Other than this hiccup, though, Hankle seemed to lock in with the band rather well.

King’s 75 minutes onstage felt a bit long by their end, but the set still satisfied most in the room. The show had an ebb-and-flow to it, starting off with the jammy ambience of “Bone Chaos” and peaking with the bitter break-up song “Pull Me Out” before bottoming out with “Kewpie Station,” from her solo debut, Everybody Loves You. The second half delved into the spacier arrangements of …Until We Felt Red, with the highlight being an epic performance of “You Don’t Have to Be Afraid.” King served up atmospheric tunes that split the difference between shoegaze and jam bands, and the crowd, who surprisingly smelled of patchouli ‘n pot, dug it.

Emerging to The Four Seasons’ “December 1963 (Oh What a Night),” The Mountain Goats kicked ass from start to finish. Opening with the quiet “Have to Explode,” it was clear right away that Darnielle was in a much better place. “Heretic Pride” followed, and the collective joy from the crowd when Wurster hit the beat was astounding. Darnielle’s been making music for years now, but the majority of the concertgoers seemed to be too young to remember his lo-fi days firsthand. Predictably, the Heretic Pride material went over very well (It’s a great album, ya jerk). “Michael Myers Resplendent,” “New Zion,” and “Sept 15, 1983” all went over swimmingly. Most of the set focused on TMG’s hi-fi 4 A.D. output – “Moon Over Goldsboro” from Get Lonely showed up, as did “Pigs That Ran Straightaway into the Water, Triumph Of” and “Palmcorder Yajna,” from We Shall All Be Healed, during the first encore. “This Year,” perhaps Darnielle’s most universally loved song, closed out the regular set. Wurster really amped up the performance here, replacing the Sunset Tree song’s rim clicks with snare hits. “I am going to make it through this year / If it kills me” goes the chorus, and it will always sound life-affirming. Darnielle stated before the song that he was playing it for himself, and it’s a testament to his songwriting prowess that his form of self-indulgence involves playing his best songs.

There was a smattering of rarities spread throughout the set as well – “Sinaloon Milk Snake Song” from Zopilote Machine was a personal favorite, as were “The Mess Inside” and “Source Decay” from the seminal work All Hail West Texas. There were more surprises that Darnielle asked us not to share, so I’ll just say that we also scored an obscure B-side and an impromptu classic rock cover.

[The above is from a different show, but how cute are those faces?]

“The Last Happy Night of Your Life Tour” coincided with the release of Black Pear Tree, a tour-only vinyl split between Kaki King and The Mountain Goats. King joined TMG halfway through their set to perform some of those songs, including “Bring Our Curses Home,” “Mosquito Repellent,” the title track, and a searingly psychedelic version of “Supergenesis” that needs to be experienced live by every living being in the cosmos. They also covered Morrissey’s “Suedehead,” which was thrilling, but “Supergenesis” is what stays with me. King conjured up layer after layer of dissonance, My Bloody Valentine-style, over Darnielle’s first person narrative about the fall of the serpent from the book of Genesis. Epic? Yes. Metal? Kinda, yeah. The EP itself is a mellow, gorgeous experience, but its folk structures were far more rock-ish that night.

Darnielle was liberated from his guitar for The Mountain Goats’ second encore, a cover of “Houseguest” by Franklin Bruno. This was a good thing, because I learned an important, satori-like truth: John Darnielle is a delirious dancer. He cavorted around the stage, sensually grabbing fans by the hair and promising them that he was unquestionably the best houseguest they’d ever had. And gosh dang was he right.

[Check out the Internet Archive for some great Mountain Goats bootlegs, including shows from this tour. It's Jelone-tested, Darnielle-approved.]

Kaki King - 'Dreaming of Revenge'

Arts and crafts are the gosh dang bomb diggity, and not just because of that whole “eating paste and crayons” thing. On her new record, Dreaming of Revenge, guitar virtuoso Kaki King not only serves up 11 tasty, mostly instrumental progressive indie pop tunes (12 if you’re rocking iTunes), she also provides a chance to make your very own “Dreaming of Revenge Mobile.” Based off of the weird symbols that hover over King as she sleeps on the album cover, record buyers and particularly hip kindergarteners can combine these cut-outs with a wire hanger for some truly boss artwork. Better still, King is hosting an art contest. The coolest mobile scores a prize of undetermined proportions.

Oh yeah, and the record comes with music, too.

Dreaming of Revenge continues the soft, ethereal turn King took on 2006’s …Until We Felt Red, although the occasional classic rock guitar tone creeps up here and there.

Also like on …Until We Felt Red, King sings on a few cuts on this great low key effort, and her gentle voice matches the compositions well. Her writing has gotten a lot tighter, allowing for some solid potential pop singles. “Life Being What It Is,” and “Pull Me Out Alive” in particular, have catchy choruses and infectious atmosphere. They’re not quite shoegaze or goth circa new wave, but they’ll certainly appeal to fans of both genres.

This tighter writing comes at a price, though, as King’s compositions, while fuller, are also less notably jaw-dropping than the frenetic percussive style she showed on first album Everybody Loves You. Moreover, she’s not that great of a lyricist. Not bad, just not life-changing. But, she occasionally returns to her old style on cuts like the string section-soaked “So Much For So Little” and album ender “2 O’Clock,” and really succeeds at synthesizing the two styles on opener “Bone Chaos in the Castle.”

King’s playing has gotten a lot more expressive lately, as heard on “Montreal.” A mournful aura hovers over Dreaming of Revenge, something her scarce lyrics hint at. That she would include “tears” among her impressive instrument list (guitars, drums, vocals, pedal steel, bass and synth) half-jokingly increases the vibe. But man is it a gorgeous kind of mobile-assisted sadness.

Kenna - 'Make Sure They See My Face'

An eclectic record’s blessing is that it has something for everyone to love; its curse is that is has something for everyone to hate as well. Such is the case for electro-pop maestro Kenna and his new, repeatedly delayed record Make Sure They See My Face. A follow-up to 2003’s excellent New Sacred Cow, which itself lingered in limbo for over a year before being officially released, Make Sure They See My Face is at times stubbornly eclectic—schizophrenic even, which is spelled out for the listener on skit “Blink Radio.” But while the diversity offered by piano ballad “Static” or top 40 pop-baiting tracks “Loose Wires” or “Say Goodbye to Love” may turn off some Kenna fans, the record as a whole is a solid blend of electronica, pop, funk, R&B and just a dash of rock.

For the most part, Make Sure They See My Face continues New Sacred Cow’s winning combination of Kenna and Chad Hugo (aka the guy from Neptunes who isn’t Pharrell Williams). Hugo beefs up his production to provide Kenna's croon with a wider palate of melancholic dance grooves. This is apparent right from the beginning cut, “Daylight.” The ambient noises and propulsive drum beat are enchantingly New Romantic.

The same could be said for first single and second track “Out of Control (State of Emotion).” New Sacred Cow was all about Kenna being a Fred Durst-approved sad bastard, but on “Out of Control,” he hits his breaking point, and shouts out a furious dance floor anthem in the process. It’s a huge deviation from his formula, but a bombastically delicious one.

Then the album reaches its leap of faith—a double shot of Pharell-produced tracks.

“Loose Wires” and “Say Goodbye to Love” will test the boundaries of guilty pleasures. “Loose Wires” is the catchier of the two, and it’s also very self-aware of its sellout status (“All the hits that I’ve been missin’/Been around that world once before”). Given time, these tracks’ appeal might shine through. Or, if you like anything the Neptunes ever produced, these tunes will go over right away.

Once listeners trudge through the setup and fallout of the first four songs, though, everything should go smoothly. Hugo returns to the controls, and it’s obvious that he knows Kenna’s strengths—synths, drums and new wave. “Sun Red Sky Blue,” “Face the Gun” rock and groove just as hard as “Out of Control,” and “While Awake” reprises Kenna’s sad dance party of old.

There’s two solid tracks that Kenna wrote on his own as well. Piano ballad “Static” doesn’t deliver as nicely as “Yenah Ababah (Rose),” but it’s still sweetly heard. The never-quite-overflowing build-up of “Be Still” combines with “Better Rise Up” and album ender “Wide Awake” to form a mellow trifecta of Cow-like proportions.

This record is schizophrenic; it’s either a strong sophomore record with a couple of throwaway pop tracks or a couple of pop tracks surrounded by miserable tunes. Either way, it’s recommended for fans of Bloc Party and Justin Timberlake alike.

Kaki King - '...Until We Felt Red'

Usually, when one thinks of ridiculously intricate songwriting, his or her first thoughts are of jam, prog or metal bands. It’s dead guys, Dead Heads or Evil Eddie. But Atlanta, Ga. native and New York City transplant Kaki King has found a way to go musically deep without fitting into any three labels. Over the course of three albums, King has found new ways to grow as a musician while using one of the most conventional of modern day instruments: the guitar.

On her 2003 debut, Everybody Loves You, King revealed some of her skill. Over the course of 10 tracks, she unleashed song after song of intense, vibrant acoustic guitar tunes. Her most difficult album, Everybody Loves You, incorporated almost every guitar technique there is, without the use of an actual pick — bass slapping, fret tapping and percussive rapping combined in free form displays of dexterity.

King’s follow-up, Legs to Make Us Longer (2004), expanded on the promise of Everybody Loves You. This time adding a backing band, King aspired for more than displays of power, aiming for subdued ditties over more technically-intricate ones. That does not mean she dumbed herself down as she tried out new styles to avoid the label of “the girl who plays weird stuff on an acoustic guitar.”

Over the summer, King released her latest album, …Until We Felt Red. It continues in a style similar to Legs to Make Us Longer. Backed mostly by multi-talented percussionist John McEntire, King fluctuates between pretty ambiance and teetering dissonance. This dichotomy is revealed within the first two songs, “Yellowcake” and “…Until We Felt Red.”

“Yellowcake” opens with King’s near-trademark acoustic guitar work, but then introduces something new to her fans: vocals. Soft and gentle, King’s voice mixes well with acoustic and lap steel guitars, creating a mellow, pleasing vibe. “Yellowcake” is a glass of warm milk in song form.

But while her voice is certainly pleasing, she’s by no means a rocker like Janis Joplin. Well aware of this, King keeps her more rocking tunes instrumental, like on track two, “…Until We Felt Red.” Though it starts off with the same smooth sound as “Yellowcake,” it quickly crescendos into an explosion of cymbals and dirty, distorted electric guitar. Like a pendulum, the title track swings between these two styles, and they work surprisingly well together.

The third track, “You Don’t Have to Be Afraid,” finds a balance between the styles of “Yellowcake” and “…Until We Felt Red.” Soft but energetic, the slightly-over-eight-minute song is powerful and anthemic, especially when King gets to her hopeful chorus of “You don’t have to be afraid of the pain inside you.” King herself plays most of the instruments on this track, with support offered by McEntire and horn player Dan Brantigan. Brantigan’s flugelhorn, in addition to being fun to say (go on! try it!), adds an extra layer of pleasing sound.

The rest of …Until We Felt Red continues along the same style. Bells, drums, flugelhorn (such a great word) and King’s seasoned guitar make the album an alternately soothing and rocking listen. Mostly instrumental, …Until We Felt Red should prove to be good studying music for those gearing up for midterms.