KENmode VOID

Twenty years is a long time to be releasing albums. How does a band stay relevant at that point? How do they follow their own growing interests and abilities while maintaining a semblance of self that their fanbase can recognize and continue with along the journey? As listeners, we consume all we can, changing our preferences and habits, but evolving becomes a difficult road for the creators to navigate.

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Veteran Canadian noise-rockers KENmode have been doing just that. Their ninth full-length album, VOID comes twenty years after their debut, and throughout those two decades the band has shown the desire and ability to experiment without ostracizing their listeners or coming off as insincere. And perhaps no album showcased that more than last year’s NULL, which found the group at times teetering on the verge of avant-garde, pulling back just before reaching the edge.

VOID is similarly experimental, although certainly more controlled than its predecessor. The album is billed as a complementary piece to NULL, but it’s more a standalone work than that. In fact, VOID succeeds often where NULL came up short—mainly in realizing the ambition the band has brought to the record. But that’s also because they have reeled themselves back a bit.

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The major difference this time around is restraint. The record’s opening tracks—“The Shrike” and “Painless,” respectively—are balls-to-the-wall rockers, but the album begins to take a more dynamic shape as it moves along. “These Wires” bounces along on its gritty bassline, shifting between post-hardcore verses and noisy choruses, while “We’re Small Enough” lands closer to something more like ISIS than Unsane. And even after VOID picks back up in its second half, the album’s closing number, “Not Today, Old Friend” is the record’s most fragile, and perhaps most interesting piece.

Even when KENmode let loose, there’s a noticeable sense of melody on VOID. Vocalist/guitarist Jesse Matthewson’s riffs have a more distinguishable, less angular feel. Sure, it’s loud and abrasive—the band haven’t gone soft—but the music has more room to breathe. Even on a track like “A Reluctance of Being,” a slow-burning percussive song, the four-piece feels more in command than ever.

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The addition of multi-instrumentalist Kathryn Kerr into the mix on NULL brought a whole new bevy of avenues to explore, and KENmode utilize this well on VOID. Whether it’s the jazzy sax line in “Painless” or the somber piano of “These Wires,” the experiments land stronger this time around. On VOID, the group sound more like they are working in their comfort zone than trying to get too far out. It’s the type of ambitious sincerity that makes the record work.

Bottomline: Where NULL lost a bit of focus, VOID is KENmode hitting their experimental stride. There’s strength in restraint and the Canadian group has learned how to hone in on it.