#772: K is for The Kills (with a Bonus Preamble About Kansas)

Preamble:
Four Kansas albums in one day
proved too much for me. Especially
since last night we attended
The Dear Hunter concert and
consumed even more prog rock.
We got our daily prog allowance,
I can tell you. So this morning,
a quick preamble before The Kills
about the last Kansas album,
The Absence of Presence. In short,
it kills. It’s really good. Don’t
take my word for it. Go stream it,
right this minute.

The Kills:
I don’t know what turned me
on to this record. The first and
only album I have by this band,
and before I put it on, like what
often happens with some
neglected records, I have no
idea what it will sound like.
It’s kind of what I expected
and not. Drum machines
and synthesizers, heavy rock
guitar, and a female vocal
reminiscent of any number
of classic hard rock sirens.
Alison Mosshart has a strong
voice, but not particularly
distinctive or orignal. Musically,
these songs tend to center
around specific riffs or grooves
or group of chords that hold
steady through both verse and
chorus, so there aren’t very many
surprises or change-ups. I mean,
I can walk away in the middle
of a song and be pretty confident
that I won’t miss anything. It’s
moody music and the mood
is dark. Sonically, it’s a good
sounding record and it’s cool in a kind
of heavier Portishead way.
But I can see why it wasn’t a
record that stuck with me for
repeated listens. It’s just not
my vibe. It’s good music that I just
don’t really care for all that much.

---

Notes on the vinyl edition: Ash and Ice, Domino Records, 2016, double black vinyl.

In case you don’t already know: I’m listening to almost everything in my vinyl collection, A to Z, and writing at least one, sometimes two or three long skinny poem-like-things in response for each artist, and on a few occasions, writing a long skinny poem-like-thing in response to more than one artist. As a poet and a student of poetry, I understand that these things look like poems, but they don’t really sound much like poetry, hence, I call them “poem-like-things.” I’ll admit that they’re just long, skinny essays that veer every now and then into the poetic or lyric.