While their first pair of eps were delightful to hear, these talented jazz heads from Dover, New Hampshire definitely know how to make a debut album.
King Dead have quickly become one of my favorite American bands at this point in time, not because of their wholehearted dedication to Steely-centric down-with-disease boogie, but because their audial authenticity shines through with every song they release. These guys care about the genre they love as much as they listen to and play it.
The seven songs featured on King Dead’s self titled are all strong ones — some light and airy with room to let each instrument breathe, others warping and wiggling around like a twice-greased earthworm named Runaway Jimmy.
Fan favorite, Mister Unstoppable, is like listening to a peak 90s island tour Phish jam… just without any monotonous acid soaked “I wanna be Frank Zappa, dad” lyrics. It’s a smooth smoky dancer, at times sludgy and dark, but overall a happy piece of music, lead by keyboardist Chris Sink and his peppy 96 Tears organ. Savvy and shining, you gotta hear this one for yourself.
Mister Unstoppable, which is just over five minutes, is somehow the third longest song on King Dead.
The nine minute and 12 second Paper Trails is a scorcher, tricking you into thinking you’re about to hear nothing but doom gloom and rewarding you with Blue album by way of Pinkerton Weezer aesthetic, as well as 3 point swish execution. In short? It’s a fucking classic (that flies by somehow) and a smart play to end such a cozy album with. Seb Sink’s drums are hammered and focused, like John Bonham if he was a White Claw guy, and paired with Sky Rubins’ building sweeps of guitar lines, the song more than deserves it’s short Allman Brothers track length.
However, without bassist Justin Greenberg, each song on this tremendous debut would be lacking a secret spice. Each note he plucks from his four strings you feel, Lesh-y & loose, like the guy just stumbled into the sessions and came up with the lines on the spot while the rest of King Dead were recording.
The opener on the album, Old New World, is an interesting choice to start the project — with a laser-focused Rubins locking in a groove with Sink’s swirled keyboards, so portent and potent, that the light breeze of shifting sounds at the start, even on first listen, whispers to virginal listeners, “oh you fuckers ain’t heard nothing yet.”
Once that electric guitar gets all distorted and ravaged, bending against the rumbling terrain of Greenberg’s thicc-ass bass, I knew I was in for a treat. These are diehard fans of jazz fusion, funk, and at times, they showcase a standout post-rockin’ + noise-making jamboree.
Without a doubt, King Dead are reformed lovers of listening, knowledgeable of the greats, but these guys deserve more than your standard Dark Star Orchestra or bar band fanfare. In my opinion, the opportunity to have more people listen to their music is their birthright, and with 7 near perfect songs on juuuust under 40 minutes of magic? I’m a little pissed off at that Cameron Winter guy for not having them as an opener this summer… at least not yet.
