WHAT'S THE FREQUENCY, KENNETH?
Taking time out from Beezewax, Kenneth Ishak proves it doesn’t always matter if you’ve heard it all before.
It’s bad form to talk about oneself in a review, but what the hell. I’m never going to make it as the new Lester Bangs any other way…
A few years ago I was co-running a small independent boutique record label in the UK. We specialised in 7” singles, the kind prized by collectors and indie kids alike. I received an email from a gentleman named Ken Stringfellow, a name familiar from the sleeve of my copy of Frosting on The Beater by The Posies’, for whom he was the frontman. He crafted what can only be described as classic rock, the kind you’d hear on FM stations in America throughout the 70s. The music was perfect: Stringfellow pulled all the right moves and had an undeniable way with a tune. But we turned him down. We were unmoved. It was like a perfect Xerox: immaculate but unoriginal.
The following night I visited London’s Earls Court Arena to see REM play. Michael Stipe introduced the band and, pointing to the keyboard player, announced the presence of none other than Mr Stringfellow himself. I felt a strange kind of pride at having turned down the chance of releasing a single by a member, albeit only temporary, of REM. It did make me question my decision, however. Perhaps I had missed the point.
NONE OF YOUR BEES WAX: The story comes to mind while I watch Kenneth Ishak attempting to shake some life into those gathered for this mid afternoon show in the city centre, and not just because Stringfellow has played with and produced Ishak. Once again I face the same dilemma. It all seems so polished, so obvious. This is classic rock again, no doubt about it, but sometimes ‘classic rock’ is merely shorthand for ‘strong on technique, low on fresh ideas’. This is the kind of music that other musicians love. It’s educated, respectful, and it allows them to discuss their extensive vinyl collection. It often lacks passion, however, and his band reflect that: they’re proficient, but anonymous. Their presence on stage seems pedestrian, like they’re just waiting to punch their cards as they leave the stage and pick up their fee. But as the show progresses the fact that everything is in its right place, meaning that it is initially predictable, makes way for a feeling of reassuring familiarity.
IT’S SOUL, BROTHER: New Rising Sun is the first sign that he’s got what it takes, and as the band slowly comes to life he confirms his ability to write far more than mere pastiches, cranking up the volume more than the sunshine powerpop of his recent Silver Lightning From A Black Sky album might suggest. At one stage he and his second guitarist riff in unison like they’re ZZ Top, at other points he breaks songs down and builds them up again revealing a definite love of soul masters like Curtis Mayfield and Donny Hathaway. They jam with conviction, and even though Ishak looks somewhat frustrated by the low turnout, as though he would rather be in bed preparing for another night out at Mono with the dudes, you can tell he’s starting to enjoy himself when a coy grin spreads across his face as he catches his bassist’s eye.
He moves to the keyboard, offering a glimpse of another clear influence, Todd Rundgren, but by now it’s clear that he’s capable of doing more than simple replication. When he finally brings things to a showstopping climax with more vintage riffage it’s clear that he’s won over the cynics. You don’t have to be a musician to dig these vibes.
