Music / Reviews
Review: King’s X, Bierkeller
Today is the first day that Hawaiian support act Kings of Spade have ever stepped off US soil and they couldn’t be more delighted to be here. Hand-picked by the headliners, the Honolulu quartet are an unknown quantity to most of us. Appearances can certainly be deceptive. The beardy guitarist and bassist and hairy drummer all look as though they’ve stepped out of one of those meth-dealing backwoods stoner crews, while the out-and-very-proud-indeed singer, who seems to have acquired Doug Pinnick’s old mohican and dyed it bright pink, looks as though she ought to be in a punky riot grrrl outfit. Turns out they sound like none of the above, playing classy, soulful hard rock with a relentlessly funky groove topped by Kasi Nunes’ powerhouse vocals, which are very much in the Janis Joplin/Aretha Franklin arena.
The Bierkeller is still filling up when they arrive on stage, but they waste no time in winning over the King’s X audience. Just one mis-step: their own songs are so good that they really don’t need a cover version, especially yet another rendition of House of the bloody Rising Sun. But Kings of Spade quickly recover their momentum with hard rockin’ set closer Strange Bird – Nunes’ autobiographical account of growing up gay in a repressively religious household. You’re welcome back any time, Hawaiian dudes and lady dude!
is needed now More than ever
A palpable air of excitement is common at gigs, but it’s rarely quite as feverish as this. The sold-out Bierkeller is packed with punters who seem hardly able to believe their luck at seeing the great Texan prog-metal trio King’s X on stage, many of them for the first time. A huge roar greets the arrival of stick-thin bassist Doug Pinnick, be-hatted guitarist Ty Tabor and especially drummer Jerry Gaskill, who’s been through the wars in the health department in recent years. Pinnick seems rather taken aback when the audience insist on singing opener Groove Machine right back at him. This becomes a feature of the evening as he ducks choruses and leaves the crowd to get on with it, eventually giving up altogether during the encore.
Flies and Blue Skies showcases their mellower side before they stretch out on Vegetable, with Pinnick contributing gut-pummelling bass and positively spitting out the lyric: “If freedom didn’t have a price/I would be a fucking rich man“. In a set initially dominated by arguably their heaviest album, Dogman, the reflective Cigarettes proves an early highlight. But what’s missing so far are those gorgeous three-part harmonies that are something of a band trademark. No worries: here comes A Box, which also sees Tabor on jaw-dropping form. And if Gaskill is in any way debilitated by his previous heart problems, there’s no sign of it here. In the pantheon of singing drummers, he’s right up there.
We’re a full hour into the set before they hit the albums that established their reputation. The bittersweet nostalgia of Gaskill’s Summerland from Gretchen Goes to Nebraska sees the audience take over the lyrics once again and underlines King’s X extraordinary knack of writing music that is at once technically complex and wholly accessible and melodic. They’d never get away without playing the euphoric Over My Head, and Pinnick teases us with a lengthy intro before everyone joins in with that irresistible “Music, music, I hear music…” chorus prior to Tabor’s powerchords crashing back in again. The guitarist’s shit-eating grin doesn’t leave his face all evening.
It’s often been said that King’s X are the greatest band you’ve never heard of, which may be why Go Tell Somebody (“If you like what you hear/Then go tell somebody“) feels a little like a howl of frustration. Perhaps surprisingly, set closer We Were Born to be Loved is the sole track taken from the Faith Hope Love album, but they’re keen to have fun with it by setting themselves the challenge: how many false endings can one song have? Answer: rather a lot.
They encore with Dogman, the heaviest song they’ve ever recorded, Pinnick’s impressive vocal powers undiminished by the passing years. By now, he and Tabor are unable to sing over the delirious audience. Admitting defeat, they turn their microphones outward to face the crowd, who take over for the entirety of Goldilox (and that’s no ten-word autotuned pop singalong). Any fears that King’s X might disappoint after such a long absence are by now long forgotten.
All photos by Mike Evans
Our top newsletters emailed directly to you
