Celebrating a quarter decade with a show in Montréal, KEN Mode brought the rage to meet our moment.

“Doesn’t Feel Pain Like He Should” – KEN Mode

Few things last 25 years.

This isn’t a “back in my day” comment, but rather a simple fact that it’s a long time to sustain anything: A marriage, a business, a friendship, hell, even a piece of jewelry. So to keep together one of the most volatile things in the world — a band — is a feat that deserves to be applauded by crowds all across the country. But KEN Mode have done much more than survive: Their last two albums, Null and Void — which were recorded in the same session and although released a year apart, supposed to be listened to as one — may be their best work yet.

And when they took the stage at Montréal’s Turbo Haus, the Winnipeg based four piece brought the energy to match.

VOID - KEN Mode — KEN Mode’s ‘VOID,’ released September 2023 via Artoffact Records

There are many things that make KEN Mode great: The unceasing intensity with which they beat you to submission, the sense that anything could happen next, and the relatable angst that doesn’t wane but grows with age. Over their 25 years — and nine albums — all these qualities have gotten stronger. But KEN Mode’s most relevant ability is how they feel built for this very moment, as if the last quarter decade has been a dress rehearsal for the chaos, decline and decay that is the world since 2016.

Stood at the front of the stage, his piercing eyes darting around the room and his accusatory finger implicating all of this, lead singer Jesse Matthewson’s lyrics felt akin to an attorney’s dagger like closing remarks: “I don’t believe that you mean well.”

Matthewson, and bassist Scott Hamilton attack the stage with an aggression not befitting their small stature, as they bait and sneer at the crowd, seemingly spoiling for a fight. They are the embodiment of Henry Rollins and Black Flag, two balls of pent-up rage unleashed on the paying public.

Meanwhile, sax and synth maestro Kathryn Kerr provides the sonic bedrock that underpins the whole show. Her apocalyptic beats and keys, that play even between songs, makes the dread relentless. Almost unwittingly she places a knot in the pit of your stomach, a debilitating sense of doom that primes us to be bowled us over with the band’s fury. It’s cinematic, larger than all of us. Add in her saxophone wails, and it becomes clear we’re all f*ed: Or, as Matthewson puts it on set opener: “This untasteful place, Something is broken, Something is f*ed.”

And yet, somehow, KEN Mode aren’t hopeless.

Rather, their show is cathartic, a group guttural scream that leaves you feeling less alone than when you got your hand stamped at the entrance. The collective breathe out that things aren’t exactly going great feels like a sense of group therapy for a country with collapsing healthcare. Sure, sometimes the world is overwhelming, but you’re never alone.

There was a moment, right in the middle of “Blessed,” when this felt most tangible. It was the heaviest moment of the whole evening, figuratively and literally, as the Jesse Mathewson’s guitar was replaced with a second bass. Kerr’s saxophone swirled and cut through the deep chaos, blast beats took control of our own heart’s rhythms. Not even John Coltrane himself could have envisioned this use of a saxophone.

At the crescendo, as Jesse Matthewson sarcastically informs us — with raspy throat and furious eyes — that we are, in fact, “Blessed,” you couldn’t help but feel that if KEN Mode can endure for 25 years, maybe we’ll be alright after all. Or least go down screaming, kicking and fighting.

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