Melodic, experimental, euphoric, sometimes beautifully sweet, sometimes
sarcastic and harsh; is that a good way to describe the music of a band so
criminally deserving to be heard? Dominated by Julian Swales' chiming,
swirling, echoing, perfect guitars and Patrick Fitzgerald's bold, secure,
dynamic, life-revealing voice, every Kitchens of Distinction album is a tour
de force of sonically superior, emotionally cleansing musical bliss. The
Death of Cool is merely one piece of the puzzle; it might be the band's
most subtle, or at least their most mature, release. The band's previous
album, the classic Strange Free World, while monumentally charming,
doesn't hint at the breadth of feeling found on The Death of
Cool. As essential as My Bloody Valentine's Loveless for sheer
guitar-wailing bliss, Pale Saints' In Ribbons (what, you didn't know
that one was essential?) for art-pop sheen (The Death of Cool and
In Ribbons were both produced by shimmering-sound genius Hugh Jones),
and Joy Division's Unknown Pleasures for synthesis of sound and
emotion, The Death of Cool couldn't be any more rewarding.
It's hard to describe the The Death of Cool's charms without
resorting to waves of hyperbolic adjectives (see above), if only because the songs are
so over-the-top in their ability to reveal life's little epiphanies and
uncertainties. The sound is aggressive and jagged, thanks to loads of
feedback and Fitzgerald's up-front vocals, while the band and Hugh Jones
exert one of the firmest grips on the power of hooks and melodies seen on
any album of the '90s. The phrase wall of sound should have been
invented for Kitchens of Distinction. They encompass all the finest
qualities, but none of the pitfalls, of the shoegazer genre, while
completely transcending the bounds of any and all genres. There's a touch of
psychedelia and hints of glam, but there's not an ounce of tackiness in
sight, and the band never gets overly dreamy or precious. It's a sound
that's entirely the band's own; no band before or after even comes close to
the mix of feedback and melody that Kitchens of Distinction effortlessly
mastered. Passionate lyrics, more poetic than any poetry of the time,
describe moments and movements in life of joy ("When In Heaven"),
uncertainty ("What Happens Now?"), the sadness of living in a judgmental
world ("4 Men"), love ("Smiling") and raw emotion ("Gone World Gone").
How is it that Kitchens of Distinction accomplish so much with a style
that would be the downfall of any other band? For one thing, they have no
fear of traditional song structures. There are no moments when guitars
meander simply for the sake of a dreamy sound. Each song has a distinct
destination, and the arrangements are breathtaking. Every
music lover knows songs that are borderline genius: everything's going along
just fine, and it seems a band is about to reach some high peak of emotional
release, but then the band wimps out and resorts back to a goofy chorus,
scared to express too much personality. There's no such dilemma with
Kitchens' frontman Patrick Fitzgerald's lyrics or vocal delivery. Like a
folk troubadour ecstatically high on pop narcotics, he delves ever deeper
into his personal life with brittle yet soaring aplomb. When songs get to
their breaking point, he and his bandmates (Swales and drummer/percussionist
Dan Goodwin) go many steps further, introducing new melodies and deeper
levels of expression.
The band's ability to develop songs beyond other bands' scope is in
clearest view during "4 Men", "Breathing Fear", "Gone World Gone", "When in
Heaven" and "Smiling." To begin with, all of these songs are compelling
enough in their dynamics alone. If Fitzgerald wasn't one of the best modern
vocalists, the music alone -- a moody, dynamic beast -- would be a treat. The
opening song, "What Happens Now?", proves the point. This tune would be completely at
home on Strange Free World, as guitar sounds echo and shift madly
through a pretty sonic landscape. It's an accomplished, amazing sound,
worthy of best of status from a million other bands, but it only
hints at Kitchens of Distinction's power. It's more of a mood-setter here,
an interlude or introduction to the greatness about to unfold. It's Patrick
Fitzgerald's open heart and lack of inhibition that makes the album a
classic.
"4 Men" begins seemingly in mid-song, under a wash of guitars and a bit of
humming harmony. Fitzgerald's voice comes in like a jet; it's one of the
fastest-paced songs in the band's discography. The lyrics detail "lust and
strength" as Fitzgerald sings about an intense crush and the ridicule of
rejection. When he sings "'I want you and I need you' but I haven't got the
fattest chance in hell," he's emptying his heart for the world to see. It's
remarkably honest, and it's made all the more fascinating by the pure
driving force of the dynamic, weeping guitars, Fitzgerald's gentle bass and
Goodwin's assured drums and percussion. Hugh Jones' hands wave magic dust
over the songs as if he's been inspired by the ghost of a more stable Martin
Hannett. "Breathing Fear" is equally accomplished, and it sees Fitzgerald
expressing a more sarcastic side of his personality. Where "4 Men" is
world-weary and sad, "Breathing Fear" is optimistically unhappy.
Production-wise, the song comes on like a fierce fire. Fitzgerald's vocals
are at once sweet and growling. Piercing guitar sounds peek around corners
after descending through the clouds of heaven, and a stable of bass and
drums shuffles dramatically. It's an energetic, pleasant rush, while still
maintaining a sense of intense artistic expression; if a song could be
framed like a painting, "Breathing Fear" would be a deserving track for the
world's finest museum.
"When In Heaven" is the band's ode to joy. Under a screaming,
bombastic sprint of symphonic guitar and drum sounds, Fitzgerald sings about
Marilyn Monroe waking up in heaven. The lyrics are abstract, but they take
on beautiful meaning; "float up to heaven's gate/Wearing danger
smiles/She'll meet with the stars, they'll break down doors/Those shining
pearls float off in space/I'm raving beautifully." Fitzgerald sings that
he'll complain to "this god... 'Why this tiny trick?'" Never has a song
about heaven been more heavenly and endearing. "Smiling" operates at
an even faster pace, with guitars jangling more than wailing. The lyrics are
a bittersweet ode to getting drunk, watching the stars, getting high, and a
failed existence, made sadly touching and uplifting by a chorus of "hold me,
hold me hard, hold me, hold me harder/Stop me thinking about myself/Stop me
hoping for more than I am."
"Gone World Gone" is one of the most emotionally stark songs ever written
and recorded. It's perhaps the best example of the band's ability to take
songs to places other bands can only dream about. The song is an
eight-minute journey into Patrick Fitzgerald's soul. For two and a half
minutes, it percolates and gestates under noir-ish drums, bass and acoustic
guitar... as Fitzgerald delicately spews murky abstraction about nuzzling
animals, "sleep within sleep," and "breath on (his) breath." Suddenly and
perfectly, a wash of guitars sweep-in and Fitzgerald delivers one of the
most harrowing passages in modern music, "Gone, world, gone/When we wake in
all our red rooms/next to pillows that scream 'alone'/and we're shaking
uncompleted/aching for this creeping sleep on which to ride away." The song
continues with similar, alternating passages of intense quiet and storm,
becoming a near-living entity of emotional revelation. "Gone World Gone" is
riveting in its expression of life's inescapable sadness, in much the same
way as Joy Division's "Love Will Tear Us Apart."
So why didn't The Death of Cool find a larger audience, and why
did the band fold after releasing their next album, Cowboys and Aliens,
and one final 7" single? For starters, blame the sad state of popular radio and
MTV. Some people might remember seeing a video for "When In Heaven" on MTV's
"120 Minutes" when the album was released... it probably aired only one or
two times. It seems Kitchens of Distinction weren't a big thing to MTV; they
choose instead to play the same damn Nirvana blather repeatedly; that is,
when they weren't playing The Real World. What's more rewarding: the
finest band of an era with an ability to express emotion like nobody else
under an extremely rewarding sonic attack, or a group of late-teen
opportunists living in a $2 million loft arguing over who's a racist and
who's the biggest idiot? It's doesn't seem like a difficult question to
answer, does it? It's really quite appalling, as it's nearly
impossible to find one person who hasn't been completely endeared to the
band upon first listen. This means Kitchens of Distinction (now defunct) are
a band whose back catalog is talked about in hushed tones and whose charms
are passed along via word of mouth. It should be noted that Patrick
Fitzgerald and Julian Swales went on to release an excellent, and even more
overlooked album, Hark At Her, under the moniker Fruit, and they're
now working together on Fitzgerald's "solo project" Stephen Hero.
The Death of Cool is joyous. It's art. It's some of the best music
ever recorded. If the album were any more essential, it would magically
insert itself into your record collection. Since that's not possible, as of
the time of this writing, every music lover who enjoys genius, emotional
songs and a melodic wall of sound, needs to dig deeper into Kitchens of
Distinction's discography. Start with The Death of Cool and revel
knowing that the band is a singular treat to be passed on to one's finest
friends.
-- Tim DiGravina
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