At the beginning of last year these four civil white t-shirted kids came to our attention, spilling out of their native Bolton and into the provinces with a self-financed mini album called ‘Worship Yourself’, using the visceral power of The Pixies as kindling and the acidic lyrical nous of early vital Manics as their fuel. Then they struck a match. They were young, naïve and a little timid, but dissatisfied, determined and beyond their years in influence, intellect and political awareness. And fires did start licking up around them. The disappointment at this point, now label-mates of Travis for this full length debut, is that they’ve not ended up the last rebels standing amongst the smouldering remains. But maybe in today’s social climate they over-presumed the potential response to the educated suggestions of their songs. Given the potential of those early encounters it’s a little disappointing that their premise stays unaltered.
So perhaps Kinesis are not to blame. That they appear as no more than another mosh-pit opportunity to many despite their politest efforts (friendly fire, if you will) is unfortunate, as a glance down the track-listing – ‘Bloodstained Lips’, ‘Average American Corpse’ and significantly ‘A Generation Devoid Of Inspiration’ – proves they’ve not retreated one bloody inch. That they’ve sandpapered the rough and tailored their sound to the MTV Foo generation is possibly a shrewd move that will deliver it to the masses. And the masses do house those that really need to hear this. It’s the old bringing-the-system-down-from-the-inside tactic, eh? In which case the nu-metal-lite production can maybe be forgiven. A bit.
While previous single ‘…And They Obey’ has benefited from re-recording on a course of production steroids, the likes of ‘Conveyor Belt Destruction’ just sound like Lost Prophets out of their bubble wrap. And ‘Billboard Beauty’ and ‘Civilised Fury’ musically have too strong a hint of Feeder to seem at all revolutionary, never mind clued-up and proactive. All this convergence only really serves to dull the impression that there’s an iron will beneath the unremarkable exterior. ‘Everything Destroys Itself’ and ‘This Dead End’ blister caustically enough though, the latter sounding like Muse just fell out of their Wonderland, hinting that they can fight their corner if need be. And their night is still young. The wind could pick up, there could yet be flames and cleansing. But then there might not be. For them to remain nearly-men would be an utter waste.