Since I'm becoming increasingly aware that our former bricks and mortar distribution networks have dried up; notably with Lumberjack going tits up this past summer, KEN mode's material is getting harder and harder to find.

In the spirit of the impending holiday season (whichever holiday you may be celebrating, or not celebrating), we've made up a sampler of songs from our last two records that we're making available on our main page. Click the button stating "Holiday KEN mode free sampler download".
If you are so inclined, you can subsequently purchase a CD, LP, 7", t-shirt or hoodie from our webstore.

If you like what you hear, pass the link on. We're finally going to be getting out of our stuffy office jobs next year and hitting the road, so it's time to spread the word!

-Jesse

Myspace has replaced our songs "the Hammer Party", "Seul" and "Greeting Bedlam" to our page today. For this, I am thankful, though the root of the problem still bothers me and I question how many other bands have received the same treatment as us that merely haven't noticed it yet. I have noted that several bands on the Escape Artist Records roster still have their songs pulled from their profile, and the connection leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

A big thanks go out to the people at Exclaim! magazine for helping us out a lot and harassing both Myspace and WMG about this controversay.

Last night I posted a blog that Myspace has subsequently removed. Myspace removed three of our songs earlier this week, citing that Warner Music Group owns the copyright, which is blatantly untrue. I have attempted to dispute this case utilizing the dispute form that they provide, but it crashes every time I submit it (which I have tried around 25 times over the past several days). I have sent several emails to myspace drawing attention to both their faulty dispute form and the fact that this is an incorrect assessment of copyright infringement as KEN mode owns all copyrights to its songs and recordings. Thus far all communications have been ignored, and the last straw being the deleting of my last blog post.
I would just like to bring this to the attention of everyone out there willing to read that Warner Music Group is attempting to keep independent artists from being able to sell their music, and myspace is facilitating this, the latest example being blatant censorship of its members.

Myspace is checking up on us enough to delete my blog posts, but can't follow up on my copyright dispute. Thanks myspace.

By bassist Chad Tremblay.

There's been a request, so here they be.
These are the lyrics to KEN mode's three full lengths.

MENNONITE

Extending Common Courtesy Throughout The Evening

Don't worry about me, I'll be just fine. Continue the seduction, as we're running short on time.  Or is this just the beginning of your systematic accord?  A penchant for twisted luck, with a hum in my vocal chords. I'll raise my glass to vanity and all its subtle delights in this dwindling hour, as the audience is spent and setting their clocks to waking arms.
Hold that thought as I'll be with you in the morn'. Seize the day, but lose the girl; working this curse to the bone.
Never forget what you live for.

The Pioneer

This is unsettling, and this is real. Seated; partially arched, lower back a flutter of dull discomfort, neck slightly forward, fingers to keys. Is this hunger or anxiety? Sifting through receipts...there is a full realization of the sacrifice at hand. Was this what you pictured? This homicidal security, dripping with the blood of your once proud character. Growing up truly is selling out, and I'm not there yet.

I Send My Regards To the Colonel

The jack of all trades. This is lust; and this is good. You've raised a prize fighter, a risk taker. 
They call me the million dollar species. Brought back there through their faces: insincere smiles and baited laughter; surrounding us like vultures waiting for that last leg to give. Your point is driven home with force.  They want me to move mountains in a little red wagon; squeeze blood from a stone. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. How can I thank you? I cannot thank you enough for this. Smile for me?

The Romanticist

When you've got that beat in your head and you can't stop
can't stop
can't stop.
Rolling: hot, sweating, absent to all but one, and fixated beyond all comprehension.
This is it and you're all that exists;
and you feel it too.  This magnitude: more than mere attraction, but an epitome of passion - that words are incapable of describing and unhinges your very essence.
And we'll bask in its intense rays 'til waking hours when
I'll meet you on the other side of bliss;
hoping that we'll never awaken from this
insanity. It's our shared catharsis.

Frye

Feed me this massive impact. I've got my hat on, my shoes tied tight; I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I'll wager my shins beat your fists; but that's not the battle you had in mind, was it?
Either way, I'm not impressed, and I don't play to lose. My guard is down; eyes focused; stance strong. Oh was it worth it?  Maybe not, but I'll go down swinging as hard as I can.

Summary of Comfort

Once again recycling our muffled foray. Terse to a fault, and carelessly wavering on that fine line where hallucination becomes reality through relentless obsession. Believe the hype. Believe what you felt. Turn the clock sideways and frolic in this inhibition; just don't doubt its rare nature.
You've lost your way and I'm left hoping that you'll come back, through this calloused door shut; an icy burn. A poor hand dealt under unchosen circumstance.
Within the struggle lies. Like grinding gears and insect flesh; imagery devoid of light. This is where I am lost without you. I know I'll never be the same again.

The Dear John Letter Crew

I'm unloading, and I'm bored as hell.
We've been travelling westward for several days and we've hit that place where your mind flies free through all insecurities and false hopes.
This heat just keeps on burning. Oh my brothers, do you feel this curse? That one that takes us all?
This lost cause can’t be dropped that simply; my guard's been down and I’m on my knees. I’m feeling naked, lately and I am in pain: wait till they get a load of me; nothing earned, nothing gained.
But we'll continue to pour sweat into what we believe, and take them all by force. This is uncertain, but at least it's rooted in reality.

Messenger Of Teeth

Struggling to remain stimulating.
Struggling to maintain any kind of focus whatsoever.
Struggling just to stay awake.
Struggling to stay away.
Let me wander; it happens daily, though done so in the absence of pain, more-so flickering glimpses of emptiness and contempt. Perhaps this piece is the last door to close;  last muttered words, and last sequenced breaths; as for all intents and purposes you no longer exist. But neither does the man you once knew.
And I'm done.
This place no longer offers any solace, so this time we're passed due; picking up the pieces, pushing onward, it's time to start anew.

The Goat.

Staring out over the vast melting; a new season is emerging. 
None of it means anything to me without you. Days filled with nothingness; I hate this place and it consumes me every day.
Isn't this supposed to get easier? Something is just not right: do you feel it too? 
I tried to make actions speak louder than words; but you weren't listening.
I truly believed that we were meant to be.
I can't believe the anger and hostility that you have been directing towards me; projections, assumptions; conclusive extremes. I'm hurting; and worse than I've ever hurt before. You've become so cold and uncaring.
Stop trying to make me hate you; for you'd never feel a more intense nor pure hatred for the rest of your life, and it's just not in me right now...
That searing pain tearing through my guts; this dull ache rippling through my head. You've turned me into a lame cliché. Thank you. I’m lying trembling on the floor.

REPRISAL

The Hammer Party

How many of you are wasting your time? Self-gratification becomes the norm, with a total disregard for taste. My problem lies within this concept. A fundamental lack of respect exists and is far too apparent.  A lack of control; of tact; of class.  This is the issue I’d like to address; and ram down your fucking throat.  People volunteering for enemy positions on a halo effect. Let ignorance be your guide straight to living hell my friend.  Claiming democratic process is an insult to the history of such a concept; a selfish cop-out, pinning down another scapegoat.  Just pray to your god that the tables don’t turn. When the power’s in these hands we won’t even attempt to disguise the slap in the face coming your way the way you have time and time again to us. Like a hammer smashed cliché. Don’t instigate a preview. When I lose control; what will be left of your date-raped fantasy?

Proditio

You’ve become so neutered and weak. Apathy can be a two way street; once yours, now belongs to me.  Though it would be unfair to dismiss this as such; as this tastes much more like spite to me.  You cut the rope and watched the boat drift away.
This is a dark place.  The air is stale, everything aches and sentiments are set to the quintessence of contempt.  Perhaps these walls have transformed themselves into the very prison that they used to contest; from sanctuary to death row cell.  Our allies vanished: weakened and fallen; the horizon stained grey by their ash and the rules of the battle we are not able to see. Proditio.

The Musk Ox

Sometimes it's interesting to observe the etiology of certain human behaviors.  Envy; desire; pride; shame; and depression. Cause and effect; one giant search for approval that seems to always fall short.  Become, then deconstruct.  You can't put a discount price tag on history and expect a connection; and I won’t hand it over to you on a silver platter.  This is a rather meaningless rental of an expired life phase, taking for granted all that creates foundation.  The road to hell is paved with good intentions.  Inevitable failure and withdrawal, welcome a new crutch. It has happened before, it will happen again.  This hide is thick and will see another day.  Withstanding the test of time is the only statement necessary. Many a face will change, but the musk ox will remain.  Overstatements become reality.  Lifecycles haven’t the depth they once held; lost dried up wells. Trends and fads fade and die breathing life to the new; a sad cycle refurbished by innovators and consumed by the easily persuaded. 
Ninety thousand years with only humanity to blame.

I Simply Am Not There

Taste is something that’s, more often than not, taken for granted; but not by me. Dressed to the nines and ready to roll, with the creativity and overwhelming drive to bury your aspiration-less life. I’m looking down on you; don’t forget: I’m watching you and judging.  You’re convinced I think I’m better than you, well you’re wrong; I know I am.
Nothing sells love like a mace.  These tin snips will solve my problems; it’s the perfect setup for the perfect coward.  You were so busy vilifying me as a self-assurance; you never saw it coming, now it’s too late. Coward, you’ll know my face, as it’s the last you’ll ever see.

Seul

She came in a dream. She’d be the answer to all of my problems. She loves him, and I need her.  It illuminates the way people phase out in the same fashion as they always have. We’ll use you when we need you, like that old mini-van left running; aiming south.  The past catches up with the present and I’ll watch both walk off into the night; crisp flakes covering the ground in their wake.  It’s almost as if a scarlet letter has been etched in my flesh. Five and a half years to rot. Five and a half years to realize this place is dead. Five and a half years: worthless. 
The skies remain held in dismal grey hues, providing visual homage to the squeezing pressure within my skull.  Everything works together this time. Working at sending a message: you will lose.
I’ll take this mysterious presence as a sign of hope amongst the crumbling walls of security. I’ll take your hand. We’ll forget this place. We’ll never turn back.
“No matter how cynical you become, it is never enough to keep up”- Lilly Tomlin

Looks Like A Failure

There are times when that stimulus just isn’t there. This is one of them. This information just isn’t getting through this troubled smokescreen.  Trivialize what I have accomplished to rationalize your shortcomings.  Disregard dedication and desire and explain it with shallow rhetoric.  You call self-actualization your explanation.  Take a look at yourself.  Using dogma to suppress the overwhelming realization of the inevitable consequences of your actions.  Try to take me down a notch.  Make me petty.  Create the “illusion” that you have me beaten; that I am weak.
What face will you put on in a few months? When this one is tired and bled?
Too many experiments I wish I never took part in. Continually creating monsters that must be quarantined. I’ll turn my back this time.  Looks like a failure from the start. I’m just too tired to deal with it anymore. Totally consumed by this overwhelming exhaustion. Looks like a failure.

Lethe

Now we have entered a game of deception. Bones blackened and charred. Never underestimate the desperate nature of a broken man.  This storm is nature's release, containing the ultimate insult of character, with lacerations running much deeper than the skin.  And that image is burnt into my brain consuming an entire unconscious world.  You’ve proved your worth.  Entire seasons have collapsed and I thought that you had learned.  But I can’t be fooled this time around because I know who I am and what I want. From the inside out; building on psychological scar tissue.  It comes when you least expect it, a glimpse of weakness in the eyes and our target is set: curled up by the phone.  All that is heard is the breaking of glass and tearing of flesh from within. Sycophantic pied piper of trusting fools. The weak are not accepted here. Fingers out-stretched, a mild quiver, turning relentlessly in the silence waiting for a sign. You couldn’t understand.   I’m finished with these subtle sentimental plans.  It wasn’t worth it from the start.  I’m free. I’m free.
You're dead to me. Lethe.

Capricorn

You move with such elegant authority; with the kind of power that could end wars and crush the most driven of egos.  From a sea of a thousand faces, your eyes shined through with such beauty and charisma.  Attitude, intrigue; desire.  I am powerless in approach.  This time, on a whim, a lone flare fired off that ledge into evident purgatory, assumed lost, but returned with playful curiosity. I’d never be the same again.
These words have struggled to reach the surface; as their previous purpose was spitefully driven: the sole existence bent retribution.  This frustration melted away with a tingling of my nerves; straight down my spine. Living for that smile; those piercing eyes.
When just the thought of being next to you separates the clouds and gives colour to this world.
There’s nothing like this; nothing like you.

Hibernation Has Never Been A Better Option

Strobe-like attention spans being bought and sold to the biggest investor and the brightest flash in the pan.  Pre-packaged for a premature burial. Follow me to the market, merely open your eyes.  Innocent contortionist; proprietor of the moment, take your fifteen minutes in the spotlight, with full realization of its limited duration.  Bleed me like spilt coffee with a pen in hand and a twitch in the eye.  Boredom brings some awful lows; a nauseating cliché.  That sex driven back beat fills the morning air, breathing life into a season with such characteristic low humidity and morale. Trolling for spies and false pride. That bronzed stare peers through all department store illusions; a view of unbearable pain secured just beneath the surface.  Oh baby please believe me, I’ve got the scars to prove it.  We’ve become a trademark of such repeated reluctance to read between the lines.

MONGREL

Words Not To Say To The Queen

Fattening the wind, and sleek self-fulfilled punishment takes hold. Tagged for the day, as accomplishments become unbearable tasks. What kind of torture have you lain out for me, oh deepest of desires? I am beckoning at your door, following the augmented mist in dire concentration. Create me an enemy who lies beyond the mirror. An external motive who suits such spite, building strength rather than this internalized decay. Put me on the edge of my toes, reflex being more than apparent, and consume this threat of character. Putting word count on hold. How reassuring that the panic comes from within; fluttering, choking, racing through time, with fluctuations dimming perceptions. A fitting approach for a coward. Emphasis always seems to be lost on cause, and I’ve lost the energy to take initiative this time. Sometimes it’s nothing more than a clean shirt and a familiar pair of shoes. It always seems like a blind search. It’s frustrating seeing some cope so well, while I stumble and slip. You can call it “soul” searching, if it suits you. And here I’m perched; stagnant shades of blue and beige, speakers, lost souls; white noise. Living on borrowed time.

Tent Caterpillar

It's a constant humanity overhaul. Clear cut, and cut to fit. Wild cries of purity deafened and drowned out by the bellows of domestication: control. Steady flowing lights pouring through the night sky, running down the drifters of this "empty darkness". Urbanization and industrial manipulation, bleeding the sphere of its life creating pride, bleeding it of life. Imagine redemption....Covering its surroundings like nets; a blanket of life. Consuming what we take for granted....Yeah if only that were true. But the cocoons haven't changed a thing, nor will this arthropod. We'd all like to believe that it takes only one solution to solve the problem. But the truth is dedication and work. I guess naturalism has become passe.

Greeting Bedlam

It never started with flow, a conscience, or inspiration. Only minds poised on the goal of infiltration. The point of excursion forgotten not far from the beginning, but the witch-hunt proceeds. Time and time again, searched out and eliminated with no foresight on consequence, “the now” encompasses all perceptions and focus is set on the fake leaves. Guard cells of plastic and nylon. A total lack of foundation. Always the critic aren’t you? Each team as guilty as the next; while the point is constantly being missed. I must admit, I enjoy the fabrication, you'd think we're all reinforced by inorganic supports from time to time. The plastic ones. Merit less in a forum dependent on stature. All swollen with pride. Fading with the next vision (with age), and a vested interest that’s pre-approved. Their rightful place; no marks on the walls; no influence; nothing lost nothing gained. But they’ve paved the way for the next generation of fake leaves.

Brainstem Pitch Fork

The story about one man, the lost man. Swaying from ideologies and niche. Enjoying her company, yet wanting more. These are the things that handicaps are made of. I saw his embryo in the moon and it has come, just a year too late. The cycles are over like a sleek blade in the sharps. I’ve no need for simplicity or banal ubiquity. Others may need an interpreter, I prefer to face the game alone. Full of confusion, but it’s self defined truth. Without realization there is nothing, just pull the wool back over your eyes. Ignorance is bliss. So is innocence. Life forces us to lose one. We have to force ourselves to lose the other. Brainstem pitch fork. Sequence spreads, now malignant. Deeply embedded branded neurotransmission. Eyes tell the tale, light years beyond. Fearing to be prey, it’s our final day.

When the Car Crashes

Cleb footed monarchy, latch your teeth to the rines. Forcibly plastooned, big dog makes thin ice. Rines for grape gravy, a sealed fate. Washing the weight of the ruins proves lumbered. I held you to it. Those words you spoke. Sliding, weak, enhanced in beauty. Feed me spiders, deserting misdemeanour. Lost old rules, children please.

Matlock

It's a psychological lash-back this time blaming sex. It's not your fault, but inevitably you will pay for the mental obstacle course of adolescence. Subject to subject, you will be used and discarded. Empathy is for the weak. You'll wait and let it destroy you, never realizing your insignificant roll in this most eloquent scope of narcissistic grandeur. Warrior of the broken hearted, taking redemption past its boundaries, entering the realm of the obscene. You spent that last breath on something never said. That situation left for dead. Breaking their will isn't hard. Neither is leaving them dead inside. Feel lucky, it isn't everyday someone is born a god. I feel lucky, because I found I am my own god. You belong to me my dear.

Bite the Wax Tadpole

It’s the same idea being recycled, strange how it always returns to square one. Sitting there, so innocently. You can almost reach out, but hold back. Kicking yourself in the aftermath. Clenched tight, with wandering eyes. A poet’s soul, while lacking central theme and concentration lay shattered on the floor. But I remain. Footsteps deep inside, while attractive eyes dart about once every so often. Holding the moment when text becomes reality and all else is relative. Grinding, twisting echoes, like pins to the senses sparking telepathic conversations leading a new feedback forward. And I remain. A familiar face set to a different tone. With clearness that speaks a beautiful story demanding to be read. But my lack of words holds me back. The situation breeds the opposition. We remain. Readiness hits the fan as ideas spark confusion, and assertiveness only serves as aggravation. The clock sets the stage. The piano plays on. Separate, we move on.

Supposed Sexual Frustration

This is a case of lack of reactivity. Misinterpretation of actions, something is missing in the sequence and so difficult to focus on the cause. Viewing successful behaviour and dismissing it as brutish, immature, petty. But successful. Suppressed frustration. It's one long run of the blaming game. Based on insecurity? Lack of identity? Need for poetic masterpiece? Need for release. Cautious to a fault, while actions go unnoticed due to different perspectives of the game. A lack of knowledge of the rules, or rebellion against them. This rebellion is faced alone; in dark tranquillity. Separation of mind from body. Culture from mind. Digging deeper but coming up short. Falling to convenience and familiarity. It's bearable, a relatively painless repetition. I like to think that I don't care. It's harder than it seems. Resist temptation. The cycle begins again. Where did we go wrong? Where did "we" go?

Likeliness is Against You

Completely devoid of colour, she peers down upon us. Winds rise and fall; with human voices as leaves….chattering and falling, piling like corpses. Searching for answers to questions you can't even define. Observation proves to be both a gift and a curse. Filled with a sense of confusion, an empty feeling in the pit of your stomach. This void has no satisfaction, and it reminds me of this fact every night. They make me sick. And the pain of it refuses to cease. Nothing is ever done. Picking life apart before it can be lived. Each situation dissected and dismissed. Left cold and redundant, trapped within this self-propelled cycle; motivated by fear. And likeliness is against you.

www.nicholasjfriesen.blogspot.com

Check it out.
The video will surface soon - prior to the tour in a month.
It's for 'Extending Common Courtesy Throughout The Evening' on Mennonite.

Hey, we're touring Canada again with a couple crushing bands!

July 3 , 2009 - Winnipeg, MB @ the Royal Albert (48 Albert St.) - w/Buried Inside

July 4 , 2009 - Saskatoon, SK @ Maguires (32-2105 8th Street East) - w/Buried Inside

July 5 , 2009 - Edmonton, AB @ The Hydeaway (10209 - 100th Ave) - w/Buried Inside

July 7 , 2009 - Vancouver, BC @ The Cobalt (917 Main St.) - w/Buried Inside, Mudlark

July 8 , 2009 - Kamloops, BC @ TBA - w/Buried Inside

July 9 , 2009 - Kelowna, BC @ Kelowna Club - w/Buried Inside

July 10 , 2009 - Calgary, AB @ The Stetson (10002 Macleod Trail S) - w/Buried Inside

July 11 , 2009 - Calgary, AB @ The New Black Centre (#200, 919 9th Ave SE) - TrebuFest w/Buried Inside & more

July 12 , 2009 - Regina, SK @ TBA - w/Buried Inside

July 13 , 2009 - Brandon, MB @ North Hill Inn (1129 Braecrest Dr) - w/Buried Inside

July 16 , 2009 - Mississauga, ON @ Marcello's - w/Vilipend, Akroid, the Love & Terror Cult

July 17 , 2009 - Toronto, ON @ Sneaky Dee's - w/Vilipend, Akroid

July 18 , 2009 - Ottawa, ON @ TBA - w/Vilipend, Akroid

July 19 , 2009 - Montreal, QC @ Sneaky Dee's - w/Vilipend, Akroid

July 20 , 2009 - Hamilton, ON @ Casbah - w/Vilipend, Akroid

July 21 , 2009 - London, ON @ Call the Office - w/Vilipend, Akroid

2010: there'll be much more extensive touring once our new record is finished. We're demoing some new tracks this weekend, and I'll post one once it's all mixed.

Check out our webstore @ ken-mode.com for new t-shirt designs and a brand new zip-hoodie.
To couple with some new merch, we put up a new song from our latest full length titled 'Frye'.

We're also
in discussions with a few people in regards to a full Canadian tour in
the summer. More details to come once things actually move beyond the
talking phase.

Additionally we anticipate finishing the writing of our 4th full length record, 'Venerable', sometime this year - with big things in the works to follow; so stay tuned.

http://www.exclaim.ca/musicreviews/generalreview.aspx?csid2=846&fid1=34908&csid1=128