THE BRAVEST MAN IN METAL: THE KEN MODE TOUR EDITION – PART II
Friday, June 24th, 2011 at 4:20pm by Kevin Stewart-PankoCan I make one thing clear? The debut Bravest Man in Metal column wasn’t designed to be provocative. Nor was it designed to make fun or denigrate those of you who enjoy the mind, body, personality and sexual function altering properties of alcohol. That came more from the title that Ol’ Neilstein saddled said entry with. Granted, coming on to the internet to not rip on people for who they are, what they do, the choices they make and the music they listen to is like breathing to most people, but not something I like to spend my time engaging in. “Fuck, dumb ass, why even log on to the ‘net then? Dumb ass!” I hear a number of you ask. Good question! But my little corner here isn’t designed to point fingers or rip on anyone but myself and my like-minded friends so as to possibly display to the prejudicial part of the world that still believes metal is all about blood, guts, lawnmower decapitations and listening to records backwards that metal isn’t about blood, guts, lawnmower decapitations and listening to records backwards (well, not entirely, anyway) via my own nerdish and geeky proclivities. And those of KEN Mode, the Winnipeg noise rock/metal band I roadied and slung merch for on a recent North American tour.
If you read the first instalment, you’re already aware that the amount of drinking on this tour clocked in at a humiliating low. This should be an indicative hint that the amount of drug use was even less. Actually, it was nil. I don’t know about the circles you roll in, but I don’t really think any of my drug-addicted friends aren’t drinkers. One kind of goes with the other, like a doctor’s office and waiting or public figures getting caught in “sex scandals” and denial. But this pairing of myself and KEN Mode was a boring dude’s match made in heaven. In fact, one of the first questions I was asked by the band’s members upon hauling myself into their van the first morning of my tour tenure was if I wished to partake in a wolfing down ritual of a couple gummi vitamins and vitamin C tablets. Granted, getting sick on tour is a recipe for being sick for a long, long time and one should take whatever measures possible to avoid illness, but group morning vitamin chugging in the parking lot of a rainy suburban Buffalo, NY motel doesn’t exactly scream metal the last time I checked. Not only that, but even after having only first met me about 12 hours earlier, the band were genuinely expressing concern about my decision to scarf a day-old muffin and donut. Caring for your fellow man, having empathy and compassion? What the fuck?






