Kitchen’s Floor
Battle of Brisbane [LP; Bruit Direct Disques]

I don’t think I’ve ever been as angry at society as I am now. I often crawled in misanthropy without fully understanding its impact in my youth. It was misplaced anger that should have been reserved for a select few. However, it seems stupidity is spreading among all of us. It’s a seed that has turned into a intervening vine, entangled in every aspect of life. It goes beyond political leanings and proper human discourse. It is not the fault of social media and helicopter parenting. We’ve just failed each other as a society. We took what we wanted and let others try to fight for the scraps. It’s a battle fought in the macro and micro of society, with Kitchen’s Floor clearing taking aim at their backyard of Brisbane. Battle of Brisbane will feel comfortable to anyone who came of age in the late 80’s and early 90’s. The edges are torn, the band’s nerves worn. Everything picks at the scab of society until it bleeds foolishness. Battle of Brisbane is a brand of angst that isn’t annoying but annoyed at inaction. But how do you fight back against it with all of us caught up in Twitter followers, Michelin Stars, camera apps and personal causes? Everyone, not just me, has crawled in the anti-human niche. We have those few we trust and respect, and scoff at the rest. Kitchen’s Floor isn’t spouting hate or anger, but rather asking what can we do when everyone is in their bubble. It’s encapsulated in the sloppy bar singalong “Down,” where the wine has done its job, so Matt Kennedy no longer has to face the indifference he —and everyone else — dares not stare at, choosing to keep eyes toward the ground. While all the best protest music has fallen to hip-hop artists far more capable at calling out injustice for the young, it’s nice to have one last gasp of vitriol from those who are living in it and have chosen not to view rock and roll as escapism rather than the vehicle of the fringe. Kitchen’s Floor — and those of us in sympathetic corners — may not be able to turn the tide of society as quickly as we’d care to, but maybe we can reclaim “rock and roll” as something more than just a tool to promote misogyny, wealth and leather.


Cerberus seeks to document the spate of home recorders and backyard labels pressing limited-run LPs, 7-inches, cassettes, and objet d’art with unique packaging and unknown sound. We love everything about the overlooked or unappreciated. If you feel you fit such a category, email us here.

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