Some emotions are easy to put your finger on. That girl at work you've had your eye on agrees to get a beer with you, you're happy. That same girl, after seeing you regularly for a few months, decides she's not attracted to you and tells you so, you're sad. You find out this girl, the one you saw for a while there, was lying to you and actually found someone new but didn't have the guts to tell you, you're angry. You wake up the morning after hearing this terrible news in a dried pool of your own vomit, with a CD by hair farmers Junkyard blaring on repeat, you feel disgust, wondering how in the hell Brian Baker used to be in Minor Threat. We've all been there.
Then there are the moments where a few different feelings tug at you simultaneously, and you feel uncertain and confused. This discordant state is at the heart of these Kepler songs. Ottawa's slowcore maestros, who opened for Godspeed You Black Emperor! on a European tour earlier this year, find that kernel of doubt in the happy moment and the edge of comfort in sadness, and blow the swirling mess up to billboard size. These songs are brimming with such internal conflict.
"Let Us Rest as Mutes" has the kind of songwriting focus I'm talking about. It's a weary plea for sleep addressed to the girl at the narrator's side, begging her not to pay attention to his bitchy quips: "Darling, I implore you to ignore my foolish taunts," he sings. "The words I speak are nothing but decoration for my wrongs." Anyone who's ever launched into a stupid fight at 1:00am can relate to the closing line, "Tonight I'm begging, baby, let us rest as fucking mutes for one last time." The very spare and Low-like "A Workhorse," is another lament for rest, with nuggets of surreal detail like, "Walking up my street, I catch the 22-hour nightspot on siesta: waitresses asleep on tables and floors."
On Missionless Days, Kepler sounds paradoxically both more careful and more confident. The melodies and arrangements are meticulously constructed, with instrumental touches like piano and organ now fully integrated into the two-guitar/bass/drum sound-- yet they never sound fussy, and the songs seem to fall in place naturally. Kepler's secret weapon is John Higney, who contributes gorgeous lap steel to a handful of tracks, lending an airy, high lonesome sound to Missionless Days. The record breathes. Esteemed Pitchfork editor Ryan Schreiber concluded his review of Kepler's last effort on Troubleman Unlimited Fuck Fight Fail by saying, "...the boys have got promise, and their next album will likely shock this one into submission." He was on the money.
