Young Lions, Old Lions

Years back the Constantines sang the words, “Oh, young lions,
this is your kingdom,” and I believed them. I put faith in those lyrics
in a way that I seldom do with any other musicians—living, dead,
or Canadian. My adoration for this Toronto-based band transcended, and
trivialized, any other relationship I have had with another musical act
in the past decade or so. If the Constantines sang it, I believed
it.

But they’re not young lions anymore. The same band that I swear
changed my life during a reckless set at Nocturnal years back is now
older. Kensington Heights, their new album, is still rigidly
post-punk and sharp as a shimmering blade, but the pace of the record
is deliberately restrained and the band’s gnashed-teeth anger is more
focused, and less wild, than ever before. “It’s definitely our fourth
record,” says gravel-voiced frontman Bry Webb. “I think at this point
we have figured out how to let space exist in the songs, and how to
make sure everybody is present.”

That space is most evident on the introspective “Our Age” (“I was
not up for saying grace/Hung up before our love had faced/A table set
with spinning plates/Only our age between us”) and “I Will Not Sing a
Hateful Song,” which just might be the strongest song in the band’s
nine-year history. With a simple refrain—”I will not sing a
hateful song, though it’s in me to sing”—over a reverberating
guitar note, minimal drums, and the pained voice of Webb, the growth of
the Constantines is evident. There was a time when this livewire
ensemble—young lions, after all—could scorch the earth with
the sheer anger of Webb’s words, but not anymore. “When I was younger,
a lot of the songs were written out of an angry state of mind,” says
Webb. “Those things are fleeting, the sentiment isn’t nearly as lasting
as something written in love.”

But it’s not the songwriting or the gritty post-punk hooks that have
cemented the Constantines’ legacy. Oddly enough, it’s their work ethic.
Much like the Minutemen before them, the band is widely known for their
no-frills attention to details, a raw blue-collar punk band with the
vibrant soul of the working class. It’s not an angle they play up, but
their humble existence only heightens the longtime description of their
sound; Springsteen fronting Fugazi. And much like their iconic pillars
of influence—both indie and mainstream—the Constantines
showcase a fiery passion for being the best live band on the globe.
Which Webb speaks fondly of: “One of the best things in my life is
being able to relate to the people in an audience. It’s a good kind of
communication, and the energy that I need in my life.” He continues,
“Anytime we’re not traveling, I start to feel really imbalanced. It’s a
vital part of my life now.”

This devotion remains so intense that Webb’s rough singing
voice—which, at its worst, sounds like a violent mix of
razorblades and grain alcohol—seems to cause the man a great deal
of pain during shows. His grimaced face portrays a level of sacrifice
not usually associated with most casual performers. “I think I’ve been
singing wrong for the past 15 years of my life,” he admits. “I tried to
write songs that weren’t me yelling at the top of my lungs as much, but
they just don’t come out as well.”