We don’t acknowledge enough how strange the ascent of Keo is. Perhaps that’s because, on the surface, it’s been anything but. They’ve been empowered by the sweeping wave of grunge and more thoughtful alt-rock, with I Lied, Amber and Thorn as a pair of early cuts that hit from the get-go. From there, everything has fallen nicely into place—bigger and bigger shows; buzz to match; and a waterline of quality that’s locked them in highly among the ‘indie-but-not-really’ camp. It’s all felt above-board, too; Finn and Conor Keogh’s dad is a traditional folk musician and comedian, so any foetid nepo-stink is, at the absolute most, limited.
So what’s so strange about it, then? Well, look at it this way—with their deliberate, dour, sometimes acoustic-helmed post-grunge, one of the most talked-about rock bands of the moment bears more than a passing resemblance to Staind.
Now, please don’t take that the wrong way. Finn Keogh is not Aaron Lewis, a man with the vocal timbre of someone who’s just soiled himself and feels compelled to tell you he’s not happy about it. Instead, it’s closer to the intended outcome of Staind, where the brooding and yearning is well-done, and the overall tone is solemn, not sullen. Loser is the best example, as Keogh’s downward spiral growls with regret, amplified by the slow, sawing guitar. Emotions are ragged yet purposeful, borne from a single 10-day writing session precipitating these broader, torn-up songs. The bellicose groans of Fly and Pistol are almost too fitting for that, while Bird On The Wire finds itself thinned out and cracking with vulnerability.
It’s not quite the same with Black Dress and Blue Song, though. Here, on a pair of songs whose looseness has them slide off-form, it just isn’t as compelling. No doubt the same intent is there, but there’s also this performative dejection to contend with, aiming for the pure grunge wallow and not sticking the landing. The redo of Thorn goes through a similar process. The core still heaves and drags over itself, but in between perceived, added rawness and a touched-up studio job, there’s a disconnect that the original didn’t have.
These feel like teething problems, ultimately, even if Put A Smile On For Me could stand to be somewhat firmer and grittier overall. At least Keo aren’t swimming in meddling here; the spirit of the grunge bands they idolise remains intact. Be Happy opens the album, clearly with Stone Temple Pilots on the brain; later, Best I Can Do boils and slithers as if it’s Keo’s version of Heart-Shaped Box. In general terms, it’s surprisingly faithful to those flagships of the ‘90s, without being an obvious pastiche. The Britishness of Keo does shine through, in just enough capacity to make this an effective brew. The biggest of these is That’s Me, a fat-free rocker that plays most in the lane of Ash or Feeder. As it is, it’s a smash (and too short of one, to mirror the general consensus), but as a primer for a wider alt-rock pool, it serves a much greater purpose on Put A Smile On For Me on the whole.
That said, Keo’s foundations of no-frills ‘90s rock music seem physically incapable of being disturbed. It’d be a massively long shot to predict that changing in the near-future; this appears to be their route now. But that’s all good. It isn’t as though Keo engage with throwback practices in the more tired, ‘normal’ ways, scraping for the last granules of inspiration from the long-bare mine. No, they approach this with gumption and the size to really matter. Thus, Put A Smile On For Me feels like the significant breakthrough that it was always forecasted to be, and Keo will continue to reap untold rewards off of it. Staind could never.
For fans of: Nirvana, Foo Fighters, Wolf Alice
‘Put A Smile On For Me’ by Keo is out now on Island Records.
Words by Luke Nuttall
