Ken Park’s Self-Titled Debut Transcends Time
Liam Creamer, the mind behind the New York-based recording project, Ken Park, has just released his debut self-titled EP. The 6-track collection is a completely fresh interpretation of music, experimenting with sound in a way that carries listeners on a journey through time.
“I was different people writing these songs. And that’s why it sounds like that,” Creamer said in an interview earlier this month with Off The Record. “I feel like the thing about people’s records sounding very fluid, a lot of the time happens because they were written for each other, and also they went into the studio in weeks or months, the same studio with the same equipment. That was not the case for me.”
Featuring fragmented distortion and winding harmonies, we are given the impression that we are in a different place in time with each track. Each song really does hold its own identity, as all were written and recorded during different phases of Liam’s personal life.
The songs on Ken Park are connected by sentimental lyricism and the experimental abrasion applied to almost every instrument. With that, however, the sonic landscapes of each track are uniquely crafted, leaving the listener unaware of what might come next.
The EP begins with “maybe delete,” an ambient explosion of corroded guitar tracks and protruding, electronically driven rhythms by drummer Jack Powel. This sound doesn’t go on for long, as the speaker-blowing section only lasts around a minute before dropping in volume, but the impact holds strong as a reverberated repetition of the word “you” finishes off the memorable opener.
The end of “maybe delete” transitions seamlessly into “shatter,” a track that feels substantially brighter than the opener. The song feels far less in-your-face, with clearer vocal tracks and a female vocal harmony that brings in a welcome light. The interlude between the verse and the song’s conclusion feels reminiscent of the opening track’s innovation; The computerized overdrive echoes through the end of the track after he sings, “come down to the only suspect/I wanna know/the piece that I’ll never know.”
Creamer’s transparent lyrics contribute significantly to the signature grit of this EP. He can turn a simple life event into an internal exploration. For instance, “nosebleed,” the second-to-last track, holds playful melodies but was inspired by a poem Creamer wrote about a nosebleed. The lyrics reveal a deeply personal perspective on this common occurrence, as he sings, “nosebleed, it cleanses me of the rot in my blood.”
Not only do we cut through to Creamer’s psyche with his lyrics, but there is something so grounding in songs like “dragonfly” and “crawl” when he takes a step back and brings some reality to the core of the tracks.
In these songs, though the signature grainy, ethereal sound acts as the backbone of the EP’s tracks, his vocals feel clear and close. At the end of “dragonfly,” we experience a completely stripped-back moment where only the strum of unplugged guitar strings and the sound of a gentle breeze can be heard. In “crawl,” we are also treated to a moment of vulnerability, featuring pure acoustic sound and low, rattling bass notes from bassist Joaquín Eaton Sharon. Here, Creamer asks us, “Isn’t it beautiful?” as he reflects on his home and past relationships and allows himself to express fear.
The EP’s final track, “sleep paralysis,” is the oldest, yet it feels fundamental. With cinematic sweeps and the avant-garde folk-like melodies, this track feels important, like a culmination of Creamer’s creative endeavors. Written when he was only 17 and recorded on an iPhone, the song’s impact lies in its unfiltered reflection of Creamer’s identity as an artist, something he embraces throughout his music.
“How it felt to write that was just so spur-of-the-moment, magical, whatever adjectives or words I want to use about it. It was perfect, to me,” he says.
Make sure to join this journey by streaming Ken Park on Spotify or Apple Music.
