An album featuring as many songs about death, decay and the literal end of all human life as Ghost Palace, the latest LP by Canadian garage-folk veterans The Burning Hell, might be expected to be somewhat of a downer, but in the hands of Mathias Kom, Ariel Sharratt and their merry band of apocalyptonauts, this chronicle of the end of days gives us plenty to dance, smile and even laugh about. It’s no mean feat, but anyone familiar with the band’s oeuvre shouldn’t be surprised, they’ve been writing wry party songs about judgement day for a couple of decades.
It’s a compellingly odd record, and one that’s likely to be bothering my end of year favourites list, pairing lyrics that manage to be genuinely funny, insightful and deeply emotional (often all at once) with a genre-straddling collection of tunes to rib-tickling, chin-stroking, tear-jerking effect.
I caught up with frontman Mathias Kom to delve a little deeper into the album.
The tracks on Ghost Palace take us from the Cimetière du Père-Lachaise in Paris to The Vegas Strip, an Australian sewage treatment plant, an abandoned beach resort and the moon. Is there a thread that links all of the tales and characters that inhabit the record?
Not to be too gothy about it, but mostly the threads of death and decay. Someone is either dying, about to die, or reflecting on the things they’ll leave behind in every song. But, you know, in a fun way.
A lot of Burning Hell tracks take place in a post-apocalyptic world – which one would you most like to inhabit when the end finally comes?
I’m especially drawn to the abandoned resort in “Brazil Nuts and Blue Curaçao” from Ghost Palace (fretless bass solos and blue drinks and a small community where everyone has their own special skill to contribute? Sounds like utopia to me). Or maybe the beach party in “Supermoon” from Revival Beach. But there are loads of other examples from films and books that I wouldn’t mind being part of: maybe the Isle of Wight in “The Day of the Triffids,” or the Valley of the Wind after the events of Nausicaä. I would also jump at the chance to be part of the troupe in Station Eleven, since a post-apocalyptic society is the only one in which my terrible acting would be valued by a theatre company.
What is it about the end of the world that you find so compelling as a songwriter?
I honestly don’t understand how anyone writes about anything else. The end of the world isn’t some future science fiction story, it’s an evolving reality. Seen through a wide-angle lens, the end of the world is a metaphor for the end of ourselves, and the awareness of our own mortality is partly what makes us who we are. So it’s rich territory for songwriting in that sense. But in a real, tangible way, since at least the first world war we’ve really refined our suicidal tendencies as a species, with exponentially terrifying results. People used to call me dramatic when I talked about this kind of thing, but we can see potentially world-ending forces all around us now, from climate change to fascism. At the same time, we’re beset by billionaires building bunkers and making plans to escape to Mars. All I have to do for inspiration is read the news.
Over the course of your musical career you’ve worked with an ever expanding group of collaborators – who was involved in making Ghost Palace and what did they bring to the record?
The core of the record was Ariel Sharratt and I, plus our new member Maria Peddle and our longtime comrade Jake Nicoll. But we also drew on the talents of Carlie Howell (double bass), José Contreras (organ), Steven Lambke (guitar), Amy Nicoll (oboe) and a handful of friends contributing backing vocals. Music is inherently communicative and collaborative, and I always love the thrill of working with people who will hear something or play something that I’d never think of myself. It’s one of the great joys of my life to be surrounded by so many exceptional musicians, and making this record was no exception.
Unlike the unknown and the nameless, A hidden perk of being famous: You get visitors long after you’re no fun to be around
Celebrities In Cemetaries
The record opens with ‘Celebrities in Cemetaries’, an energetic indie rock romp about our infatuation with the famous dead. We visit the tombs of many a deceased rock star from Jim Morrison to Jimi Hendrix before discovering how in death we can achieve the fame that eluded us while we were still upright. It’s classic Burning Hell, mixing a catchy tune with darkly humorous lyrics and a sprightly turn of phrase and is the first of several songs on the album dealing with our longing to be remembered.
Do you have a favourite celebrity grave or memorial?
Once while on tour I made the band stop in Fort Morgan, Colorado, so I could find the entirely unremarkable grave of Philip K Dick (and his twin sister Jane, who lived for barely a year). That one always sticks in my mind for the incongruity between the mundane setting and the completely remarkable impact that his writing has had on the world. But I also enjoy the more dramatic ones, like Serge Gainsbourg’s grave in Montparnasse, or Oscar Wilde across town in Père-Lachaise: considering they’re just piles of bones under dirt and stone, both are examples of how the dead can continue to exist in the hearts of the living, and seeing the thousands of lipstick kisses, cigarettes, flowers, notes and so on is really beautiful. I always wonder what happens to those: do they get swept up and put in the bin every now and then? Or do the cemetery employees archive them somewhere, officially or secretly?
We’re getting used to the smoke, the fires are out of control, But we didn’t start them, no, like eight billion Billy Joels
My Home Planet
Keeping the tempo high and handing lead vocal duties over to Ariel, ‘My Home Planet’ sees us leave Earth in search of a new home, and having to persuade the locals that we’re really not so bad, despite the evidence to the contrary. It’s a rip-roaring rocket race through space, featuring some of the most capital F Fun drumming I’ve heard all year, and offering a chance to reflect on our relationship with the big blue ball we call home.
If you had to bring a few items with you to the nearest inhabited planet to persuade them to allow humanity (or at least a few of us) to live with them, what would you choose?
I’d bring the eponymous Penguin Café Orchestra album from 1981 to illustrate that humans can make beautiful noises without opening our mouths, and Norton Juster’s The Phantom Tollbooth to prove that our curiosity can be generative instead of destructive. I’d also bring a stained glass window by Harry Clarke to show that we can understand beauty, and a copy of Paddington 2 to demonstrate that in spite of the evidence to the contrary, we’re capable of kindness and community.
It’s a little slice of paradise, this utopian collective, Though the water’s never hot and the fridges are defective
Brazil Nuts & Blue Curaçao
The steel pans on ‘Brazil Nuts & Blue Curaçao’ give a calypso feel to this tale of a small band of survivors trying to stay alive and have a good time in an abandoned beach resort after an apparent but unnamed global catastrophe. Given the subject matter it’s a surprisingly chilled and upbeat number and Tina’s bass solo is a particular highlight.
What do you consider the essential elements in a successful post-societal collapse community?
I’ve always believed in Kropotkin over Darwin, but I think that building a new society based on mutual aid rather than competition might come down to who you end up sharing the place with. So, I pray that the billionaires get locked in their bunkers and asphyxiate on their own hot air. Anybody who wants to recreate the class system or other insane forms of division and competition gets thrown to the hungry mutants. Everyone else can stay.
“You’ll be a pioneer” they said, “the first DJ in space” they said, And here I am, alone inside an insulated shed
Luna FM
The most overtly bleak track on the album, ‘Luna FM’ introduces us to the first DJ in space, broadcasting “the sound of the moon” to everyone back on Earth, but as the isolation and repetition grind his mind and spirits down, is there anyone back home left to listen? As Burning Hell fans might expect though, there’s still plenty of deadpan humour to be found here, and a nice helping of musical treats, with nods to Bowie, The B52s, and is that a hint of Gary Numan in the bassline?
Amongst the many things grating on the DJ’s sanity is the endless repetition of his playlist – Is there a song that you think you’d be able to maintain your love for in similar conditions?
I’ve listened to and loved “Pop Goes the World” by Men Without Hats around a million times, I think. So that one seems safe for the loneliest DJ on the moon. But I also feel confident about nearly everything by Creedence Clearwater Revival, “The Drum” by Slapp Happy, “Anything Could Happen” by the Clean, or “Can You Get to That” by Funkadelic.
Adam and Eve shook the tree, they were going berserk, Shouting “Lord, what does it do, and how does it work?”
What Does It Do and How Does It Work
The Burning Hell have a knack for writing a simple refrain to be sung back at them with full-throated emotion by an audience, from “Pass the wine, fuck the government, I love you” from 2016’s Public Library LP to the simple “Looooove” from ‘It Happens In Florida’ – my money is on the title line from ‘What Does It Do and How Does It Work’ to be the next to join this fine canon. Beginning with a simple ukulele strum, we are treated to a smorgasbord of tiny scenes offering a glimpse of the human (and on a couple of occasions animal and arboreal) condition and our insatiable curiosity, culminating with an unconventionally romantic finale. Always nice to see an oboe deployed in an indie track too.
Over the course of the song we get lots of little snippets from the lives of an array of characters. Is there one amongst them that you’d like to have continued the story of, and how might it have panned out?
I already have plans to continue the story of the clown and the circus bear. That vignette is kind of a reference to a real bear that I got to know when I was a teenage volunteer at a hippie commune-slash-animal rescue in Ontario. He was very old and gentle. He’d had his claws and teeth pulled out in his circus days, and he was so frail you had to feed him by hand. I’ve hated circuses with animals ever since, and there’s more of his story I want to tell.
Let’s have a baby, let’s watch a movie
Bottle of Chianti, Cheese and Charcuterie Board
The album’s lead single ‘Bottle of Chianti, Cheese and Charcuterie Board’ is a plinky-plonky marvel following an unfulfilled protagonist through a series of empty encounters in shabby chic bistros – you can read more about it in my review of the single.
The track ends with our protagonist’s reincarnation – if you could choose to come back as any living thing, what would you go for?
This might be cheating, because I’m not sure I get to choose a thing that’s currently living, but since you haven’t outlined any rules I would absolutely love to come back as my dog Ruthie. I’ve never loved an animal as much as I love her, and if I could come back and be that loved in turn, I wouldn’t be bothered by my natural drive to eat scraps from the compost pile or bark at the wind.
Good times, bad wine, lips buzzing with the humming from the power lines
Summer Olympics
Returning to the theme of nostalgia, ‘Summer Olympics’ looks back on a halcyon summer of young love and introduces the frankly terrifying prospect of a ‘museum of your own past, future and present’. It features one of the catchiest choruses on the record as well as delivering a stinging burn to several deserving musicians.
What would be the star exhibits in each section of your personal ‘Museum of your own past, future and present’?
The star exhibit of my past would probably be the blue jumpsuit I wore during The Burning Hell’s unofficial world record setting tour, playing ten shows in ten countries in twenty-four hours, back in 2012. It has a red heart sewn on the chest, and still-visible sweat stains. My present would probably be represented by a small pile of bloodied bandages and my favourite Toyo cutter, representing my current fixation on stained glass (if and when I quit music, it will be to spend the rest of my life in the glass studio). The item I hope the curator will choose to illustrate my future is the bib I’ll wear at the global feast with 99% of my fellow humans, when we finally eat the rich.
The duck egg store shaped like an actual duck back in New York, In which everything is subservient to this one symbolic form
Duck vs Decorated Shed
I’m a big fan of testing just how far a metaphor can be stretched, and the delightful country ditty ‘Duck vs Decorated Shed’ is a fantastic example of exactly how to do it. Taking as it’s basis the observations of 1960s architects Rob Venturi and Denise Scott Brown about the merits of the gaudy, ornamented blocks of the Vegas Strip versus a fully duck shaped duck egg shop in New York and applying this to people’s fear of showing their authentic selves to the world, it’s both a barnstorming hoe-down of a track and another opportunity to pause for thought and consider which camp you lie in yourself.
Who are some of the most duckish ducks you’ve come across?
There are good ducks and there are bad ducks. Tr**p is the worst duck I can think of: he’s been showing us who he is for decades, and we’re only starting to believe him now. To choose a political opposite, Bernie Sanders is a good and very duckish duck. It’s tragic that a frumpy, grumpy 83-year-old man is what remains of the leadership of the American left, but I love his tenacity and his style. Other ducks I admire: John Waters, Sue Kreitzman, and my dear friend and longtime collaborator Charlie Glasspool. Quack quack.
Kiss me down by the Werribee Sewage Treatment Plant, Those birds will sing a sunset symphony
Birds of Australia
‘Birds of Australia’ shifts the action down under and takes us on an unexpectedly romantic journey to the Werribee Sewage Treatment Plant. Dreamy and lush with a sting in the tail.
There aren’t many love songs set in a sewage treatment plant. What is it about Werribee that made it the perfect location for this one?
The Western Treatment Plant in Werribee is one of Australia’s most renowned birding hotspots, and we were lucky enough to get to go there earlier this year. There are acres and acres of wetlands surrounding the facility, home to close to 300 species of birds, and it’s beautiful. I find it extremely romantic, and I’d encourage anyone to go there on a first date. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll at least see some pelicans, a brolga or two, maybe even an orange-bellied parrot or a hoary-headed grebe.
Will you take my right hand with your left and my left hand with your right, And dance in the dimness of the dying solar light
Strange Paradise
Penultimate track ‘Strange Paradise’ brings us back to thoughts of who will remember us when we’re gone, but shifts the focus to the whole of humanity and the capricious memory of the “last little brown bird who remembers what we did and remembers who we were”.
The song appears to take place after the extinction of humanity – are we beyond saving? Or even deserving of it?
In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, no, I don’t think we’re beyond saving. There are plenty of concrete, practical steps we could take right now. We could cull the wealthiest of the herd and redistribute their assets, for instance. We could listen to scientists and implement their suggestions around health and climate change. We could overhaul the way we produce food. We could stop killing each other. Whether or not we will actually do any of these things might answer your second question.
We’ll leave the doors unlocked, we’ll leave all the lights on, We’ll see them shine for a while, after we’ve gone
Ghost Palace
The album closes with the gentle strum of title track ‘Ghost Palace’, which showcases Kom’s warm vocal tone, and features my second candidate for a new fan’s favourite refrain as well as some lovely humming, before a galactic “DONG” of piano and a sweep of twinkling synth encourages us to step into the light… and it’s all over.
When the alien archaeologists finally uncover the remnants of human civilisation, how do you think they’ll sum us up?
The first image that comes to mind is a Pompeii-style tableau: the aliens discover our remains frozen in our final moments, billions of skeletons lying on our sides in bed, clutching our phones. “Humans,” the aliens will say, “somehow existed for over 300,000 years, proving yet again that the universe is powered by miracles.”
Ghost Palace is out now on BB*Island / You’ve Changed Records – get your copy on vinyl, cd or digital download via Bandcamp
The Burning Hell set off on tour around Germany, Denmark, Netherlands and Austria in April before heading to the UK in August – full tour dates here
The Burning Hell: Website / Facebook / Instagram / Bandcamp
Article by Paul Maps
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