Killer Kin, Intercourse, Dissolve, Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean
Space Ballroom
Hamden
Feb. 9, 2025
On Super Bowl Sunday, thousands of viewers across the United States tuned in to Caesar’s Superdome in New Orleans to share the wonder and excitement of the biggest sports evening of the year.
Fourteen hundred miles away at Hamden’s Space Ballroom, Killer Kin singer Matt Lea weighed in: “What a bunch of squares, huh?”
Local legends in black leather, skintight pants, and spikes, the members of Killer Kin have rocked New Haven’s world since the days of The State House (rest in peace, or maybe the sweet chaos we knew and loved) and have developed an international audience at shows in New York, Hamburg, Madrid, and more. Made up of singer Matt Lea, guitarists Chloe Rose and Brady Wilson, drummer Jason Kyek, and Marco Carotenuto on bass, the band has a magnetic appeal that lies in its tight live performance style.
Killer Kin’s set Sunday night was part of a showcase from Red Scroll Records in Wallingford. They started off the show, followed by rock and hardcore bands Intercourse, Dissolve, and Chained to the Bottom of the Ocean.
Lea set the tone from the first song introduction, shouting into the mic, “We’re the Killer fucking Kin!” And the crowd knew this well. From the metal jewelry bouncing off Lea’s bare chest to Rose’s long dark hair flying through the air, the multitude of Killer Kin’s sights and sounds met a rapt, ready audience.
At points Lea sat crosslegged, at home with his bare feet and thighs on the Space Ballroom stage’s big, rich-hued rug. As soon as he got up, there was little predicting whether he’d thrash his body to the floor, jump off the stage to dance with the audience, or hold the legs of his bandmates as they all felt the music they were making together. Rose maintained a solid stance with with one foot in front to lean in with her guitar.
The rolling, relentless rhythms of electric guitar from Rose and Wilson fit with Lea’s bursts of frenetic vocal energy, with generous stretches of space devoted to solos and breakdowns at the end of songs. It was a type of control that felt out of control. The floor (and drinks, and people) shook along with the Kyek’s crash-heavy percussion and solid, cold bass lines from Carotenuto.
The band and the audience built a connection from insults, teasing, and high, raw energy. When Lea shouted to the crowd, “I feel like you liked that,” it was half a taunt, half an invitation. Someone in the crowd took him up on the latter, yelling back, “I fucking loved it!” Later in the show, when Lea pulled down the back of his snakeskin banana hammock undies to moon the audience in two sweat-shiny cheeks, he announced it with an irreverent “Eat my ass!”
The room responded with enthusiasm and camaraderie. Somehow, the cord Lea dragged behind him as he wove through the crowd never got tangled. The deep breathing he engaged in as he screamed into the mic felt like a somatic experience. The members of the band leaned heavy with their bodies into the music, and it felt like the whole room could let go together.
All the roughness Killer Kin directed toward its adoring fans ended up setting the stage for a collective surrender. Lea spent a good deal of the set kneeling, throwing his head back. It felt like the opposite of a Super Bowl. What seemed at first to be a display of power — the intensity of the music’s rhythms, the stomps and screams — was at its heart an agreement to, just for the night, yield to the power of everything around. Especially the music.
Rose said the show “felt really good,” the band’s first performance in a while. She shouted out the band’s upcoming EP, set to be released by the summertime. You can often catch Killer Kin working up a sweat in the evenings at Cafe Nine; sure enough, the band’s next show will be there on April 18, opening for Canadian metal band Anvil.
Super Bowl “squares” weren’t the only ones who found like-minded community to scream and cheer with Sunday night. Lea closed the show with “Go fuck yourself, good night!” followed by a heartfelt scream of “Thank you, we fucking love you!” — solidifying Killer Kin’s music universe as one where vitriol betrays deep affection.
