Kilynn Lunsford continues to find space for hope 

Promiscuous Genes, the latest album from Kilynn Lunsford, kicks off with “Nice Quiet Horror Show,” a darkly percussive new wave banger that pairs a simmering gothic groove with the New Jersey-based musician’s stream of conscious poetry. But while Lunsford’s words can sometimes take on surrealist inflections, she said that the bulk of her songs tend to emerge from a similarly concrete place, extending from a desire to push back against the dread that continues to define this social and political era while still acknowledging just how damaged our society is and always has been.

“I’m always fixated on some of the same things, like the United States murdering people the world over and exporting its vicious brand of capitalism with force in every country that it can, on economic inequality, and on the extreme austerity measures we’ve gone through post-World War II,” said Lunsford, who will join her band in concert at Cafe Bourbon Street on Sunday, Sept. 14, supported by openers Chlorine, Son of Dribble, and Lightning Hands. “And within that, I’m constantly thinking about the small steps we can take to make the world more livable for everyone. … I guess I’m trying to give legibility to things that are horrific, things that are barbaric, and then asking, ‘If this is the norm, and this is the quotidian now, how do we live like that? How does anyone exist when this is what we’re confronted with every day? How does anyone do anything? How do I do anything?’”

Lunsford’s perspective is shaped by everything from having grown up in a union home (her mom was a longtime public school teacher) to the work she has pursued perpendicular to making music over the last couple decades, including an extended run as a labor organizer, work done in service of people with disabilities, and a job helping to find stable shelter for the unhoused. “It’s living in a way that tries to build something,” said Lunsford, who has a master’s degree in social work. “And creating spaces of hope, even if just a little bit.”

For Lunsford, music has long existed as the place in which she can best articulate these complex ideas, whether in this current solo guise or in previous bands such as the great Taiwan Housing Project. This understanding has always run hand-in-hand with an intense love for creation, even as it has continued to evolve and take on new dimensions. 

“I think in the past, I probably thought [making music] was a more frivolous thing,” said Lunsford, who described the internal struggle she can sometimes feel even now in making records as her timeline fills with images of Israel bombing Palestinian families in Gaza and the Trump administration sweeping up immigrants from worksites and depositing them in concentration camps hastily erected on swampland. “And I don’t know how to say this without sounding hokey, but now it’s like, ‘These are things you need … to maintain homeostasis and to function as a human being in society.’ … If I don’t make this stuff, then I don’t function properly, and that’s not good for anyone. So, I guess I’ve kind of shifted my thinking to where it’s not frivolous, and it’s more of a utilitarian thing. It’s necessary, or else I would feel fucked up and maybe act fucked up, and that would be doing a disservice to everyone, including myself. Being able to do this keeps me from spiraling.”

Musically, however, Lunsford isn’t afraid to let herself bottom out in these darker places, songs such as the chaotic, clattering “Gateway to Hell” and the warped, distended title track hitting like hellish fever dreams. Percussive elements are prevalent throughout, coursing through the album’s trash-compacting drums, restless stabs of synthesizer, and even Lunsford’s vocals, with her consonants occasionally snapping like sharp hits from a snare. 

“I’ve always been into percussion and adding layers and layers of percussive tracks,” said Lunsford, who pointed to bands such as Fleetwood Mac, the Plastic People of the Universe, and Can as artists who inspired these types of explorations. “And even with my vocals, yes, they’re definitely serving that purpose. … Sometimes I’ll take a snippet of my voice making one little noise, and I’ll repeat it and loop it, building up this arsenal of my voice.”

While the lyrics can sometimes arrive quickly, Lunsford said she logged countless hours crafting the album’s scarred musical landscapes alongside collaborator Don Bruno, the two sometimes placing a single 10 or 15 second clip of a song on repeat as they toyed with different permutations and teased out a range of sonic possibilities. “And doing that, you can begin to get lost and lose objectivity,” said Lunsford, who takes a comparatively intuitive approach in concert. “It’s good to pull back in the live version and to let it flow … and not be such a strict mediator of every minute detail. It’s much more spontaneous, and the songs can take on different lives and sometimes have a different feel, which I think leads me to new ideas.”