By Brian Heater

There’s somewhat of a stigma surrounding the idea of a concept album. While the generally acceptable definition of the term is nebulous, contemporary artists have the tendency to shudder at the mere suggestion that their record, based on a linear—if decidedly complex—narrative, as is the case of The Kingdom’s first LP, K1, is a concept album. 

“We never really thought of it as a concept album,” says Kingdom frontman, Chuck Westmoreland. Yeah, Chuck, that’s what they all say.

“The album is about a race that starts in upstate New York, where [guitarist Gavin Todd] and I met,” begins Westmoreland, asked to give a quick overview for the uninitiated. “We were in the process of [recording the album in] Brooklyn, so that was the destination for the race. The vehicles would have to change during the race to travel the terrain. The pilot, or driver, would change these identities, in order to reclaim something he was missing. That was the basic idea.” Easy enough, right. But wait, what happens when you run into a famous bank robber who’s selling T-shirts at Washington Square Park?

“We met John Wojtowicz, who’s the guy that Dog Day Afternoon was based on. We were working on [our first EP] Unitas at the time,” explains Westmoreland. “A lot of the dates correlated. John Unitas’ last year with the Colts was 1972. That was the year John was arrested. John left prison in ’79, which was the year Unitas was inducted into the hall of fame. We started to think about John and sexual reassignment surgery [Wojtowicz robbed a bank to finance his lover’s reassignment surgery], and the different vehicles and how they morph.”

So, then the album is about the intersection between an ex-con, a foot race, sexual reassignment surgery and a transforming vehicle. Makes sense, right? But wait, there’s more. 

“[Wojtowicz] was really elusive and eventually died. So it became less about him, and more about trying to find this thing that’s missing, and not knowing where to look for it. It became a lot more personal. We looked back on it and realized that it was something we had written about our own lives, and was not as much of a fiction as we originally thought it would be.”

What it turned out to be, in the end, is a minor-masterpiece of musical schizophrenia, in turns both rocking and symphonic, with Westmoreland’s equally crazed vocals towering over the proceedings—a manic narrative that perfectly complements its sonic qualities. How’s that for a novel concept?

Oct. 11-12. Mercury Lounge, 217 E. Houston St. (at Ave. A),
212-260-4700; 9, $12.