Dream death demands reckoning. Dewey Kincade’s The Dark Ages captures the psychological terrain of watching artistic ambitions dissolve into domestic responsibility, creating fifty-three minutes of Southern rock that burns with the intensity of someone who still has plenty to say despite losing the platform to say it. This isn’t midlife crisis music—it’s the sound of someone learning to live with radical life changes while maintaining creative fire.
The album’s origin story provides essential context. Kincade left New York City with his wife and newborn daughter for Louisville, trading band management for child-rearing, deal-hunting for wage-earning. That massive resume gap becomes creative fuel rather than career obstacle. The songs kept coming despite reduced time and altered priorities, proving that artistic necessity transcends convenient circumstances.

Opening track “Tied to the Rhythm” establishes the collection’s central metaphor through cyclical imagery that captures how daily routines can feel simultaneously grounding and imprisoning. The evolutionary progression from fish to frogs to snakes to birds mirrors personal transformation, while the repeated declaration of being “tied to the rhythm” suggests both constraint and belonging within larger patterns.
The expansive instrumentation throughout—Kincade handles vocals, multiple guitars, piano, drum programming, horn arrangements, and more—demonstrates artistic ambition that refuses to be diminished by changed circumstances. Collaborators including Sam Yost, Glen Howerton on drums, Tim Halcomb on bass, and Woody Woodmansee on various keys create full-band sound that serves the material’s emotional scope.
“Down in the Valley Again” ventures into darker territory, examining how social breakdowns unleash destructive impulses. The Pandora’s box imagery works because it acknowledges that some changes can’t be reversed, that “letting the beast out of its cage” creates irreversible consequences. The track demonstrates Kincade’s ability to address broad social anxieties through personal lens.
“All Alone in This Together” provides the album’s most direct political statement while maintaining focus on individual experience within larger systems. The contradiction in the title captures contemporary social isolation—surrounded by others facing similar struggles yet unable to meaningfully connect or collaborate for change.
Mid-album tracks like “Borderlands” and “You Don’t Know (What You Think You Know)” continue examining themes of uncertainty and limitation. “Borderlands” creates effective metaphor for relationships caught between defined territories, while “You Don’t Know” challenges false certainties through darkly humorous anecdotes about health fads and information overload.
“Shadow” explores internal division with psychological sophistication that avoids simple good/evil dichotomies. The shadow figure represents aspects of self that resist integration rather than external threats, creating space for genuine self-examination rather than projected blame.

The album’s emotional low point, “Shit Piles Up,” captures domestic overwhelm with brutal honesty. Rather than romanticizing family life or artistic sacrifice, Kincade acknowledges how daily pressures can accumulate into crushing weight. The repetitive chorus structure mirrors the relentless nature of responsibilities that “keep piling up.”
“I Can’t Get to Sleep” examines insomnia as symptom of deeper anxieties about direction and purpose. The imagery of being “caught between the mountain and the sea” with failing winds creates perfect metaphor for feeling trapped between equally impossible choices.
The album’s most surprising moment comes with “My Mistress’ Eyes,” which sets Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 to music. Rather than seeming pretentious, the choice demonstrates how classical poetry can illuminate contemporary relationship dynamics. The sonnet’s honest appraisal of imperfect love provides template for accepting reality rather than chasing idealization.
Closing tracks “Run Away and Hide” and “Up Around the Bend” create emotional arc from despair toward tentative hope. “Run Away and Hide” acknowledges the temptation to escape overwhelming circumstances, while “Up Around the Bend” suggests that persistence through difficulty can lead to transformation.
The production throughout maintains organic warmth that serves the material’s emotional authenticity. The extensive musician credits—including Small Batch Brass, various backing vocalists, and multiple instrumentalists—create community feeling that counters the album’s themes of isolation and struggle.
Kincade’s vocal delivery carries appropriate weight for the material without becoming overwrought. His ability to balance resignation with defiance creates emotional complexity that prevents the album from becoming either self-pitying or artificially optimistic.
The fifty-three minute runtime allows sufficient space for thematic development without exhausting listeners with unrelenting intensity. Fourteen tracks provide natural breathing points between different emotional territories while maintaining overall cohesive vision.
The Dark Ages succeeds because it treats major life transitions with appropriate complexity and honesty. Rather than presenting simple narratives about artistic compromise or family fulfillment, Kincade examines how people navigate competing demands while maintaining essential identity. The album acknowledges loss without surrendering hope, creating space for authentic processing of difficult circumstances.
Most importantly, the collection demonstrates how artistic expression can persist and evolve despite radically changed circumstances. Kincade has created work that honors both his artistic past and domestic present while establishing foundation for continued creative development. The Dark Ages proves that dream death doesn’t require creative death—sometimes it just demands different forms of artistic expression.

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