The Black Lips took the stage Wednesday night obscured by a thick cloud of vapor that poured out of a nearby fog machine and tasted vaguely of waffles. The haze cleared quickly, revealing the four Lips in all their weirdness. Singer Cole donned a poncho and pilgrim hat, apparently ready for that traditional Mexican holiday called Thanksgiving. Guitarist Ian sported a gold grille, something that, to hear my brother the dental student tell it, is purely cosmetic. Bassist Jared and drummer Joe dressed like a couple of normal indie rockers, then spent the next hour spitting, screaming, and leading the band through a set of chaotic garage-rock hymns, all served up with a slight Georgia twang.
In contrast to the Black Lips stage schtick, Gentlemen Jesse and His Men played it straight, bringing a sound that was classic yet fresh. Gentlemen Jesse's songs were loaded with hooks, and every sunny chorus was matched by a furious guitar riff. With the same garage-rock sensibilities as the Black Lips, but filtered through doo-wop and power pop, Gentlemen Jesse was my favorite act of the night. Wrong Crowd opened the night, and if I had made it to the show by the absurdly early eight o'clock start time, I'd tell you about a loud KC band with a sound not far off from the night's headliners.
The fog that signaled the Black Lips' arrival was interspersed with strobes, flood lights, and a weird cellular projection that washed the black stage walls of the Bottleneck in red and blue-green. The Black Lips don't worry about playing their songs just right. They worry about the overall experience, which in this case included crowd surfing, girls moshing, audience members dodging mic stands, and a whole lot of PBR cans flying onto and off of the stage. At one point, bassist Jared kicked poncho-wearing Cole in the groin, leaving him writhing on the floor in pain, confused and hurt. The two made up quickly and proceeded to finish the set.
The Black Lips latest effort, 200 Million Thousand, has been topping KJHK's charts, and their set culled songs from this and each of their four previous studio albums. "Starting Over" was a highlight, with the red and blue cells swimming across the walls, and the song "Bad Kids" had the crowd screaming in exultation -- definitely the best song of night. The band joyfully fucked up most of their songs with yelps, screams, and dissonant guitars, but never before the song's melody was ingrained in the audience's head. There was a mic toward the back of the stage with some crazy delay on it, reserved for deep, guttural laughs and loud howls that echoed ominously when the music was quiet. The set ended before midnight. Though the bands were making the long trip to Austin right after the show for SXSW, they both delivered powerful, energetic performances.
At one point bassist Jared announced, "This song is in Mexican and we ate at a fake-ass Mexican restaurant today," before mumbling other obscenities and mentioning La Parilla. To set the record straight, La Parilla is not a Mexican restaurant; it is both Central and South American cuisine, and it is delicious.
This past Saturday, I was getting beer dumped on my head in Memphis watching King Khan and the Shrines. King Khan is a dear friend of the Black Lips who also runs his operation from Atlanta, Georgia, and his show was even wilder than this one. According to their blog, the Black Lips met King Khan when he peed on their t-shirts at their merch table, peed into a bottle and tried to drink it, then later drank Cole's blood and declared them blood brothers.
With the costumes, dramatic lighting, and dark interludes, it's easy to imagine one of the band members' other projects, a ghost rock band called the Spooks. Apparently ghost rock involves wearing white sheets and playing shows on Halloween.
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Ok, so, I just learned that when you hit 'post,' it posts right away, even if you hit the stop-'x' and change what you've written to something more clever and hit 'post' again.
Southerners seem to get away with more. Or less, which may be the point.
I could go for some waffle-smelling smoke right now.
Southerners seem to get away with more. Or less, which may be the point.
Where there is waffle smoke, there is waffle fire. Mmmmm....wafffles.
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