By: Jon Behm
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The Black Lips - Photo by Jon Behm
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This time around, the famously hard drinking band seemed to have had a lot less booze than the audience had. Well, except for maybe the drummer, who at times I thought was going to pass out, puke or possibly die. Don’t get me wrong, it was a crazy show. However, when you go to see a band that is known for playing guitars with their cocks, bringing a live chicken onstage and pissing in their own mouths and spitting it at the audience, you wear a raincoat, write your will and expect to see one of the most raucous events you have ever witnessed. While a great set, it was definitely not appalling, blasphemous or even mildly disgusting; which were all the reasons I was looking forward to it in the first place.
The Lips sound a great deal different live than they do in the studio. Early in the set, they treated us to the rockabilly sing-along “Bad Kids,” off their recent album, Good Bad, Not Evil. While the album’s version is bouncy and anthemic, Sunday night’s rendition was more of a skidding in-your-face shred-a-thon. Seriously, there were several melted faces in the front row. If there was a “Dirty South,” sound in rock and roll, it would be the Black Lips at the Triple Rock on Sunday night. Not only did the Georgians eschew personal hygiene, spitting, sweating and getting beer all over the place; their music was dense, distorted and wildly chaotic. Oh yeah, and vocalist Ian St. Pe has a gold plated grill. If that ain’t Dirty South then I don’t know what is.
While the band’s live set had a lot of the same stripped down intensity as punk, there was always a strong current of bluesy guitar running along with it. This was mostly due to St. Pe’s skilled hands, as he seemed to keep the whole sound from dissolving into anarchy. It is precisely that fine balance between garage chaos and rockabilly boogie that gives the band a unique sound.
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The Black Lips - Photo by Jon Behm
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Later in the set, audience members started leaping onstage to scream into lead singer Cole Alexander’s mic. One brave dude in particular jumped in front of Alexander and attempted to take the lead with a high-pitched wail. The band eventually shoved him to the back of the stage where he sang a few verses on the backup mic before barreling into the audience where a burgeoning mosh pit was taking form. While it has been awhile since I have seen a mosh pit, the interesting thing about this one was that it had two men carrying a third man in between them, running around and slamming into people like a drunken phalanx.
After playing for at least a solid hour, drummer Joe Bradley abruptly picked up his cymbals and walked off the stage, followed by the rest of the band. No encore was played. As abruptly as they entered our lives, The Black Lips were gone, and we wandered out of the bar with ears ringing. We were all noticeably urine-free, which was a mixed blessing, depending on how you look at it. While it wasn’t the mind blowing blood and guts show that I was hoping it would be, the Black Lips did have the kind of intensity that I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing again. After I get my hearing back.
Location Info:
Triple Rock Social Club
Artist Info: The Black Lips
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