Black Lips, Bristol Fleece
Black Lips
February 16th, 2009
An early scream from the audience during tonight’s opening act - “KISS EACH OTHER†- presumably a reference to Black Lips’ oft-touted fruity onstage antics, supports the belief that it may be Topshop over taste on the floor today, but on stage it doesn’t seem to matter.
Having been wary of the saxophone in popular music ever since Gruff Rhys told us to be, seeing the foremost young man wrap the strap around his neck fills me with nothing but rage. Forgiveness is achieved though with this occasional funk fun, a kind of screamy jazz with the guy on the guitar looking and sounding a bit like the beardy one from Taking Back Sunday (we miss you Fred) all offset with poppy indie smooth spikes. Goodo.
After being turned away at the bar for being unable to pay twice for pint two as for pint one, we turn to wait impatiently for some more fun to happen. The chap next to me seemingly impresses his young lady by telling her that a pint would put him on the floor, which confuses my sober brain. Apparently drinking lots is becoming socially unacceptable, but in which society is being UNable to do something impressive? This one apparently. Whatever happened to our rock ‘n roll?
Black Lips’ drummer dashes through the crowd to retrieve his coat and no one seems to notice. He then removes his belt live on stage, seemingly about to grant a variation on that screaming girl’s wish but no noise. The show is then delayed as some of the band attack a large hat with some tape, and then they come on stage and the whole room changes. From the pockets of Vice-sponsored cool forms a gleeful mosh pit, camera people start lighting up the room, legs flail wildly as crowd surfers are delivered over this suddenly densely packed venue. Then the music starts.
The band seems so genuinely happy to be here as the rip through some fantastic songs, lining up in a very orderly fashion to croon out their beautifully ramshackle harmonies, all coming across a bit a really ramshackle Monkees, all of the fun and smiles but increased so much that it spills over into this cacophony of wahey, straddling the middle ground between The Thamesmen and Spinal Tap.
They play all the hits, going psychedelic with some budget visuals on ‘O Katrina’ adding to the insane fervour. People stream onto the stage to do a little dance and dive off. The band doesn’t care and the venue seems to be only half-worried, letting it go unless they stray too far from the edge. A few mumbled mum jokes get random cheers, probably just because words were said, and every move is adoringly met by the crowd. Putting a foot on the amp: rapture. Spitting on your own face: one girl explodes.
This just spurs them on further, although they do seem for the most to be holding back from those crrrazy japes that got them chased out of India. The mob does not want to be left out though so they continue to pour onto the fun, with ‘Bad Kids’ getting close to causing a stage invasion. Towards the end Cole meanders from the stage, mounts the bar and drinks straight from the Stella tap, staff looking on helplessly probably worried that to intervene would cause some form of riot. All in all a tremendous show which showed the uniting talent of songs and energy, definitely worth missing Whitechapel for.
Watch the video for ‘Short Fuse’Â which is out on Monday right here…
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