Hype darlings Black Lips stumbled their way through a drunken, petulant, poorly-mixed set at the Bluebird last Tuesday. Photos by .
I fancy spit, puke, blood and indecent exposure, especially when it’s coming from cute boys in a band I like. Now infamous tales of debaucherous projectile puke fests, spit fights, bloody self-inflicted injuries and genitalia-led guitar playing had me filled with girlish glee for their show at the last Tuesday night. Sadly, the band recently kicked out of India (yes, the entire country) and forbade from ever returning wasn’t half as rowdy as hype made them out to be.
But the Lips were far from disappointing, opening with “Sea of Blasphemy,” all four members twitching about in their own little spaces, jerking like amphetamine-doused doo-wop punkers. Dressed like an anarchist pilgrim, guitarist and vocalist Ian Saint Pe wiggled dangerously, dropping to the floor as he spit globs of phlegm in the air and tried to catch the bodily fluid in his mouth. Some attempts were clearly futile, leaving a gooey mess on him and the stage.
Like a pack of feral boy-children, the Lips took turns howling through “Fairy Stories,” “Dirty Hands,” “Drugs,” “Bad Kids” and a good handful of others as the lighting in the theater switched from normal beams to trippy projections of drippy colored swirls and bubbles. Adding to the mock ’60s acid-dream feel, guitarist and vocalist Cole Alexander crossed his legs on the floor and lifted the neck of his guitar high in the air like a sitar, grinning deviously with his eyes closed as he played the Lips’ trademark twangy riffs.
Each member of the unruly crew proved to be equally entertaining, lead vocalist and bassist Jared Swilley’s camp counselor attire of khaki short-shorts, miniature red polo and blunt-cut bangs accentuating his inebriated stance and devious playing. His look of borderline insanity was trumped only by drummer and vocalist Joe Bradley’s crossed eyes and maniacal grin as he hammered away at his kit, wailing through sing-alongs of “Not A Problem” and “Boomerang.”
An encore involving a cover of the Hollies’ “Too Much Monkey Business” was fitting for the post-juvenile delinquent Black Lips, the band dropping beers and eventually their own sweaty bodies into the pit at their feet before the Bluebird Theater clearly had enough and turned the house lights up.
Victims of a bad sound mix (Bradley’s vocals from the drum kit and Alexander’s piercing guitar dominated in a terrible way over the rest of the band) and too much hype were the ultimate downfalls of this so-so set. It was clear, however, by Swilley’s abuse of a large bottle of Jack Daniels on the stage that the Black Lips may have been walking the fine line between fun drunk and too drunk to function. Maybe if they hit the bottle just a little harder, the Black Lips vomit and blood show of my dreams would have become a reality.
Bree Davies plays bass in , writes about her obsessions with Iggy Pop and Lil’ Wayne in and repeatedly fakes her own death at . She is also a self-proclaimed addict.
is a Denver photographer and a regular contributor to Reverb.
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