[Photo by Louis Kwok]
BY JAMIE DAVIS The Black Lips from Atlanta Georgia. I want to write that sentence in caps so maybe it’ll show you what I mean. THE BLACK LIPS from ATLANTA GEEEORGIA! Swagger, hats on a jaunty angle, blood, sweat, tears, spit and booze. Rock and Fucking ROLL, man. No guitar designed before 1970 was present, and and same goes for their riffs. Heavy, catchy and absolut Rock Music. A Genuine Real Live American Rock Band is hard to find these days. The White Stripes are gone, and The Strokes have gone all… perhaps it’s better to just not talk about it. But fear not children, fear not. The Dream lives on. These guys don’t take shit from nobody. “I don’t like this barricade,” said the left guitarist. “And I don’t like all those people drinking away from the dance floor.” In between moshes, I checked my phone so I wouldn’t misss my train, and almost immediately the right guitarist: “Turn that fucking phone off.” Swear to God, I would have broken it in half had he just said the word. They make ya dance, they make you sing they make you feel like maybe America could be a pretty cool place to live. If we could just get rid of all the people. Take it whatever way you want that I chose Best of The Who as a soundtrack for writing about them. Just raw, beautiful energy swarming off of the stage. Vivian Girls opened, and you know, they were nice. Retro rock music somewhere between the Shangri-Las and Jesus And Mary Chain, but god The Black Lips just arrived and then they killed. They fucking slayed, man. I’m sorry I’m using so many expletives and very little technical description of there “influences” and “song structure” and whatnot. Fuck that, man. Rock music. The Black Lips have it. Pray to god they keep it cause someone needs to mind the flame.