The continuing adventures of Greg Dulli…
You’ve probably seen a few bassists smoke and play, or guitarists slinging with cigarettes wedged in amongst the tuning pegs. How many frontmen have you seen singing with the death stick clamped between their teeth I wonder? Because tonight, Matthew, Greg Dulli is Hannibal Smith and the Twilight Singers are the fuckin’ A-team. They’ve come here to save you from mediocre indie-schmindy, because, well, it’s a problem, and tonight no one else can help. “We’re not The Thrills” crows Dulli with a sly reference to the Rock City shenanigans sold-out next door but one, and a cheer goes up.
It’s the last night of their British tour, and the Twilight Singers rock the material from their most recent album ‘Blackberry Belle’ hard. Freed from the straightjacket of glossy studio production values the songs scrub down beautifully. It’s everything you could hope for. The visceral energy of Belle tracks "The Killer", "Decatur St." "Papillon" is undeniable and easily evocative of Dulli’s previous outfit the Afghan Whigs in their heyday. This is just as well, although no-one is baying for the Whigs back catalogue we get it anyway, and the crowd response is ballistic.
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Dulli’s pick and mix attitude extends beyond his own material however, The Beatles, John Coltrane and even Outkast are choice pickings for his magpie tendencies and this crowd pleasing capacity turns to full-on showmanship at every turn. Dulli’s expressive voice croons, whispers and hollers in equal amounts, pausing for only for his collegues ripping guitar fret work and cigarette after cigarette. The songs fall down on top of each other at frenetic pace conjuring up all the wasted, desolate, joyful and beautiful landscapes music can. It’s a night of buena vistas, Dulli and his cohorts are giving rock back some of it’s soul. Thank God.
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