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Rating: Garage rock is my job, I can talk about it competently. Okay, right now my real job is something else, but in my heart, I'm nothing but a pure garage enthusiast.
My genre, until two years ago, gradually became very popular, and even the mainstream was filled with guys with tousled hair-striped shirts-skinny ties. This is the most detrimental side of the matter, but the good side is that many great bands like the White Stripes emerged, who, like it or not, are brilliant.
If we dig deeper into the underground, we find, despite being underground, a scene, so to speak, with a lot of fluff: it is a common trend, for example, if one calls themselves "the bananas," to dress up as a banana, to write at least one piece titled something like "banana stomp," etc., etc.
It may seem impossible to you, but certain groups like the fantastical Bananas, invented by me now, even have a following. Fortunately, there are those who manage to go a bit beyond the cute costume and make great music too. This is garage at its apex, it's garage when it kicks everyone's ass, it's garage when it becomes sexy, violent, fun, it's garage when it turns into rock n' roll on amphetamines. So, it becomes a huge pleasure for me to see two great bands like the Black Lips and our Preachers.
The Black Lips are a legend of garage punk, starting as a school band in Atlanta, they recorded their first album for the legendary Bomp! of Los Angeles, which back in the day had released records by the Germs and Iggy and the Stooges. Right from the start, the band acquired what in garage is a sacred thing: a terrible reputation.
It is said that their concerts end in brawls, that their live impact is devastating, that they are hooligans who break everything. Manna from heaven, that is. The latest effort by the Black Lips is "Let it Bloom" recorded for 'In The Red,' a raw album, yet decidedly psychedelic, however dissonant, which in some ways recalls the earliest works of My Bloody Valentine, although faster and more adrenaline-fueled. First of all, it must be said that the bad boy reputation is not true. They are four hyperactive American lads, yes, who that very evening were complaining about Italian girls being too difficult (!), but beyond that, they are nice and sweet, certainly not Hell's Angels. As much as their live performances emphasize the ragged image and more lo-fi sound (guitars in perpetual saturation, drums that sound like a cardboard box), the music of Black Lips is surprisingly pop, melodic, without losing anything in energy.
The Black Lips' concert was truly a blast, more than an hour of incandescent, joyful garage, danceable, played with enviable energy and rhythm. As a result, while the four Georgia boys sweated on stage and tore apart a drum kit (special mention to the drummer because he plays splendidly and it's the sound that I want), the audience below danced and moshed like crazy. Great songs and excellent stage attitude, garage punk at its best; the highlight was a raw and irresistible version of "Dirty Hands," and "Rumble" by Link Wray entirely improvised while one of the guitarists replaced the amplifier.
Before the Black Lips, the Ossolan Preachers opened the show, a quintet recording for Misty Lane, in my opinion, one of the best garage bands in Italy. They are five (bass-guitar-drums-organ-voice) and play a '60s garage (they open their concerts with a beautiful cover, "Night of the Sadist") a bit psychedelic, but what they do best are the more creepy moments à la Fuzztones, there really nobody beats them, partly due to the quality of the songs, really high (and in Italian garage, there should be more pieces like these) partly due to the skill of the singer, very theatrical, so much so that at times he reminds me of Jim Morrison. The image of the group is just right (they truly look like they've stepped out of another era) and they're really fun.
With the right people, garage has something to say.
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