•
Rating: Better than the Orfei circus. They sent the trapeze artist away because he was excessively using coke. The cannon lady behind the keyboard was perpetually depressed. People paid under the table, street performers, old glories, junkies, junk dealers, pimps, singers, professional killers, jugglers who come and go.
In almost ten years the King of the Gingers has chosen, the King of the Gingers has changed, the King of the Gingers has done things. And whether you believe it or not, his creation remains one of the most determined and grinding rock'n'roll bands around. Everyone going on about they're washed up! / no, ask your mother! while the essential fact is that the Alcatraz explodes like a champagne cork after the first three bars of "Monsters in the Parasol", and this makes you immediately realize that the QOTSA live are an unshakeable certainty.
Now, I don't know what might have happened to the schoolgroups in the back, but I can tell you who survived in the front. It was packed with people stuck together and by god! the truth is that the Queens of the Stone Age know all the pressure points for a fluid exchange that doesn’t necessarily involve sex, though it sure incites it. Meaner, darker, and less goofy than before, they crank all the volumes up, all the pedals at once, echo fuzz delay small-stone tricks-and-hand grenades fusing the output speakers of the place and testing many of the newest and controversial jewels from "Era Vulgaris". Tight, dry, with a less freaky tone: a track like "Battery Acid" gains a thousand points with those absurd off-beats between hit and raise. And mind you, we from the pit only perceive the matter of "hit"... that is, the most killer mosh. Suco de gasolina, the essence of a party, the explicit will to present their music in a destructive but exhilarating, creative, tremendously energetic way.
Dance, friend, buy the t-shirt. Enjoy it.
I can’t focus on particular moments of the concert except for Josh's tribal dance during the intro of "Misfit Love": a handsome tall and big guy like a four-door wardrobe, having fun with good taste. "A Song for the Dead/Mexicola" is the fuse, "Little Sister" the can of gasoline, and "Sick Sick Sick" the cannon shot to the back: all the patterns of that amphibious monster Joey Castillo (a tattoo for every single red muscle strip and the endurance of a Scania) make the asses of the bastards present promptly jump. The new bassist is a clawed boar while the keyboardist looks like one of the Boondock Saints. The greatest joy remains Troy Van Leeuwen, always in a dark suit with a little tie, style in tons and mastery of skills: if they sound so refined it's for his transversal chords and kerosene underlays. Joshua of the Gingers handles the axe with manual skill completely detached from the vocal emission and never stops pushing, even when "Turnin' on the Screw" allows the audience to catch their breath and dance in place.
We don’t care a damn about stoner: we sing in honeyed and lascivious falsetto, we throw in punk, vague psychedelia, hard-rock with a coat of heavy and the chorus we color it with pop. Many sing 'kiwi-and-melon' because they don’t know the words, but they sing. "Run Pig Run" is the warning and when "Regular John" kicks in, long-time fans leap to pole position with gymnastic maneuvers worthy of a fierce Twist challenge. It's the most 'dangerous' piece of the concert, we slim down visibly, and the King of the Gingers at the end of the journey reserves us a round of sincere applause mumbling repeatedly the only words of the whole night: "Graszzie...Graszie". Thanks a lot, since at the second encore a 'proud to be Cozza' version of "No One Knows" buries our ass too and goodnight to the players.
--No, I’m fine, I just have my feet cooked and maybe a dislocated shoulder but the dried cod with smelly dreadlocks who tried to snatch my spot under the barriers is in much worse shape. Why do the tallest always break the balls to stay in front?--
--I couldn’t get naked on stage! Do you have any idea what you can see from up there? Damn, what I’d give to recognize myself and see myself scream with joy while dancing like a madman among the crowd.--
--Oh, by the way, how much weight has he gained? Is it that slutty wife’s fault? Probably can't even cook a bean and he's forced to gorge at the rotisserie!--
--By the way, another beer?--
Loading comments slowly
