Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: Pitchfork Live Review

Tue: 06-28-05
Live: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club
Little Radio HQ, Los Angeles: 28 May 2005
Story by Malcolm Jackson Turner

"We'd like to play you some new songs, but we're having some technical difficulties." The normally taciturn Black Rebel Motorcycle Club bassist, Robert Turner, is, at this point, visibly frustrated. Here in the warehouse district of Los Angeles, BRMC is playing a secretive one-off date for select group of 200 ticket-holders to both christen the new office space for Little Radio and to test out new material before embarking on a full European tour leading up to the release of their third album, Howl. Unfortunately, tonight's hour-long set is quickly turning into a microcosm of the past two years. Said technical difficulties are forcing the band to trot out deep cuts from their justly ignored second-album. Beers are dumped on drummer Nick Jago from the makeshift backstage area above the band, as presumably drunken and drugged acquaintances knock their cups off the banister.

BRMC's hellish past two years have been well documented. Their label pulled support for the band's sophomore album, Take Them on, on Your Own. Fingers were pointed, ties with management were severed, legal wrangling ensued. BRMC subsequently found itself without a record label and sat on the sidelines while other members of the class of 2000 like the Strokes and White Stripes plowed full steam ahead.

Those who expected a scabrous indictment of the music industry-- BRMC's version of Broken-- will no doubt be surprised by the rather subdued direction of the band's new material. Rather than rev up the guitars and stoke the flames, the band has instead cut a mostly acoustic album, one that skirts their muscular update of shoegaze in favor of warm, primitive blues. Howl also happens to be the first album that overtly ties the band to their hometown of San Francisco-- as the Ginsberg-ian title suggests. Turner has said that Howl is intended as a tribute to the city's Beat generation-- the poets responsible for San Francisco's artistic legacy. It's not as haphazard a move as it may appear on the surface. Like the Beats, the members of BRMC have been tireless road warriors, touring with a frequency that would put most jam bands to shame.

Perhaps due to said technical difficulties, we don't get a sample of the more delicate acoustic material from Howl on this night. The new songs that BRMC does unveil are decidedly amped and full, fitting in quite nicely with the ominous roar of "Love Burns" and "Rifles". However, even plugged in, the mood is somewhat alien and glowing. The foreboding edge of the early tracks has given way to sultry, almost primal, sexual energy-- aided no doubt by a bass so loud that every time Turner plucks it feels like everyone in the crowd has decided to stamp their feet simultaneously.

"Howl", along with the rest of the new songs played tonight, has a near animal intensity-- a sharp contrast to the icy detachment on previous records. Hayes breathily whispers "ha-ha-howl" over Jago's lurching, shuffling beat while Turner's bass line creeps close behind. Even the older songs throb and pulse with instinctual fervor. "US Government" gets a much-needed Howl-esque update, stripped to its rawer, more agile form as Turner subs his Arrythmia-inducing bass for a six-string. "That's the best version we've ever done [of that song]," he says without hesitation. Following "US Government", the band sounds rejuvenated-- the early frustration having melted away to reveal defiant, assured confidence-- which the band subsequently flaunts with the rumbling static of "Spread Your Love".

The set concludes with BRMC's signature track, "Whatever Happened to My Rock N' Roll (Punk Song)", The crowd bounces and sways as Turner tips the mic stand toward the floor. The rafters above us rattle along to the bass and paint chips flake from the ceiling. Meanwhile, one girl in brightly colored spandex at the top of the stairs has decided she's been recruited as BRMC's first official backup dancer. She flails her limbs in some pattern that loosely suggests an attempt at choreography, a kind of R-rated version of the "Macarena". It's an oddly celebratory sight, but given BRMC's turbulent ride these past two years, I'm sure they'll take any kind of victory dance they can get.