Black Smoke

Greg Dulli reminds me of Tony Soprano; he doesn’t look like a rockstar, he has a protruding belly and normal hair; but his eyes are mean–two calculating greedy beads that shoot fire if they don’t get what they want. Perhaps you know him from the Afghan Wigs or more recently from The Twilight Singers, once you’ve heard his voice you probably won’t forget it.

I became acquainted with Dulli and the Twilight Singers fairly recently, within the last three years. I bought their album “Blackberry Belle” and downloaded some tracks from an earlier album. Upon first exposure to his music I felt that the rhythms and notes were all slightly off; the beats felt lazy and arbitrary, like skipped rocks on a summer day. Dulli’s voice sounded like an act of deconstruction, and the whole combination was rather maddening; but slowly my ears adjusted. Soon I couldn’t put the album down. A few weeks ago Dulli and the Twilight Singers came to town and I couldn’t pass up the chance to see them.

Band: The Twilight Singers Venue: Little Brothers (5th and High)

I arrived early in the night to ensure that I got a ticket at the door before they were gone–Dulli is reputed to have quite a cult following, so I expected the show to be crowded. Having scored my armband and stamp I promptly left for a more laid-back noise-free bar a little down the street where I shared hummus and pita bread and drank Harp. I think it was Ortega, but I can’t remember–I’d go back, if that’s what you’re wondering. It was a beautiful night: warm breeze, clear skies, stars blinking their eyes as they slowly woke up, and walking down the street back to the overcrowded pub seemed like a sin. Clamorous bodies mingled with alcohol fumes and tobacco don’t compare to the moon and the gentle rustle of leaves above the sidewalk.

We made our way into the stuffy den, following our eardrums, searching for that throaty crunch of tube-driven rebellion. Instead we found piercing chaos and muddled reverberation. Driving the board was a ham-fisted groupie who seemingly got high on decibels rather than tone–from what I’ve heard and experienced, Little Brothers is an awful place to see a show. Still, great bands can sometimes overcome problems of sound, genius can make its way through the mix and presence brings its own magnificent vicissitudes. So I stayed a little longer.

I have a sort of sociological theory about certain types of leaders and followers. Go anywhere where there are large groups of people milling about and you’ll understand. There is a phenomenon centered on the leaders I have in mind–they hate to be questioned or rivaled, they think of themselves as matchless, and to comfort themselves and to reinforce their identity they surround themselves with peons, low-brow cutouts who follow them lemming-like. Naturally, this makes for a worthless leader, for he is never questioned, never challenged, never edged out of his own box–the stagnation is damning, and the company probably sucks too. As I continued to watch the show it became clear to me that the leader I have described is Greg Dulli, and his band is a pack of sheepish followers. The result was embarrassing to watch, Dulli turns his evil eye on his guitar player and guitarist is galvanized into submissive action. Dulli glares at the keyboardist and the poor man hunches even deeper towards the keys. The Twilight Singers is Dulli’s bitch, and she is washed up at that. The combination of awful sound and Dulli’s sodden performance was finally enough; I left eager for the stars and fresh breeze, hoping it wasn’t too late to get a good night’s sleep.

Recommendation: Don’t go to Little Brothers, maybe see the Twilight Singers (but don’t pay much), and stay out of Dulli’s way.

You can see this post and others like it by visiting Eye of the Tempest – Music.