The Black Lips brought their rowdiness to The Belly Up last Wednesday. We were there to catch it, cause they’re good bad, not evil.

You don’t have to agree with me (but you should) when I say “Gary Wilson and The Blind Dates” is a fantastic band name.  Something about plural  “Blind Dates” makes me laugh.  If the name were not enough, the group plays in bizarre outfits, complimented by the masking tape over their faces.  They are a blast to experience; they’re experimental and kind of alarming, and reminiscent of decades past (because they are, well, from decades past). 

Next up was Timmy’s Organism.  Their front man has been causing a scene for nearly 25 years, and has been described as “creating music that borders on art and creating shows that border on theater.”  If it’s good enough for Jack White and Third Man Records, it’s good enough for us.

After two wild openers, the crowd was ready for The Black Lips.  Someway, somehow the band managed to work the crowd up even more as they led into their hour and a half set.  No, they didn’t play Bad Kids, probably just to spite us, which is somehow even better. Five minutes into the show, the band had me wanting to visit Atlanta, Georgia, just to understand how a band this wild and original could have been born there. A quick read in to their history reveals they were despised by most venues in their early days, but they stuck it out and it paid off, because now they’re playing sold out shows and causing scenes and creating a sound that’s theirs and theirs only.  Their latest album rivals Gary Wilson’s band name in cleverness: “Satan’s Graffiti or God’s Art?” The audience was treated to some new songs off of the album, but also got to hear “Cold Hands” and “Family Tree” as well.  They finished their set with a song from The Almighty Defenders, the Black Lips and King Khan super group. Bow Down and Die might just be your new favorite song, but for the love of God do not listen to this if you are anywhere near a break up.The band brings an edge that reminds you of a time when concerts weren’t crazy-strict and formatted.  They cause a scene, are unapologetic, and have a great fucking time, because, well, they can.

Review by: Hannah Winokur
Photos by: Nick Regalo