Let’s imagine a perfect Rock world where everyone is young and alive. Got it? Now, right after we patch up that crazy spat between Lennon and McCartney and get those goofballs back on the path, we’ll play a rousing game of Build a New Band. Let’s take Tommy and Bob Stinson and pair them up with Ray and Dave Davies, then we’ll use questionable Clockwork Orange training techniques to make them absorb Rockabilly, Doo Wop, Punk and Country and lock them in a dank studio until they emerge with a raw, battle-scarred hybrid of everything they know and love. Because of the stuttering flash of our teaching methods, they will only be able to concentrate on one style for the length of one song, making their albums sound like acid-dipped mixtapes made by lunatics with focus issues and a penchant for volume.
And for no good reason, we’ll call them The Black Lips.
And that’s just how they sound. Let them off their leashes, set them on an unsuspecting audience and witness the confluence of public nudity, various bodily fluids, remote control car races, indoor fireworks, animal parts and blazing instruments (literally) and turn up their guitars and amps to a concussive, eardrum-shattering level. That’s entertainment. That’s The Black Lips.
On this go-round, the Lips will likely be roaring though selections from their existing five-disc catalog (particularly their last two, 2007’s Good Bad Not Evil and 2009’s excellent and eclectic 200 Million Thousand) as well as a handful from their upcoming album, Arabia Mountain, slated for a June release. Get out your goggles and your best Punk hazmat suit and get ready to wang chunder tonight; the Black Lips have come for your blood, sweat, tears, jizz, puke and hearing. It’ll be an even trade.
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