Black Lips, Andrew Jackson Jihad, and Destruction Unit at Marquee Theatre
Black Lips, Destruction Unit, Andrew Jackson Jihad @ Marquee Theatre|4/6/13
I do this thing with movies where if it's a director I like, I refuse to view trailers, read interviews or any news whatsoever related to the film until I've seen it in theaters. I did this with No Country for Old Men, The Master, Spring Breakers, and Melancholia, just to name a few. If I know the director is excellent and the movie will likely be excellent, I like going in completely ignorant, figuring out the storyline as I go along. It makes the experience that much more enjoyable.
That said, I should know the Black Lips inside and out. I'm a terrible hipster, apparently, because even the few songs I've streamed on YouTube have been lost in the muddle that is my drug-addled brain. Going in to review a show, I should know every lyric by heart, every riff like the back of my hand, every fucking drumbeat like my own heartbeat, right? Gawd, I'm a terrible hipster.
Then again, there's no better way to introduce yourself to a band than through their live show. I was here, at the Marquee Theater, to explain the "why" and the "how," not extrapolate on my fandom.
Want more context? I've got zero health insurance (Obama really needs to get off his ass, doesn't he?) so I've been hacking up weird phlegmy discharges for the last three weeks and haven't had a sense of smell since February. Plus, my Friday night left me sore in places I forgot I can get sore, I was badly sunburned from a day at the lake and I had gotten about four hours of fitful sleep on some dude's floor. Great.
But I went to this show ready to fucking rock and roll.
After finishing a Sobe that was not filled with Sobe (wink, wink) and queuing through airport security, I mean, the line, my friends and I meandered through the construction and right to the front of the stage. Destruction Unit was gonna be on in five minutes, except some jackass pulled a fire alarm. Oh well, more time to drink, I suppose. 45 minutes later, the show was on.
Destruction Unit was more psychedelic garage rock than punk, but whatever their singer was yelling was drowned out in the roar of the pit. I cracked my head against two other heads, my shins met dozens of other shins, my friend's vintage World War II Navy captain's hat was thrown to the floor and stomped on, my other friend lost his jacket, never to be seen again, and this was all within the first five minutes.
Melissa Fossum Destruction Unit at Marquee Theatre.
But those guys on stage were doing something right, besides drinking half a beer and then throwing it everywhere or climbing on top of speakers. See, this is a proper introduction. I didn't know any of Destruction Unit's music either. Shame, shame, shame on me, and maybe later I'll even know what lyrics they have.
A quick recovery at the bar and on the smoker's patio, then it was back to the front for Andrew Jackson Jihad. This marks the fourth, possibly fifth time I've seen these guys, which is still too infrequent. But hey, this is weird: despite being the best local band in Phoenix since forever, this was AJJ's first time at Marquee. Oh yeah, making history. They went all electric for this one, including a drummer and a guitarist guy that I smoked with once (cigarettes, duh).