Balls-to-the-wall rock stars are an endangered species — very few are free of irony or self-parody and have the panache to pull off the necessary persona and musical substance in equal measure. If there was any doubt beforehand, The Kills’ recent performance at Detroit’s Majestic Theatre cemented their ranking in that upper echelon. Soaked in sex and the best kind of sleaze, the duo of Alison Mosshart and Jamie Hince (or VV and Hotel, respectively) epitomized cool on the stage, serving up a batch of 16 vascular, blood-pumping cuts of grimy blues and proving that their badassery is no affectation.
U.S. Girls’ opening nine-song set mixed pop, new wave, and drone with sci-fi soundtrack tones and dialogue samples (an impressive sound, though their stage presence was flat), after which a leopard-print backdrop descended at the back of the stage before The Kills appeared. The duo were supported by two leather-jacketed dudes, who throughout the show handled percussion duties, banging in unison on two pairs of floor toms like automatons. Without preamble, they launched into the manic “Sour Cherry” from Midnight Boom, Mosshart gripping the mic stand and leaning over the audience, her bleached hair waving, while Hince on the opposite side of the stage strangled the first of many melodic noises from his guitar.
The group continued without banter through the voodoo rhythm of “Future Starts Slow” and “Heart is a Beating Drum,” Mosshart shedding her biker jacket to convulse and jerk unfettered. With the repetitive Delta-blues indebted “Kissy Kissy,” a red light saturated the scene before Hince showcased some dirty virtuoso techniques. “You probably don’t get this a lot because you live here, but it’s like a landmark when we play Detroit,” Hince said after the song ended. “Rock is Detroit!” he shouted, to the crowd’s delight. A bit later, the band played “U.R.A. Fever,” trading vocals amid the lurching dread of the verses then chanting the title in the lumbering refrain. When it ended, a fan found his way on stage and ran to leap off it. When a security guard or roadie came to grab the man, Hince nixed his efforts. “No, no, let him do it,” he instructed, prompting the other man to back away as the attendee dove into the audience. “That was one of the best I’ve ever seen.”
Never having seen them live before, I expected the band’s dark and sinister façade to create a divide between them and their audience. Not so. Mosshart and Hince fed off one another’s energy in a visible chemistry, exchanging sly smirks with each other and sultry looks at the crowd. Just as regularly, Mosshart would get nearly on top of Hince during a solo and he would invade her zone while she sang. Rather than being standoffish, Mosshart had a near permanent smile on her face and frequently broke into laughter. She scarcely stopped moving at any point — spinning, writhing, and spasming as though her sprightly form had rubberized bones. Hince likewise didn’t slow down, roadies quickly passing him Hofner guitars so he could keep his place at the stage’s cusp. Maybe the loose vibe resulted from The Kills playing for the sheer joy of it, on the second date of a mini-tour that isn’t borne of having a new record to promote.
During the wounded yet defiant “Baby Says,” Mosshart played a Memotron keyboard while Hince peeled flesh with a solo. The slyly creepy “Black Balloon” opened with a blue glow in the theatre, just Mosshart on guitar before the drumming minions led the audience in clapping along and Hince stood at the stage’s edge during some frenetic strumming. An epilepsy-inducing light show then heralded “No Wow,” as Mosshart crouched down and slowly built herself up as the song crest and broke. Come the stomping menace of “Pots and Pans,” a low-key start swelled to the point where Mosshart banged on a third pair of floor toms and Hince issued distorted squalls from his Hofner that sounded like a lawnmower starting up. The band then ended the main set on “Monkey 23,” which started with an aching fragility before Hince let loose with some bluster, rubbing a mic stand on his guitar neck before switching to a more conventional bottleneck. Rather than detracting from the song’s vulnerability, such method’s amplified it.
After a brief break, The Kills delivered a three-song encore, Hince returning with a Corona bottle but without the two drummers. A version of “Last Goodbye” was no less affecting than its studio counterpart, Mosshart standing with arms crossed as she let her soulful vocals alone hold the audience’s attention. Hince trigger a looped keyboard melody by turns funereal and romantic, the sparse accompaniment anchoring the narrator’s emotional tug-of-war. Not wanting to end the show on such a morose note, the band summoned their drummers again to end with cacophonous renditions of “Last Day of Magic” and “Fried My Little Brains.” As the group released their debut LP 10 years ago, it was entirely appropriate they ended the set on a track from that album.
Without hyperbole, I can say The Kills put on one of the best shows I’ve attended. Top five for sure, with a near perfect set list composed of fan favorites and deep cuts culled from each of their albums. Not that I lacked respect for them beforehand, but I left the Majestic with a greater depth instilled.
Setlist
1.Sour Cherry
2.Future Starts Slow
3.Heart is a Beating Drum
4.Kissy Kissy
5.U.R.A. Fever
6.Satellite
7.DNA
8.Baby Says
9.Tape Song
10.Black Balloon
11.No Wow
12.Pots and Pans
13.Monkey 23
ENCORE
14.Last Goodbye
15.Last Day of Magic
16.Fried My Little Brains
