Black Rebel Motorcycle Club/The Cobbs/Dead Combo at The Newport in Columbus, OH

The crowd at the show tonight started small, and grew to fill the bottom level of the venerable rock club. It was as diverse a crowd as I've seen in many moons. There were drunken fratboys, filthy hipsters sporting fashion mullets and high heels, a seven foot tall blind guy rocking out with the best of them, a curly haired delinquent, and a large number of older folks. Not that there's anything wrong with heading out to a Rock Concert on a Monday night when you've got to be up at the ass-crack of dawn for work the next morning, trust me, I get to do that very thing, but what was odd was the sheer amount of people obviously over the age of 40 at the show. I had no idea that BRMC's fanbase encompassed such a wide generational spectrum.

When the first opener, Dead Combo, took the stage, we all welcomed them with courteous applause. The crazy Finlander with a severe beard - and an even more severe pair of braided pig tails - and his band of misfits played a brand of rock and roll that was not too far removed from that of BRMC, but for some reason the crowd didn't respond in kind. Maybe the rock star persona was too far out there, the act too big for their britches, or maybe it was because the similarities were too great. The dirty guitars and the slippery vocals could have been from a BRMC tribute band, but they were coming from this trio, and it was tinged with bombast rather than darkness. Where the pale white underbelly of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is coated in a sticky gloss of debauchery and woe, the heart of Dead Combo was a haphazardly conflated notion of what it meant to be a Rock star. It would have been a tougher pill to swallow if they hadn't kicked so much ass in their short time on stage, but as it was, they rocked at least one member of the audience hard. Which is more than can be said for the second act, The Cobbs.

With four guitarists and a drummer, there was almost too much going on stage. We went from an act without a bass guitar (as far as I could tell) and were on our way to a group in which both guys played both guitars and both did vocals, but somehow we managed to make a pit-stop with this confused group of guys from Philly. Of the five gents in the band, only one made an impression, the guy with the afro (if they had anything resembling a bio on their website/MySpace I might be able to tell you his name) definitely knew how to be a Rock Star. If Dead Combo (or lead singer, Nuuti Kataja, anyway) were over the top, The Cobbs still think they're playing in Philly to a packed house of ten of their friends; with the exception of that guy with the afro. He knew what the fuck was up and he made full use of it. His vocals were crap (would it be so hard to open your mouth and enunciate every now again?), but his guitar work was immaculate. He was a certified practitioner of the fine rocking art of sexing up his guitar while playing it. I bet that ax has to take a cold shower after all the action it gets onstage with that guy's gyrating hips. I guess it comes down to the fact that The Cobbs are a guitar band first and a rock band second. Their guitars were tight and talented, but the vocals were poorly sung and forgettable. They've got half the equation, now they just have to work on that other half.

With all these wannabes traipsing about Columbus on a Monday Night, it was fantastic when the real deal finally emerged from the wings. When Peter, Robert and Nick walked onstage at exactly 10PM, you could tell from their swagger that they were here to rock. When they launched into the opening notes of "Took Out a Loan", my chest vibrated with the pressure of the bassline, and the two front men belted out the first track from "Baby 81". Peter was lit by a single red lamp shining at the face of his large guitar, Robert on the opposite stage was in blue, but lit from above and behind. A mysterious extra guitarist helped out on several tracks, but for the most part the dueling front men swapped vocal roles and even instruments. From there they led into pitch perfect (albeit with newly added guitar jams in the middle) renditions of "Belin" and "Lien on Your Dreams", all three personal favorites, which started the show with an incredible burst of energy that they would ride through the rest of the night. With the smash hit, "Ain't No Easy Way" the crowd burst into a frenzy of writhing bodies, but for whatever reason - despite the show in front of them - the crowd had lost interest by the second refrain. With the one-two punch of "Ain't No Easy Way" and "Weapon of Choice" (both of which have received heavy airplay on CD101 here in Columbus), BRMC made it clear to everyone that they were Rock stars and that to them, it was as effortless as tying your shoes. They took us all through their unique world of filthy, dirty, blues guitars, and lecherous, seedy tunes that make you feel all hot and sticky like a vinyl couch on a hot July night. A track like "666 Conducer" was transformed from a pounding rock stomp into this sexy, almost pornographic song with a lithe bass-line slinking across the scorching black asphalt and gyrating vocals stealing lecherous glances at us when we're not looking. It makes you feel dirty and violated and rocked all at the same time, a feeling unique to BRMC and their unique brand of rock and roll.

After playing a pretty set in stone list of tunes, the guys left the stage only to return for the inevitable encore. They played three acoustic songs, two by Peter and one by Robert (a Bob Dylan cover) then came back on and played several requested songs. It was this fly by night approach to the encore that made me respect them as a band all that much more. After they'd finished up the few songs they'd planned, Robert lowered his mic stand into the audience to get a request. It was "Six Barrel Shotgun," a cut from their album, "Take Them On, On Your Own", and it got a great reaction from the crowd, but it was what was happening on-stage that was fascinating. It was this lion-taming act that the two ax-men were performing with each strum and pluck of their guitars. The guitars were treated like barely tamed beasts, coaxed into a submission that was nowhere near total. They have a mind of their own, and the boys of BRMC had to force them to do their will. And the result? A grimy, gravelly, dark love song called, "Red Eyes and Tears". It was nice to see a band that truly appreciated those that they had to thank for their current position of fame: their audience. With their multiple encores (I think I counted three), audience requests, and even ignoring the management of the venue when he told them they were done, BRMC held to the ideal of the Rock Star as appreciative yet unattainable. They remained far enough away to maintain that air of star condescension, but they let us in just enough to learn how much they appreciated us, their fans, and I think that's what it really takes to be a true Rock Star.

Check out Dodge's coverage of the show in Indy tomorrow night at My Old Kentucky Blog, all part of the Filter Magazine's BRMC Online Tour 'Zine.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club Official Site
The Cobbs Official Site
Dead Combo Official site

"Six Barrel Shotgun" Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

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