X/ Rollins Band/ Riverboat Gamblers
August 25, 2006
Jannus Landing
Words: Abigail Susik
Photos: Chris Russick

This show set what was quite possibly the world’s record for the goofiest, nerdiest, and most enthusiastic mosh pit ever.  Did you see the portly dude with the curly mohawk doing the chicken dance to X’s opening tune?  How about the aging, bleached rockers skipping with glee through a small sea of beer as X tore through “Los Angeles?”  Or the adoring punk-parents holding aloft their young, bespectacled son so he could scream at the top of his little lungs to Henry Rollins, “Play ‘Nervous Breakdown!’”  And then there was that wild-eyed blond chick with the press pass that could not hold still, dancing with every willing and gentlemanly rocker in the house.  That, my friendly readers, would be me, having one of the primo concert experiences of my modest life.

Openers Riverboat Gamblers were solid, though certainly the undercard of this raucous summer evening.  I had heard tales of their amazing feats at the Warped Tour, but was a little disappointed by their standard-fare song tactics, even though singer Mike Wiebe engaged in some of the most original between-song banter I have ever encountered and pulled off some impressive stage gymnastics.

Rollins Band was highly satisfactory, fully substantial, more the meat and potatoes of the evening. Henry Rollins being, of course, the meat in this scenario.  (Forgive that horrendous metaphor.)  The man, now in his mid-40’s, still looks fantastic, and I couldn’t help gawking at him in a circus side-show kind of way.  But hey, that’s always been part of the appeal, right?  A fine specimen, indeed. 

His back-up band was tight, as was to be expected from such seasoned studio musicians, but they definitely came across as hired-help, lacking heart, interested mainly in their individual virtuosity.  Rollins made up for it, taking his characteristic low fighting-stance and spitting out each song from the depths of his belly.  I’m not sure who was sweatier: Rollins—who had to spread a towel beneath his feet so as not to slip off the stage—or my boyfriend, who had dedicated himself to speeding up the circulation of the pit.

X stole the show, hands down.  Frank Black was right when he said the sound of Exene and John Doe harmonizing together was one of the greatest sounds on earth—kind of like the combination of a train wreck and an ethereal whale’s song.  Billy Zoom’s graceful high-velocity guitar riffing completed the rock and roll nirvana.  Basic blues, yes, but with an urgency and catchiness heretofore unmatched in my book.