BUST, BUST, BUST

Back in the wilds of Texas a few years ago, my pal Brian and I were sitting around the Casbah imbibing in the hookah of wisdom and listening to tunes when he played me a little record called Chain Gang of Love. I asked Brian who resurrected the Everly Brothers and he laughed and said, “JD, these cats are from Denmark.”

No shit! Well I loved the sound - twangy guitars never shy of a reverb pedal, classic dual harmonies, and haunting, sexy songs full of irony and longing. I happily followed The Raveonettes (named for the Buddy Holly song "Rave On") through their first few albums. So with an excited heart and hipspinster by my side I bought, yes BOUGHT, a couple of tix to catch their show last Tuesday night at the El Rey. Mind you I hadn't heard the new album, LUST, LUST, LUST, released in November, but was sure that the set was gonna be kicking, regardless.

After a sometimes painful, never more than mediocre set by opening act, Nashville's Be Your Own Pet, Sune and Sharin finally took the stage and, well, proceeded to kind of bore me to death. I found myself scene-watching 20 minutes in as I waited in vain for tunes like "Little Animal" and "Somewhere in Texas." These guys have at least three songs about LA, and I didn't hear one of them.

One of the problems I've been having with live acts lately is a lack of showmanship on stage. More often than not in this town I've been disappointed by talented bands stepping on stage and being about as interesting as a tea cozy between songs while LA hipsters golf clap in approval. Also, the last two acts I caught (Cobra Starship and The Hives) had showmanship in SPADES and I may have been coming in with the notion that the times were a changing. The Raveonettes, with maybe 10 words uttered between songs the entire set, blew that hope right out of the water. Chalk it up to English as a second language or maybe just a band intimidated by headlining in Los Angeles, if you will. But at times I wondered if I missed a break between songs as one tune droned on into the next.

I hate being disappointed by bands I love, who doesn't? I'll continue to dance at home with the hookah and rave on to that great love sound, but the next time they come around, I don't know if I'll bother checking out the live show. Le sigh.