The lighting is scarce. The audience is huddled in front of the
stage, waiting, hoping. These proud few have come together in
anticipation for an event that only they can appreciate: a rock ‘n’
roll show. The band playing, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, has been
hailed as one of the flag-bearers for the new rock revival that
seems to be sweeping the United States and England. In the United
States, though, the band is more of a myth, a story told from one
rock fan to another about a show that must be experienced to be
understood. That story brought the people in Monday night, when
BRMC played Mississippi Nights.

The opening band, the Stratford 4, is a young band, one rife
with potential. The vocalist is a throwback to early ’80s new wave
moaning and crying, while the rest of the band leans more toward
garage rock. Once the guitarist gets his foot off the effects
pedal, this band might do some good things.

Soon enough, Peter Hayes, Robert Turner and Nick Jago of BRMC
take to the stage to substantial audience applause. Starting with
the current single, “Stop,” the band immediately got the audience
into the show. This excitement grew even more into the blazing
“Six-Barrel Shotgun.”

The energy in the audience died as the band went into slower,
darker songs, such as “Generation.” Bassist Turner was the most
animated of the group, writhing in his spot as he played. The waves
of distortion and noise were thick enough to swim in; instead, the
crowd drowned in its sweet pulses.

For the most part, the band played in darkness. The only lights
shown on the band were muted reds and blues, enhanced by a thin
veil of smoke encasing the band. It was shadowy; it was mysterious;
it was perfect.

The downtempo mood subsided soon, entering into another area of
guitar blitz. “We’re All in Love” put the crowd back into its
element, flowing from side to side as if in one intense zombie
waltz.

The set climaxed with “Whatever Happened to my Rock ‘n’ Roll,”
the band’s signature song from their eponymous debut album. The dim
lights gave way to bright lights behind the band, allowing the
crowd to see only a murky silhouette of the band. Both the band and
the crowd were in the groove, feeding off each other
relentlessly.

The encore was only two songs, but these were two of the best of
the evening. For the first one, “Suddenly,” Turner and Hayes
switched up their bass and guitar duties, though the difference was
hardly discernable. This slow dirge put the crowd into a comatose
state, slowly crushing them into submission. This, however, did not
last.

The last song, “Rise or Fall,” was the final straw. Anyone who
experienced it and did not automatically love the band lacks any
passion for music. At one point, Turner disappeared behind the
smoke and distortion, only to reappear in the crowd, stumbling
around like a man drunk on something far more powerful than any
alcohol. Soon thereafter, the noise ended, the band slowly put
their instruments back on their stands, said a quick “thank you” to
the crowd and strolled off the stage.

It took the audience a few seconds to realize the show was over;
they slowly proceeded to the exit themselves. There wasn’t asinine
chatter, because no one could figure out a way to put what they
just saw into words. They had come hoping for a rock show, they
left getting everything they wanted–and more.