The Kills played one of their only non-festival shows of the summer this past Tuesday at the Paradise and totally well, killed. If you heard of the Kills before you heard Allison Mosshart with the Dead Weather then you’re probably a true rock music connoisseur, and most likely a liar. But that’s fine, good for you. For the rest of us it was an introduction that we took very seriously when we first witnessed the unbridled raw talent that is this small rock vixen. Then as we dug deeper we discovered the guitar work of Jamie Hince and start to question how much of the Dead Weather was Jack’s creation versus what he adopted from the Kills in putting together his most raw and aggressive band to date.
Regardless, the Kills still feel like rock music’s well-kept secret. I guess because on their own, they’re still only at the Paradise which is a parallel step, I suppose, from their last gigs in Boston opening for Queens of the Stone Age and at Royale. Despite playing together for over a decade, the duo of Mosshart and Hince seem to have just hit their stride as a consistent, slightly under the radar, industrial swamp blues rock band (and yes, that’s how I describe them to people).
A leopard print backdrop, pink, purple and orange lights set the perfect mood for raw and dirty opener U.R.A. Fever, with Mosshart exploring every square inch of the stage with her wildly unkept bleached blonde hair. She is the quintessential rock and roll front woman; charismatic, sexy, unapologetic, you name it. She gets most of the attention, but there’s much more to this act.
Working their way through material mostly off of 2011’s Blood Pressures, the Kills brought a small legion of tribal tom drummers that play without any symbols and synchronize their moves together like an evil marching band directed by only by Hince’s peddled drum machine. This adds to the European industrial vibe that The Kills capture and the Paradise was perfect for creating that dark dungeon-like atmosphere.
If you could take your eyes off of Mosshart and the drummers for a second you’d soon realize that Hince is carrying the bulk of the musical load for this duo and the dude is really a living guitar legend. He gets creaks and moans and deep dark heavy sounds out of his guitar that I’ve only ever heard closing attic doors and running trash compactors. He does it with roots in simple southern Mississippi swamp blues riffs, thumbs a droned bass line, loops it, then crushes it with distortion and other effects I can’t even describe. For all that can be said about this guy’s personal life, (drugs, Kate Moss, Lindsay Lohan) all aside he’s got to be one of the most original and creative guitarists out there today.
You got your Tape Song and other favorites in the 45 minute set and a four song encore highlighted by Sour Cherry, “I’m the only sour cherry on your fruit stand,” and of course the theatrical crooner The Last Goodbye. Overall, with all that is going on with indie rock music being blended with electronics and pop trends, the Kills are a go-to if you need to get away from all the bullshit out there. Time and time again they put on a true rock show with just the right amount of gloom and doom, and glit and glam to remind you that rock n’ roll is best played dark, dirty and in your fucking face.
