Black Lips and Deerhunter prove you can never have too much of a good thing

By Jenny Charlesworth (Georgia Straight)

At the Commodore Ballroom, on Thursday, July 23




















photo: sarah bastin / Flickr

If you can make it through Groundhog Day without furiously chucking your remote at the TV during the painfully repetitive 1993 cult classic, then the Black Lips–Deerhunter double bill last Thursday night at the Commodore wouldn't have fazed you at all.

The pairing of the lo-fi Atlanta bands is a no-brainer as far as crowd-pleasers go, but you've got to ask yourself: how many times are these guys going to repeat this particular tour configuration. Isn't it a bit much to hit Vancouver three times in the span of two years on this seemingly never-ending Black Lips–Deerhunter package?

Whatever the reason—a wacky time loop or a secret love affair between Black Lips bassist Jared Swilley and Deerhunter lead singer Bradford Cox—it's a damn good thing that both sets of Pitchfork poster boys were in top form on this evening.

Thanks to the perfect mashup of colourful acid-flashback-inducing stage lights, shoegazing psych-pop, and rambunctious '60s-tinged flower-punk, debating how high the night registered on the déjà vu meter seemed like the last thing on anyone's mind. The packed room—an intriguing mix of squeaky-clean UBC students still trying to get their bearings after a harrowing stint tree-planting up north and beer-guzzling hipsters—was about as gung ho as Rosie O'Donnell in front of a stack of Burger King Double Whoppers.

While Deerhunter's opening set was more subdued than that of its spunky Vice-sanctioned counterparts, the quartet's experimental jams still managed to whip those front and centre into a reverb-loving frenzy. During hypnotic numbers like the far-out soundscape “Cryptograms” and the relaxed, Tropicália-tinged “Rainwater Cassette Exchange”, there was no sign that the crowd's members were anxious for the mayhem of the Black Lips—arguably the bigger draw of the evening.

But once the Lips arrived, the dance floor was a swarming mess of outreached arms and kicking legs, as overzealous crowd surfers rode the buck-wild throng to Black Lips anthems like “Starting Over”, “Sea of Blasphemy”, and “Not a Problem”. Given the group's highly publicized history of debauched show antics, it wasn't that surprising that the southern punks didn't seem concerned by the insane onslaught of stage divers throughout their set. What was baffling, though, was that the guys didn't pummel the dumb shlub who, after clawing his way on-stage, slow-danced like a sedated gorilla alongside some half-baked Aldo sales associate, all within steps of guitarist-vocalist Cole Alexander's mike stand. Perhaps the members of the foursome knew that its adoring fans would take care of them

And that's exactly what happened when a Good Samaritan took matters into his own hands and leapt on-stage, flinging the doucheface back into the throbbing masses below. As the night went on, the chaotic energy never let up, which was excellent news for best buds Black Lips and Deerhunter. Apparently, you can never have too much of a good thing.