Queens Of The Stone Age at The Riv
When a band announces it’s giving an early album the reissue treatment, it’s not necessarily a knee-jerk reaction to question the band’s future. Considering what Queens Of The Stone Age frontman Josh Homme has been up to during the band’s extended break since 2007’s Era Vulgaris—producing Arctic Monkeys’ Humbug, boogying with Jesse Hughes in Eagles Of Death Metal, super-grouping with John Paul Jones and Dave Grohl in Them Crooked Vultures, and a fathering a child with The Distillers’ Brody Dalle—it’s easy to see signs that he may be outgrowing his career-defining band, a la Jack White. But Friday night at The Riv, Queens Of The Stone Age belied any doubts of their future with a raucous rundown of their past.
Moments into the frantic guitar workout of the opener, “Regular John,” Homme made the night’s M.O. plainly clear: The band was to pay homage to its stage-setting debut album by bulking up its songs with all of the sonic muscle the band has packed on since. It’s a simple conceit, but given the album’s lo-fi production and a relaxed swagger rarely seen since, the idea certainly had potential. The slithering hard-rocker “Avon” and the crushing groove of “Mexicola” rattled with “Sick Sick Sick”-style crunch, making their album counterparts sound downright tame in comparison, and the exaggerated pauses on “If Only” made the chorus’ hook even catchier. Sped up to maintain momentum, the offbeat lurch of “Walkin’ On The Sidewalks” gave way to a closing cacophony of hiccupping rhythms and extraneous noise, which was one of the few leniencies taken with the original arrangements.
As the band blazed through Side A without so much as a pause, though, the set started to feel rushed: Homme was noticeably reserved, and still hadn’t muttered more than a few words. But when he spotted an easy target for some playful mockery—someone had brought a trashy romance novel to the show, and actually had it out—the mood of the night quickly lightened. After a few jabs, (“Let me guess: Twilight.”), Homme recited a few choice lines, and with that newfound levity, the band settled into a more relaxed groove for the set’s second half.
Even most of the double-encore’s set list seemed to be in service of the debut album; “Little Sister,” “Burn The Witch,” and “Sick Sick Sick” all shared the deceptive simplicity and focused assault of the initial set. Behind the blinding whitewash of the stage lights, the band members became head-banging, chain-smoking silhouettes, and—save for Homme’s rockabilly-bob and devilish-Elvis impression earning some spotlight—mostly retreated into the stage, letting the music speak for itself.
Since the band’s inception, Queens Of The Stone Age have always been about the visceral, making music “heavy enough for the boys and sweet enough for the girls.” It had been four years since the band last rolled through The Riv, and if it turns out to be four more, at least it’s proven that the band can do nostalgia, too.
