The Post-Rockist

Greg Dulli is a big man. Physically, he is much larger than I had been deceived into believing by the cunning misrepresentations of modern photography. And in person, his yawps boom louder than on the albums. And that gravelly voice, so full of longing and gravel, shrieking for “that feeling,” something for which Dulli always seems on the look-out. That voice, like it’s owner, is simply too large, overpowering, and awe-striking. On the small stage of the Black Cat, he seemed to tower not only over the audience, over us all, over his bandmates, but over all other performers I’ve seen on that stage. A colossus.

And he’s cool because he just doesn’t give a shit. I was never a huge Whigs fan and I don’t actually own any of the Twilight Singers’ album–well not until the next paycheck at least, when I will buy all of them. I went to see the Singers due to the praises of old friends. I wasn’t expecting Dulli to break every rule of “cool” most bands follows to a tee. When I was in a band, long ago it seems, I was cursed at repeatly for the rookie mistake of introducing my band members–”How lame!” saith they. “What, do you expect me to do a cheesy drum solo after you call my name? DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN.” But Dulli introduced his band, and even mentioned that the guitarist will be playing a big part “in the next number.” “In the next number?” Who introduces a song like that anymore? Who does this guy think he is, Sinatra?

And since I’m using Sinatra as a point-of-comparison, I might as well report that Dulli delivered one of the best croons I’ve ever witnessed. Halfway through the set, Dulli jumped up from the keyboard he was playing, yanked the mic from its stand, pirouetted toward the stage with the mic chord spinning behind him, flailed his arms to-and-fro,  then fell hard upon his knees, offering his open hand to the audience as he pulled the mic toward his mouth to bellow his cathartic yearning again for “that feeling.” That big man fell right down, laid himself bare to his audience, and engulfed us all.

The colossus bestrode us and the night. He was simply bigger than the entire room. I’m guessing not even Sinatra ever got that big.

-Posted by Scotter