Live music review: Black Flag at Mohawk and Combichrist at Elysium Saturday
I wanted to clown on this current incarnation of Black Flag. I really did. Going into the show on Saturday at Mohawk, my expectations were low. When a legendary band has gone through a cadre of lineups over the years, it’s hard to get excited when Greg Ginn is the only original member up there chugging away on the hits that are so influential to our lives. Mike Vallely looms large in skateboarding, and over the last two decades, he’s fronted a few different bands, most recently, Black Flag. With a board under his feet, Mike V is in the skateboarding Hall of Fame. As a singer fronting one of the most influential hardcore bands of all time? I wasn’t buying it.
Walking around Mohawk, I caught up with a bunch of friends. It was good to reconnect with so many old friends, everyone in a good mood, knowing that the plan for the evening was that the band would play all of My War and then follow it up with a greatest hits set. As the band took the stage, their congenial attitudes seemed relaxed, they were excited to play in a packed venue, but no one was pacing like a caged animal – except Mike V. And for that, you have to give him credit. Was the experience a transformative event of a lifetime? No, but Mike V channeled the Henry Rollins of 1983, shaved head and all. Stalking his way through the Black Flag catalog and giving it his all. It was Black Flag karaoke done at an expert level. The Rollins-style howls and all. Keith Morris apparently wasn’t on the menu while they did some of his era tunes like “Nervous Breakdown;” Mike V was still all Rollins. Many parents brought their children, and it’s always cool to see the youth getting an education in music that changed our lives. Will they care? Some will and some won’t, but all we can do is hope they’ll file the experience back in their heads when a friend asks if they’re into BTS.
The band was tight. The songs were smooth. The guys’ Ginn recruited to play did a solid job of keeping the pace behind Mike V’s attack. If suspension of belief is a life skill in your arsenal, then there’s no issue with catching a gig should they come to your town. Just go into it, and you’ll get to scream along to “Six Pack” and “Rise Above.” Mike V plays the psycho with flair; honestly, Rollins would probably approve of the effort. My only gripe was the noodling between songs was brutal. Just get to the hits, dudes.
Splitting from Mohawk, I cruised down the street to Elysium to catch Priest and Combichrist. Priest was this weird, industrial act, complete with dudes in leather masks with red lights. Elysium is one of the more underrated rooms in Austin. It’s a joy to catch a gig there. The sound is always crisp, with a low ceiling and big stage that consistently makes for good shows. Priest comprises former members from the band Ghost, and the two couldn’t sound any more different. While Ghost is rock opera or theatrical, Priest is dancey and upbeat, meant for fog machines and extreme lighting for maximum effect. I am curious to know how they managed to keep the masks on, though.
Combichrist was an exercise in dark music and good friends. Eschewing their newer metal sound, they stuck to their industrial roots for this gig and played the driving, deep, and super horny hits that made them headliners. Their music is like an orgy of sadness and internal rage, looking for a moment to scream into the pillow while something delicious but bad is happening. Catching Combichrist on a whim is always a treat in the most decadent ways. Hopefully, they will continue to celebrate their industrial roots and keep the beats thumping into the heart of the night.
As I ordered a halal salad from the food truck on Red River, I caught a little of The Khost at the 13th Floor, which was a fun take on shoegaze, owing much to My Bloody Valentine with their blistering loudness that retreats into quiet retrospection. Austin once again wins for diversity; as I walked past a few folks dressed up in drag, the national movement to criminalize one’s identity is exhausting. Texas needs to accept that adults play dress up. Republicans pretend to have morals, so why can’t Larry throw on the eyeliner? The beauty of diverse voices matters, and there’s a romance to finding solace in the noise from all corners of the city.
Sitting at Raisin’ Canes off the drag is where introspection lives, if only for a moment. As I shoved my fried chicken fingers down, clogging my arteries one drip of grease at a time, Nirvana’s “Come as You Are” came on – a band that changed the world. I was a part of their tsunami of influence that was just background noise to throngs of college kids deep into the effects of the bottle. And it reminds you, that even though your night was filled with hugs from old friends and music that saves you, there is always someone out there who just wants some extra sauce, having no idea who the band on the radio is. I didn’t see anyone wearing a new Black Flag t-shirt, and that’s ok.
Black Flag featured photo by Bryan Nelson
Combichrist and Priest photos by Roi Hernandez
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