09/10/08
Text: David Berkovits
I recently moved to Tel Aviv, Israel from New York, and had one serious reservation about this major life change: will I still know rock 'n roll when I see it? Luckily for me, upon arrival less than three weeks ago, I was bombarded with signs all over the city advertising an upcoming show. And not just any act, mind you, but that union of two great grunge legends who haven’t slipped through the cracks of mediocrity: Mark Lanegan and Greg Dulli, better know as The Gutter Twins.
The venue and its surrounding neighborhood in Tel Aviv are worth remarking on. "The Barbie Club" is in the middle of the closest thing I’ve seen to a ghetto since my arrival: motorcycle shops, bodegas, cheesy neon clubs, and what appeared to be deserted housing flats everywhere. From the outside, the Barbie Club is eerily similar to the spot where Wayne and Garth go see the "The Shitty Beatles" in Wayne’s World. I was supposed to be on the guest list but wasn't; I’m 100% certain the blame lies not with Sub Pop but with a few disorganized Israelis. (The guest list itself was practically scribbled in crayon, and looked like it had come out of two rounds in the washing machine.) I pleaded my case to the venue promoter. I asked to speak to some sympathetic Americans, i.e. Mark Lanegan or Greg Dulli. No luck. They finally let me in.
The interior of the Barbie Club can only be described as a sizable, gothic barn. A tiny, intimately crowded balcony clings to three walls of the perimeter, and was intimately crowded. Several chandeliers hang from the ceiling, creating a very McCabe & Mrs. Miller atmosphere, which is all right in my book. The place was crowded and everyone seemed genuinely excited. (I spoke with a few concertgoers and asked them about the live music scene in Tel Aviv. They reminisced about past shows they attended: The Breeders, The Twilight Singers. They hilariously attempted to explain to me how Israel helped Radiohead break out during their embryonic years. They appeared to have zero idea about the variety of music easily accessible to U.S. music fans. However, the relative drought of rock ‘' roll in Israel does make them appreciate what they have, when they have it.)
A young man named Asaf Avidan opened the show. I loathe making the comparison, but his solo strumming and mousy voice reminded me of no one more than Ani DiFranco. Sample lyric from his whiteboy acoustic blues: My baby, she’s just a little puppy, but she’s acting like a full grown bitch. ‘Nuff said.
Then it was time for the main event: one by one, the members of The Gutter Twins' backing band crawled on stage, hidden behind smoke and shadows, and began vamping on the opening chord of "The Stations," awaiting the arrival of their infamous leaders. Lanegan appeared first, clutching the microphone stand—he wouldn't let go of it for the rest of the night. Dulli followed closely, guitar in hand, soon joining in for the chorus. The Barbie Club erupted; one song in and the Gutter Twins owned Tel Aviv.
When the noise died down, Dulli spoke some intelligible Hebrew and thanked the crowd in English. They followed the opener with an hour and a half set comprised of songs from both their catalogues, a few covers, and tracks off Saturnalia, their only full-length as a proper band. Despite packing on a bit of pudge in recent years, Dulli still maintains his cool. (I won’t bother arguing that it wasn’t awkward watching him move around as if he still had his early 90s physique; let’s just say it wasn’t as pathetic as it should have been. I guess when you ooze loads of talent from your fat pores, you can get away with a lot and still maintain dignity.) And Mark Lanegan was amazing: despite looking like death warmed over, his presence was unshakably alive, his voice hitting the crowd like a battering ram.
The encore was a fitting climax: "Hit The City" from Lanegan’s Bubblegum. It was an ecstatic end to a night that proved one simple fact: Tel Aviv knows how to rock.
