The Kills, Louis XIV @ ThePrince, Melbourne (03/04/2009)

Tue 7th Apr, 2009 in Gig Reviews

I won’t lie – I wasn’t entirely prepared for Louis XIV. Armed only with a short album review I had read a while back along the lines of ‘they’re real good’, I was a clean slate standing amongst slabs of granite. Under the circumstances you’ll have to forgive my initial errors in judgement: Black coordinated suits boasting touches of satin, fresh floral arrangements peppering the stage and a bottle of red wine in debonair display on an amp directed me to believe this would be a fairly tasteful affair. Wrong. So, so wrong.

Louis XIV is smut. Twinkling, strutting smut that leans against the wall of a Parisian bar. Of course the twinkliest of all is front man Jason Hill, as he winks his way through Finding Out True Love Is Blind and Paper Doll. Though the band remains far from it, there’s something so pubescent about this music – a mix of sex, playfulness and anger. Pounding away at his guitar, I can’t help but picture Hill as a kind of apprentice in filth. It’s terrific. Strutting and twinkling aside, the team know how to punch out some tempered rock. If Suzi Quatro re-recorded Your Mama Won’t Like Me as four Californian guys, this would be it. Sure they approach a few songs with a lingering sincerity, but I couldn’t shake the impression that it was a kind of token interlude to what they clearly do best – an inter-lewd, if you will…

While the band try their darndest to keep up with Hill’s self-important stride, by the close of the set I’m a little less than convinced. As I counted down each crass lyric and crunching bass line the stage seemed to morph from a catwalk to a playpen and I noted the group sharing fervent swigs from a communal wine bottle nudged at endearing rather than seditious. As the group manage to play themselves into a kind of dirty-velvet stupor it just looks like too much fun to be subversive. I guess this explains the crowd lunging themselves around the Prince grinning like ten year olds.

If Jason Hill is an apprentice in the glam-rock game, Alison Mosshart is his mentor. Pawing her way across the stage, she is joined by Jamie Hince who takes a more direct route to the microphone – an easy path, considering the stage is void of any obstacle whatsoever. The Kills play to a pre-recorded backing, probably because the sheer voltage of electricity charging between the pair would blow any other equipment they dared set up. The interaction between these two is magnetic.

Opening with U.R.A Fever Hince tangles himself between the strings of his guitar, furrowed concentration oscillating between his instrument and the tech crew. Meanwhile, Mosshart stands over the audience on a fallback amp practically taunting them with her feline prowess. It won’t be the last that amp sees of her…

As we plough into Sour Cherry and No Wow, there seems to be a kind of sexual synergy pulling the two guitars together until we arrive at Kissy Kissy with a blues drawl practically tugging the two performers together to the same mic. Not only is it hot, but entirely exclusive and my first instinct is to close a door somewhere.

Almost immediately afterward, The Kills part ways and take their positions on stage with Black Balloon. Hince rests side stage plucking away at his guitar, while Mosshart lights a cigarette and relaxes the air for us. The whole thing was very post coital. In a stew of memorable moments, this was perhaps the most genuine performance of the night. It was also around this time when a perceptible restlessness began to pick away at the band, steering their set into a different direction entirely.

Following the opening grind of Getting Down, Mosshart’s eyes began to lull themselves almost rhythmically to a close. During the night she had constructed a long chain of cigarettes, which at this point were depositing ash into the front row. It was completely comical. (I wasn’t in the front row.) While Hince wilfully played his guitar, trying to keep up with Mosshart’s pace of rock, his counterpart was almost fumbling her way around the stage in search of a microphone – the previous mic had shattered after it was thrown to the floor, leaving a nearby tech chasing after her across the stage to hand her another. Bless him.

Their return to encore, of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins I Put A Spell On You, seemed to throw the balance altogether for her. At this point she was high-fiving the audience. Compelling viewing as it was, I couldn’t help but feel for Hince as he held his good humour high for all to see.

CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM THE SHOW HERE