The Black Lips at Mojo’s

The Black Lips‘ shows approach mythological proportions. Stripping, spitting, bleeding, drinking one’s own piss – nothing is out of line for these southern garage rockers. The Lips are also famous for rockabilly-flavored punk that’s refracted through an avalanche of eardrum-bursting noise. (It’s what early-era Beatles records would sound like, if the Beatles were from Georgia, had a death wish, and were severely strung out.)

The band shook the grungy floorboards of Mojo’s on Tuesday night, blasting through their catalog with a buzzing punk fury. Approximately four songs into the set, the crowd doused the band, stage and ceiling fan in silly string. Of course, the Lips were either a) too fucked up to notice, or b) didn’t care, as they continued to churn out furious anthems drenched in spit and sweat. Gashes of blues-y guitar bled through the Lips’ grunge fuzz, giving a dissonant depth to the band’s bashing noise. The be-grilled guitar player intoned in a crackly voice (not unlike James Franco’s weed-infused croon): “Y’all look thirsty. Drink this.” He lobbed a can of PBR into the crowd, before looking suspiciously at the bar and amending, “But if you’re underage, don’t drink that,” before baring a silver shit-eating grin. Bassist Jared Swilley – dressed like a ’70s porn star, complete with molestache – howled into two mics at once before letting out a blurt of lumpy, brown vomit onto the stage floor without missing a shriek. Beer flew; bodies thrashed; B.O. reeked, and it was beautiful.