Gig Memories: Afghan Whigs at Subterania
The Afghan WhigsSubterania, 25 August 1998
Years back because I used to go to a lot of similar gigs I would see quite a few of the same faces at them (this still happens to a lesser degree and now they tend to be older than me for some reason!). One guy I used to chat to was a moody, quiet type who had hung out with The Breeders and met Kurt Cobain. My best friend hated him but he would always be worth talking to because he would always recommend great bands I didn't know. One time, appalled that my favourite band was Dinosaur Jr ("I can't stand that guy's voice!"), he told me I should listen to The Afghan Whigs instead.
By chance the following week they released a new single called Debonair, so since it was just 99p I picked up a copy. And of course I just couldn't stop playing it, I was blown away. It was dark, intense yet soulful and loud. I saw them that week at an amazing, sweaty sold-out gig at the Garage (I lucked out with two returns on the day of the show) and it started my life-long obsession with Greg Dulli, the band's handsome, larger than life and charismatic frontman. After that I caught them every time they were in town and even went to the Reading Festival one year just to see them, and every time they amazed me with their intensity and passion and Greg's funny banter. It was clear though this was a guy who liked to party, and always had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a bottle of spirits by his mike stand. It seemed to only enhance his performance, making him funnier, sexier and less inhibited.
Of course this lifestyle would take its toll on anyone, even macho types like Dulli, and later we would learn that his daily boozing was also accompanying a pretty serious drug habit. I had never seen it affect any of his performances though until one memorable night at the Subterania in 1998.
The Subterania (a venue I hadn't been to before or since) was a small, intimate gig for the band and came ahead of the release of the band's final album, 1965 and a spot on the bill of that year's Reading Festival. It was pretty exciting to know we would hear new material from the forthcoming album before anyone else and the small club was brimming with excitement and energy. There probably was a support band but I have no memory of them maybe because the gig that followed was so memorable in itself.
When the band stumbled on stage they looked older than when they were previously in London a couple of years before but most surprising was the fact that the formerly tanned and lean Dulli was looking, well, more than a little pudgy. There was once a hate-zine dedicated to Greg (he was a boozing, womaniser afterall) called Fat Greg Dulli and within the space of a couple of years here he was living up to that title. But he still had that devilish grin of his, ready to seduce us all into his seedy, nicotine-stained world, and suited-up and looking more like a soul singer than a grunge rocker, the band started things with a suitably funky new number, with obvious inspiration from Dulli's idol Prince, called, almost predictably, Something Hot.
It sounded new, different to their atmospheric previous album, Black Love, and Dulli swaggered and swayed, grinning with satisfaction. It was a great start. So not to overwhelm us with new material, pretty early on came the song that had introduced me to the band and made fall in love with them, Debonair. It sounded good, but with Greg looking a little too happy, it didn't seem to reach those dark heights I had experienced at previous shows. The almost anthemic Going To Town also seemed to falter. Was the band too laid back or merely saving their energies for their more important Reading festival slot, I wondered.
But about midway through, thankfully, it shifted gear as the band started getting into the swing of things or should I say, Dulli started getting more and more intoxicated. Througout he had been swigging a bottle of something alcoholic, and in fact for a while the music continued to get better and better as he got progressively more drunk and, naturally, Mr Dulli also got lippier. "Here's a song Robbie Williams wrote for us many years ago," he slightly slurred in his Cincinnati drawl, "back when he was fat like me." We laughed. At the very least he was not afraid of making fun of himself.
It was the most soulful I had ever seen them, backed with vocalist Susan Marshall, the band seemed to be channelling their inner James Brown, throwing in a little of Papa Was A Rolling Stone, then, remembering they are actually a rock band, switching to Pink Floyd's Another Brick In The Wall. The last song before the encore, Fountain And Fairfax, was the climax they had been slowly building up to, soaring, angry and intense, it was a great closer. If they had ended the show there it would have been an enjoyable, if not particularly memorable gig but of course, with the crowd cheering, calling them back, the band, perhaps not so wisely, came back for more.
When they re-emerged Dulli this time literally did stumble on, clearly having drunk even more in the brief interval. He then tried to sit on a monitor at the front of the stage, almost falling off, and began chatting up a girl in the audience, eventually snogging her in front of the patiently waiting audience. And, believe it or not, this must have gone on for about 20 minutes. "Sing a song!" someone in the crowd finally pleaded, speaking for us all. "This is my job," he replied firmly, if drunkenly. "This is my place of work! I don't come into your place of work and cry 'Fry those chips harder!'"
Admittedly that was a pretty funny comeback but he then went into a little Dulli monologue, rarely seen these days, where he ranted about English football, Shed Seven and the Manic Street Preachers (at the time hugely popular in the UK) among other British things, putting on a mock Cockney accent, seemingly trying his hardest to piss us all off. It was pretty much the equivalent of some pissed lad in the pub trying to start a fight at the end of the night while barely able to stand up. It was amusing in a way, but a little cringe-worthy and sad at the same time.
Of course it got even worse when he then drunkenly fell over while attempting to finally make it to the microphone but, back on his feet, the band did manage to sloppily play some more songs, most of which were dedicated to the girl getting all his attention at the front (not surprisingly she was happily led away by Dulli when the band left the stage), among them a very loose version of I Could Never Take the Place Of Your Man (since Prince was also playing in London that night), his voice by this time, sounding worse for wear.
I've heard people call this their favourite Afghan Whigs show and all I can say is that they obviously never saw them on the Gentlemen or Black Love tours. To me it was a gig that showed a man's addiction (and maybe ego) getting the better of him. Thankfully a few years down the line Dulli cleaned up altogether. These days he's not as lippy but he's just as passionate, and at the very least he doesn't fall down on stage anymore.
Of course this lifestyle would take its toll on anyone, even macho types like Dulli, and later we would learn that his daily boozing was also accompanying a pretty serious drug habit. I had never seen it affect any of his performances though until one memorable night at the Subterania in 1998.
The Subterania (a venue I hadn't been to before or since) was a small, intimate gig for the band and came ahead of the release of the band's final album, 1965 and a spot on the bill of that year's Reading Festival. It was pretty exciting to know we would hear new material from the forthcoming album before anyone else and the small club was brimming with excitement and energy. There probably was a support band but I have no memory of them maybe because the gig that followed was so memorable in itself.
When the band stumbled on stage they looked older than when they were previously in London a couple of years before but most surprising was the fact that the formerly tanned and lean Dulli was looking, well, more than a little pudgy. There was once a hate-zine dedicated to Greg (he was a boozing, womaniser afterall) called Fat Greg Dulli and within the space of a couple of years here he was living up to that title. But he still had that devilish grin of his, ready to seduce us all into his seedy, nicotine-stained world, and suited-up and looking more like a soul singer than a grunge rocker, the band started things with a suitably funky new number, with obvious inspiration from Dulli's idol Prince, called, almost predictably, Something Hot.
It sounded new, different to their atmospheric previous album, Black Love, and Dulli swaggered and swayed, grinning with satisfaction. It was a great start. So not to overwhelm us with new material, pretty early on came the song that had introduced me to the band and made fall in love with them, Debonair. It sounded good, but with Greg looking a little too happy, it didn't seem to reach those dark heights I had experienced at previous shows. The almost anthemic Going To Town also seemed to falter. Was the band too laid back or merely saving their energies for their more important Reading festival slot, I wondered.
But about midway through, thankfully, it shifted gear as the band started getting into the swing of things or should I say, Dulli started getting more and more intoxicated. Througout he had been swigging a bottle of something alcoholic, and in fact for a while the music continued to get better and better as he got progressively more drunk and, naturally, Mr Dulli also got lippier. "Here's a song Robbie Williams wrote for us many years ago," he slightly slurred in his Cincinnati drawl, "back when he was fat like me." We laughed. At the very least he was not afraid of making fun of himself.
It was the most soulful I had ever seen them, backed with vocalist Susan Marshall, the band seemed to be channelling their inner James Brown, throwing in a little of Papa Was A Rolling Stone, then, remembering they are actually a rock band, switching to Pink Floyd's Another Brick In The Wall. The last song before the encore, Fountain And Fairfax, was the climax they had been slowly building up to, soaring, angry and intense, it was a great closer. If they had ended the show there it would have been an enjoyable, if not particularly memorable gig but of course, with the crowd cheering, calling them back, the band, perhaps not so wisely, came back for more.
When they re-emerged Dulli this time literally did stumble on, clearly having drunk even more in the brief interval. He then tried to sit on a monitor at the front of the stage, almost falling off, and began chatting up a girl in the audience, eventually snogging her in front of the patiently waiting audience. And, believe it or not, this must have gone on for about 20 minutes. "Sing a song!" someone in the crowd finally pleaded, speaking for us all. "This is my job," he replied firmly, if drunkenly. "This is my place of work! I don't come into your place of work and cry 'Fry those chips harder!'"
Admittedly that was a pretty funny comeback but he then went into a little Dulli monologue, rarely seen these days, where he ranted about English football, Shed Seven and the Manic Street Preachers (at the time hugely popular in the UK) among other British things, putting on a mock Cockney accent, seemingly trying his hardest to piss us all off. It was pretty much the equivalent of some pissed lad in the pub trying to start a fight at the end of the night while barely able to stand up. It was amusing in a way, but a little cringe-worthy and sad at the same time.
Of course it got even worse when he then drunkenly fell over while attempting to finally make it to the microphone but, back on his feet, the band did manage to sloppily play some more songs, most of which were dedicated to the girl getting all his attention at the front (not surprisingly she was happily led away by Dulli when the band left the stage), among them a very loose version of I Could Never Take the Place Of Your Man (since Prince was also playing in London that night), his voice by this time, sounding worse for wear.
I've heard people call this their favourite Afghan Whigs show and all I can say is that they obviously never saw them on the Gentlemen or Black Love tours. To me it was a gig that showed a man's addiction (and maybe ego) getting the better of him. Thankfully a few years down the line Dulli cleaned up altogether. These days he's not as lippy but he's just as passionate, and at the very least he doesn't fall down on stage anymore.
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