There is a look a man can give you. A look that says, “I am going for your jugular. I will rip your soul-stealing heart from your chest. I am crazy, I will do what I want, and you will like it.” I saw that look from Peter Hayes of Black Rebel Motorcycle Club during the last song of their set last night at the Wiltern here in Los Angeles.

As the band played “Whatever Happened to My Rock and Roll [Punk Song]“, Hayes looked me right in the eye, and as I was about to snap yet another picture he lunged into the crowd as he had done a second ago. With feedback screeching that has left my ears ringing worse today then they have in years, he reached, he grabbed and stole the camera from the young Asian hipster in front of me with the grace of a diving swan. He stuck the camera into the back pocket of his faded jeans, and a huge grin of satisfaction swept across his face as he worked his way across the stage looking for his next victim.

I am addicted to BRMC. The only addiction more crippling in my life is my addiction to Taco Bell. What BRMC lack in trans fat, they make up for with no-baloney, straight-up rock and roll (or shoegazing, blues-injected, fuzz-garage rock). I just saw the band at the Key Club back in January, so I didn’t really need to spend more money on the second most underrated power trio in rock and roll history. But you see, I crave this band and I noticed that this show was billed as “A Very Special Event: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.”

I just had to find out what was so very special about it. Were they going to bring Jerry Garcia back from the DEAD for a “Berlin”/”Fire on the Mountain” jam? Would Scott Ian of Anthrax come out and join the band for some thrash metal? What would make this night so dang special? Confused, I dressed up like it was 1998 and Limp Bizkit were still the biggest band in the world (sorry, I am just not a cool Silver Lake hipster with an iPhone and Members Only jacket) and hit the Wiltern (which now seems to be an 18+ venue sponsored by Camel cancer sticks) to paint the town black.

In my old age of 28, I have been getting to shows later and later these days. I am sick of crap opening bands that I just don’t care about. Hell, it’s even been awhile since I was at the front of the crowd, but if Jerry Garcia and Scott Ian were going to possibly be in the house, well I wanted a front row seat for that. Besides, for all I know, maybe I have missed the next big thing by staying home and watching TMZ instead of hitting up sets from opening acts.

We made our way past minimum-wage workers begging us to take free T-shirts, pictures and cancer sticks from Camel (if I am going to consume something that slowly kills me, I will stick with Taco Bell, thanks) and headed down to the front of the general-admission floor. The ticket said the show started at 8 p.m., but around 7:35, a band called Lower Heaven came on. Lower Heaven appear to be a four-piece indie-rock band from Los Angeles. The band played about five songs and wrapped up before 8 p.m. hit the clock. They obviously have lots of room to grow, but what I heard was very solid.
After a quick set change, announced special guests the Black Angels took the stage. Hailing from Austin, Texas, I had not heard of this band before last night, but will be seeking out more for sure. They absolutely blew me away. They did everything right. They have this deep, heavy drum groove Southern blues Brit rock with a splash of psychedelic flavor thing going, and it’s really good. They play (and switch around) all these great vintage instruments that I will never be able to afford. Their lead singer looks like Jason Lee, and their drummer is really cute. The band’s songs are just thick layers of warm fuzz rock over equally thick drum grooves.

As far as their set last night went, it was one of those gigs where it started out solid and got better and better as it progressed, much like the climb of a roller coaster that for whatever reason never seems to go into a big drop. I really wish I knew more about this band, so I could fill you in on what they played. Instead I will just say this. Go check out the Black Angels for yourself. I overheard someone in the crowd saying that they have a new record coming out, so you have no excuse. I know I plan to see them when these Angels return to the City of Angels.

Around 9:25 p.m. it was time for the main event: BRMC. Opening with “The Likes of You” from last year’s American X: Baby 81 Sessions EP, the band hit a tone that declared tonight was going to be for the dedicated faithful of the church of BRMC. Co-frontman Robert Levon Been mentioned that this would be the last Los Angeles show for the foreseeable future, and the band more than delivered for its friends and family. I consider myself a pretty hard-core BRMC fan, owning all of their records, an EP and a few random tracks, and noticed that I did not recognize a few of the songs in their two-hour-plus set.

The set was a solid mix of most of their records, but most material was from their last two studio efforts, Howl and Baby 81. Frontmen Been and Peter Hayes switched sides of the stage almost as much as they switched around instruments (all while drummer Nick Jago held down the groove and looked bored doing it). New songs, such as “Berlin” and “Weapon of Choice,” seemed to get as big of a response as older songs like “Spread Your Love” and “Love Burns.”

As the band left the stage sometime around 11 p.m. in a storm of feedback, Peter returned all confiscated cameras. When they returned for their encore, they opened with the somewhat tender “All You Do Is Talk.” The show wrapped up with an epic version of “Heart + Soul.” Toward the end of the song, the guys invited their friends in the Black Angels back to the stage and jammed for a good 10 minutes. An all-out sonic attack on the senses hit up the not-quite-sold out theater. The clock hit 11:30 (venue curfew) and both bands walked off the stage to a thunderous applause.

Now I sit in my little cubical. A bald, fat (it’s that Taco Bell, I tell you) and deaf Gemini, who will never look good in a Members Only jacket (or be caught dead in one). I am torn. Part of me says that Black Rebel Motorcycle Club should be the biggest band on the planet, playing your corporate-sponsored arena and selling out every seat in the house, because they are that damn good. The other part of me is glad I can see these guys in venues that are just the right size. Glad that I am in on the secret, and that I don’t have to see these guys from the upper deck of your local stadium. So, much like the free cancer sticks in the lobby, I invite you to go and try BRMC. Breathe in their smooth scent and become an addict, just like me.

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