IDLES Drop Joy, Brutalism, Resistance on Mission Ballroom
April 24, 2022
Photos: Billy Thieme
When I walked into the Mission Ballroom last Tuesday night, I fully expected (and wanted) a punk rock show – some flailing bodies, high-energy political satire, fast and furious guitar work, and fun. I got all that – and so did the packed, huge house. But we also got a lot more – we got joy, we got an infusion of humanity, and we got a fuck-ton of much-needed hope. IDLES hand-fed all of it to us in a musical barrage that asked us all to let go of years of dehumanization from above, and to make changes in favor of the love we all have for each other.
Joe Talbot doesn’t mince words – and he doesn’t seem too interested in playing around, either. All business, from the moment he told the crowd to split down the middle to form a mosh pit space. Well – maybe not all business. There were moments of angry compassion, and times when he seemed to grab the entire audience and hold us in a slamming, swirling megahug, even while he was yelling at us to help us all wake up.
A swirling mass of humanity came to celebrate with Talbot, and with each other.
And for most of the nearly two-hour set of their furious art, Talbot sneered at the air above all the swaying and slamming bodies on the floor, focusing, I imagine, on the origin of all the propaganda, outright lies, and – yeah, fake news about fake news – that has driven us all apart for so long, especially through these years of pandemic paranoia. When he wasn’t sneering, he stood with his back to the audience, gazing at the name of his group on the back curtain of the stage, or talking – lovingly, and with total, reasonable, and calm rationality – to that swirling mass of humanity that came to celebrate with him, and with each other.
As beautifully menacing as Talbot was, the show was nearly stolen by the stunningly innovative guitar work that Mark Bowen and Lee Kiernan unleashed. Drawing on influences as disparate as Paul Leary (Butthole Surfers), Duane Denison (Jesus Lizard), and Adrian Belew (King Crimson), encompassing the simplicity of Steve Jones (Sex Pistols) and the intensity of Steve Albini (Big Black), the two played their instruments like weapons of percussion.
Bowen – adorned in a sun dress and hightop sneakers – handled his guitars as if they were living, writhing slabs of meat, bending between his arms and curling under his fingers, producing screaming sounds that emphasized the joy and frustration of Talbot’s growling lyrics. Kiernan flew across the stage in a blur of white jeans, a blur tearing another swath of sonic ecstasy and driving the crowd into a laughing, giddy fury.
The crowd exploded for maybe the umpteenth time – not one ounce of energy lost, or wasted.
Late in the set as they launched into a stretched out medley in the midst of “Love Song,” pulling in bits of “My Heart Will Go On,” “Nothing Compares 2 U,” “You Spin Me Round (Like a Record),” and “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” Bowen mocking the lyrics along the front of the stage while Kiernan navigated in the crowd, I could feel the physical representation of the isolation, frustration, anger, and separation lightening up – even just a little bit – as the crowd undulated with them.
Talbot took over again at the exact right moment, screaming “This modern love!” with a spitting Johnny Rotten-meets-Lux Interior spirit, and the crowd exploded for maybe the umpteenth time – not one ounce of energy lost, or wasted.
And the bass and drums. Bassist Adam Devonshire and drummer Jon Beavis ran a relentlessly tight ship – Devonshire’s bass never seemed to stop, driving the weight of the show while he screamed out nearly every word of every song. Beavis easily matched his consistency with precision, like a perfect machine.
And yet, as technically perfect and passionate as they were on that stage, and as much sneering anger as Talbot and the crew channeled from the mess we’re in into a call for joy, justice, and clarity, it was the unity that endeared them to me – and I think to everyone else. Talbot is not a rock star – and had no joy in prancing across a stage in the eyes of his fans.
Bowen and Kiernan exploded with ingenuity, and Beavis and Devonshire both anchored and pulled us all through the maelstrom of noisy hope. But none of them stood out or took the stage from one another. The band was the epitome of a unified piece of art in sound, motion, and spirit. It was just the kind of camaraderie we could all use about now.
As we left the Mission Ballroom, I found myself giggling with my friends, wondering what just happened, elated that I was part of it. I couldn’t help but think that punk rock warlord Joe Strummer was looking down and nodding, triumphantly, as we all sauntered out, ecstatic and hopeful to be with each other. I also think Talbot and crew know Joe is with them, re-injecting humanity in every step, and with every song.
Setlist
- Colossus
- Car Crash
- Mr. Motivator
- Grounds
- Mother
- Meds
- Divide and Conquer
- The Beachland Ballroom
- Never Fight a Man With a Perm
- Crawl!
- 1049 Gotho
- The Wheel
- Television
- A Hymn
- War
- Wizz
- Love Song
- I’m Scum
- Danny Nedelko
- Rottweiler
