Following his blistering set at Sasquatch last weekend, King Khan brought his Shrines to Dante’s last night for a feverish evening of blood, sweat and beers.
A Canadian by way of India, KK got his start playing with Montreal’s The Spaceshits before pairing up with Mark Sultan, aka BBQ (who incidentally opened the show and later joined KK for a song during the Shrines’ set), as The King Khan & BBQ Show.
In 1999, KK found himself in Berlin, where he ended up planting the seeds of the Shrines. Collecting players who shared his manic passion for ass-kickin,’ the band grew from humble roots into the ultra-tight monstrosity it is today. Along with nine other musicians and a go-go cheerleader, it would come to include Ron Streeter, an experienced percussionist who has played with everyone from Ike and Tina Turner to Curtis Mayfield, and Fredovitch, whose wrath-of-God church organ colors much of the group’s material.
Their garage-y sound fits somewhere between the freakbeat of Sun Ra and the empowering funk of James Brown with a bit of self-deprecating humor thrown in for good measure. They were in fine form last night. Though the weather outside the venue was mild, inside could be found a storm of mayhem with soul-power lightning as the band stewed a heady brew of psychedelic soul complete with reverb-soaked guitar, punchy horn blasts and gut-rumbling bass.
Regarded by some as the hardest working man in go business and sometimes named as the rightful heir to THE James Brown’s throne, King Khan has made a name for himself as a soul-stirring, half-naked wild-child with a penchant for theatrical showmanship. Taking the stage in a get-up that could only be described as tribal-chieftain-jungle-chic and launching into “Land of The Freak,” it became apparent that nothing could be more true.
The group ran through some familiar cuts, working the crowd into a frenzy with “Outta Harm’s Way” and “I Wanna Be A Girl,” which got more guys singing and dancing than expected. “Welfare Bread,” a smoothie-groovy tune about government aid, found Bamboorella (the Go-Go Queen of the Underworld) shaking gold glitter onto those closest to the stage.
As good as the band was, KK was still the main attraction: throwing furtive glances into the audience, laughing menacingly through an echoing microphone during “Shivers Down My Spine” and pausing at one point to command everyone to “freak the fuck out.” Obediently, all but the staunchest of too-cool kids complied.
He cut short “Burnin’ Inside,” interrupting the band for a super-South soul-sermon centered around the tale of him climbing inside his woman (taking off his shoes, of course) before crawling out like a “mucky watermelon.” Prowling the stage like a possessed pastor, KK converted the non-believers while reaffirming the faith of his followers. Indeed, if this show were a religious service, it’d be safe to consider the entire room saved.
But then things got weird during the encore. After leaving the stage to thunderous applause, he and the band returned. He had traded his cheetah print sport coat and tribal headdress for little more than a gold cape and a Darth-Vader-Death-Race helmet/mask. Awkward girls made their way to the stage too, dancing halfheartedly as if they were more concerned with being seen than enjoying the music. As if their presence wasn’t already a distraction, they began throwing handfuls of cake into the crowd and shoving it into the faces of band members. It didn’t quite add up. Then again, much of King Khan & The Shrines’ act doesn’t make much sense. Their appeal though, is undeniable.
A Canadian by way of India, KK got his start playing with Montreal’s The Spaceshits before pairing up with Mark Sultan, aka BBQ (who incidentally opened the show and later joined KK for a song during the Shrines’ set), as The King Khan & BBQ Show.
In 1999, KK found himself in Berlin, where he ended up planting the seeds of the Shrines. Collecting players who shared his manic passion for ass-kickin,’ the band grew from humble roots into the ultra-tight monstrosity it is today. Along with nine other musicians and a go-go cheerleader, it would come to include Ron Streeter, an experienced percussionist who has played with everyone from Ike and Tina Turner to Curtis Mayfield, and Fredovitch, whose wrath-of-God church organ colors much of the group’s material.
Their garage-y sound fits somewhere between the freakbeat of Sun Ra and the empowering funk of James Brown with a bit of self-deprecating humor thrown in for good measure. They were in fine form last night. Though the weather outside the venue was mild, inside could be found a storm of mayhem with soul-power lightning as the band stewed a heady brew of psychedelic soul complete with reverb-soaked guitar, punchy horn blasts and gut-rumbling bass.
Regarded by some as the hardest working man in go business and sometimes named as the rightful heir to THE James Brown’s throne, King Khan has made a name for himself as a soul-stirring, half-naked wild-child with a penchant for theatrical showmanship. Taking the stage in a get-up that could only be described as tribal-chieftain-jungle-chic and launching into “Land of The Freak,” it became apparent that nothing could be more true.
The group ran through some familiar cuts, working the crowd into a frenzy with “Outta Harm’s Way” and “I Wanna Be A Girl,” which got more guys singing and dancing than expected. “Welfare Bread,” a smoothie-groovy tune about government aid, found Bamboorella (the Go-Go Queen of the Underworld) shaking gold glitter onto those closest to the stage.
As good as the band was, KK was still the main attraction: throwing furtive glances into the audience, laughing menacingly through an echoing microphone during “Shivers Down My Spine” and pausing at one point to command everyone to “freak the fuck out.” Obediently, all but the staunchest of too-cool kids complied.
He cut short “Burnin’ Inside,” interrupting the band for a super-South soul-sermon centered around the tale of him climbing inside his woman (taking off his shoes, of course) before crawling out like a “mucky watermelon.” Prowling the stage like a possessed pastor, KK converted the non-believers while reaffirming the faith of his followers. Indeed, if this show were a religious service, it’d be safe to consider the entire room saved.
But then things got weird during the encore. After leaving the stage to thunderous applause, he and the band returned. He had traded his cheetah print sport coat and tribal headdress for little more than a gold cape and a Darth-Vader-Death-Race helmet/mask. Awkward girls made their way to the stage too, dancing halfheartedly as if they were more concerned with being seen than enjoying the music. As if their presence wasn’t already a distraction, they began throwing handfuls of cake into the crowd and shoving it into the faces of band members. It didn’t quite add up. Then again, much of King Khan & The Shrines’ act doesn’t make much sense. Their appeal though, is undeniable.
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