A psychedelic odyssey through a gonzo landscape of sex, drugs and paranoia – no, we’re not across town at the Mary Byrne and Westlife concert for Her Majesty, but rather basking in the glory of that regal outfit from Palm Desert. Queens Of The Stone Age. Josh Homme’s mob are here to play their self-titled 1998 debut in its entirety, and what a record it is – a stoner-rock masterpiece full of pulverising hard rock riffs, a formula Homme himself fondly described as “robot rock”.
Queens are right up there with Nine Inch Nails, The Prodigy and Mogwai as one of the heaviest bands I’ve ever seen live; they crank the volume up to ‘11’, letting the irresistible riffs burrow their way into your brain. The five-piece create an hallucinogenic cocktail of distorted guitars, sinister bass and ferocious drums, which plays like the soundtrack to some David Lynch-directed noir headfuck. It is absolutely brilliant, and several of the tunes are met with extended cheers.
Homme seems genuinely taken aback by the warmth of the response, and arriving back for the encore, he lights a fag – paying unsurprisingly little heed to the smoking ban introduced by Micheál Martin – and says, “We’ll play whatever you want; it’s the only way we know how to say thanks.” To our great delight, Queens then proceed to play a mini-Greatest Hits set, kicking off with the exquisite R&B boogie of ‘Make It Wit Chu’, before moving on to such monster rockers as ‘Burn The Witch’, ‘Little Sister’ and ‘Better Living Through Chemistry’.
With such a killer repertoire to call upon, the band effortlessly bring the house down. At the end, a visibly overwhelmed Homme gestures to his heart and declares, “To the rockers, the dancers, the ladies and the drinkers – thank you!” There’s no two ways about it; come December, this show will be right up there on many gig-of-the-year lists.