AFGHAN WHIGS

AFGHAN WHIGS (Rock Garden, Dublin)

GIGS ARE there to be enjoyed, no? NO. Not this one, at any rate. There’s more to an Afghan Whigs concert than standing at the back, humming along and taking the odd smiling slurp from your tipple of choice. Greg Dulli screams, he moans, he smiles on the odd occasion, he glares at his audience in a most disconcerting manner, he exorcises every demon he has and a few more besides (I’m sure if you ask him nicely he’ll exorcise yours as well), and consequently an evening in his company involves as much endurance as enjoyment. Bob Dylan famously replied to a journalist who mentioned that she enjoyed listening to Blood On The Tracks, “I don’t know how you can enjoy such pain.” Tonight was like that.

Greg Dulli looks like a regular guy, now more than ever, since he shaved off his moderately Satanic goatee. But he’s not. What he is, is a fucking lunatic. Gentlemen was the joint finest album of last year, in particular because of Dulli’s gloriously demented songs and singing; his talent for losing the rag and howling at the moon with impotent rage is only seriously rivalled in the ’90s so far by Dave Couse on the jaw-dislocatingly brilliant I Want Too Much. But unlike an A House gig, there is little let-up on the intensity, and Couse-esque jokey meanderings are few and, indeed, far between.

The songs, live, are just as punishing and as emotionally cleansing as the songs, on record. The guitar break on ‘Be Sweet’ still sears, the lines “What should I tell her/she’s going to ask . . . Yeah, I think she believes me/Every word I say/I think I’m starting to believe it all myself . . . ,” from ‘If I Were Going’ still make you cringe if you have ever lied to someone you shouldn’t have, and their version of ‘My World Is Empty Without You’ still makes you shudder and wonder.

The encores were beyond belief, consisting of the two key songs from the album, ‘What Jail Is Like’ and ‘My Curse’ (which he doesn’t even sing on the record because it’s so hurting and hurtful as to be positively depraved), their warped love sent out charging with a viciousness and ferocity some say pop can no longer hold. Striking stuff.

Four days later, we’re still recovering. In a few weeks, we’ll be saying it was fun. For now though, you’ll have to settle for draining and curiously uplifting. A night to remember.

• Niall Crumlish