Kansas City Blog

Right after Black Francis took the stage at the Riot Room before a packed-in, wet, sweaty, capacity crowd last night at the Riot Room, I had a sweatlodge vision. Lo, I looked above the auxiliary bar and saw a floating bench, and upon that bench, clad in towels wrapped around their waists, were seated D. Boon, Elvis and Johnny Cash. A cosmic vortex spun behind them. As Francis began playing, one by one, the figures -- their golden glowing bodies shimmering in the steam -- presented their fists, thumbs pointing upwards. Then, they started to do that see-no-evil-hear-no-evil monkey routine, but there was a loud transdimensional whoosh, and they went spiraling back into the vortex. I was the only one who saw this vision. But had the merry, touchy wino who was all-but hugging people lined up outside before the show (seriously, dude, bad touch!) -- had this wino been allowed in, he would've seen it, too.

Sweltering doesn't begin to describe the climate inside that club last night. I began sweating as soon as I got in and got near the stage around 9:20 p.m. Black Francis began playing, shortly after 10 -- by which time the people around me were really packed in and the fans above were actually shedding little appliance-tears of hopelessness -- and I didn't last five songs. I had to get out of there. So, I moved down the few steps to the bar and never really saw Black Francis again. Somehow, though, it was still a good show.

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Francis, for his part, lapped up the heat. After his sixth number, the (appropriate) solo-Frank-Black song "I Burn Today," he happily announced that he loved the humidity, saying that it felt good to sing in it. Then he said he totally understood if the crowd thinned out -- he was prepared to go on for hours. And he nearly did.

Unless I failed to jot anything down in my pathetic, sodden notebook, he played 27 28 songs over nearly two hours. He set the mood of conviviality from the get-go, opening with Pixies classics "Cactus" and "Wave of Mutilation," which required no introduction, followed by the early Frank Black song "I Heard Ramona Sing," which did. Somewhere in those first few songs, he was handed a present wrapped in Sesame Street giftwrap. He gingerly opened it, explaining that he had just been pouring vodka in Sesame Street cups out on his (gargantuan) tour bus. It was a mix CD of some kind. He read the personal inscription to himself, set the CD down, and went on with the show.

The set was a grab bag of well-known Pixies songs, less well-known Frank Black songs, and little-known recent Frank/Francis stuff from albums like Bluefinger and Svn Fngrs. If there was a Grand Duchy song (his new band with his wife, Violet Clark, whose tour this show was an offshoot of), I missed it. I also missed his plentiful stage banter after retreating to the back, though I did catch a gem of a fact: he played the Hurricane with the Pixies back in the day opening for the Meat Puppets.

The crowd noise would've driven any other solo performer to madness, but not Francis. This was no singer-songwriter chin-stroker of a show; this was a get-drunk, barroom-ballad feast. Francis was there to play and have a good time and sweat out the previous night's booze and sing. And that's exactly what he did, and plenty of people stayed down front the whole time. Those people all have IVs stuck in their arms right now, but, eh, whaddayagonnado?

Seriously, though that show ended up being fun, I'm going to think twice before chancing a sold-out Riot Room show until they get the A/C fixed or it's December outside, whichever comes first. That was ridiculous.

Still: thumbs up!

Set List
Cactus
Wave of Mutilation
I Heard Ramona Sing
The Holiday Song
The Water
I Burn Today
Los Angeles
Mr. Grieves
Horrible Day
Bullet
I'll Be Blue
Two Reelers
Velouria
That Burnt Out Rock and Roll(?)
Angels Come to Comfort You
Tight Black Rubber
Crackity Jones
Monkey Gone to Heaven
Six Sixty Six (Larry Norman cover)
She Took All the Money
When They Come to Murder Me
Headache
Where Is My Mind?
Nimrod's Son
Lolita
Sing for Joy
Robert Onion
All My Ghosts