The fetish for seeing big acts in small clubs is mostly unique to rock; you don’t hear people wishing they could just see George Clooney do community theatre one more time. It would be weird. Great, probably, but also just weird. We lucky five hundred or so who snagged tickets to see Queens Of The Stone Age at the El Mocambo, thought we’d be getting the authentic QOTSA experience. Turns out we got something equally great, but not any more or less authentic than seeing them in an arena. Call it the sur-real deal.
Just walking into the El Mocambo was like the reveal on a home-makeover reality show, where the newly-added satin stage backdrop and elaborate lighting rig announced that this was not a back-to-basics trip. In case you were wondering, one of the world’s biggest rock bands did not hump their own equipment up slippery bar stairs or accept payment in the form of free beer and parking. And anyone who thinks that sort of thing is part of the romance of rock ‘n’ roll is a sadist.
When QOTSA came swaggering out, shrouded in light from behind them, the stage looked like a small-scale version of an arena setup, even though the crowd were mere feet away. The band didn’t make any speeches, tearing into a blissfully heavy “Misfit Love” that was full of guitars darting off in all directions and motorik rhythm, with Dean Fertita’s synths and Troy Van Leeuwen’s guitars twisting together in a double-helix of sonic violence.
Clad entirely in black, Josh Homme’s banter was almost as entertaining as his own guitar playing. Select Homme-isms included “this is a special night, not a special ed night. Let’s get fucking wasted” and, in the intro to “Make It Wit Chu”, “this song’s about fuckin’ ”. But drummer Joey Castillo was easily the most arresting presence — shirtless from the start to show off his many tattoos, and resisting the urge to overplay even though the occasional outburst proved beyond any doubt that he could Neil Peart it up with the best of them. There’s no better description of Castillo’s style than a certain hoary cliché: he pounded the skins. Did he ever.
The band saved their Era Vulgaris material for the second half of the show, dispensing “3s and 7s” and “Turning On The Screw” with some ripping fretwork and plenty of fervour. And yet, they disappeared after only about an hour, ending their set with a fist-pumping version of “Sick Sick Sick”. When they came back for an encore, Homme was smoking a cigarette and telling the sound man to pump up the volume; “Song For The Dead” quickly inspired a torrent of headbanging. Then the boring old house lights abruptly came on, and it was over.
As we were walking out as the sound man put on Joe Walsh’s “Life’s Been Good”, the ultimate celebration/condemnation of millionaire rockstardom. Cruelly ironic?
Not quite. It’s safe to say that even though QOTSA’s set was top-notch, the crowd weren’t as into it as they might have been had it not been a once-in-a-lifetime show — there was certainly more jockeying for camera space and less drunken moshing than there will be tonight at Copps Coliseum — and the scuttlebutt suggests that the band cut their set short as a result. But it wasn’t a regular old QOTSA concert, nor was it a time-machine that would allow you to go back and see them in 1997. It was a once-in-a-lifetime show, and ought to be judged as such. For me at least, being that close to a great band, one who clearly deserve to be packing those arena gigs, was a thrill. When I see the Rolling Stones at the Horseshoe in 2012, I’ll let you know how they stack up.