Let’s get something straight: For better or worse, Peter Murphy and Bauhaus are two very different things.
While Murphy’s role in the legendary Goth-father quartet is responsible for his ghoulish image and provides an excellent vehicle for his instantly recognizable hair-raising bellow, when he steps out on his own, Bauhaus is merely one ingredient in his musical recipe. It may, in fact, be the tastiest ingredient, but there are a lot of other, subtler flavors in the mix.
Murphy’s out on a curious little jaunt this summer, getting his bearings in between Bauhaus’ umpteenth (supposedly final) split and a new solo collection that he said was finished and ready for mixing to the small but devoted crowd that turned up for his Roxy gig Saturday night.
Stepping out in a tight black suit, the 50-year-old Murphy and his able three-piece band kicked into high gear with “Burning From the Inside,” a Bauhaus staple built of scratched-out guitar licks and a shifty time signature; due to some sound problems early on, Murphy’s voice was so bottom-end heavy the Roxy’s chandeliers seem to shake as he sang. With his ax slung low on his shoulder, Mark Thwaite (who’s worked with everyone from Roger Daltrey to PJ Harvey to Tricky) did a decent job filling in for Danielle Ash, while bassist Jeff Schartoff and former Queens of the Stone Age drummer Nick Lucero maintained an admirable hold on the difficult-to-follow rhythm.
Throughout the gig, Murphy used a handful of Bauhaus tunes to anchor fans who might not be familiar with his solo catalog, busting out with “Black Stone Heart” from the band’s swan-song effort “Go Away White,” out earlier this year, as well as “She’s In Parties” and a lovely, acoustically rendered, “The Three Shadows Part 1.” But if Bauhaus die-hards aren’t satisfied with Murphy’s solo music, it’s because they haven’t accepted that the Peter Murphy they know and love is really playing a character when he performs with his old band - much like the difference between seeing Debbie Harry with and without Blondie.
One noticeable difference from the get-go was how personable Murphy seemed. When he’s out with Bauhaus, he barely speaks to audiences - it’s down to business, and chit-chat will destroy his vampiric spell. Instead he paces the stage, gesticulating as he delivers a song’s narrative as if he were a professor getting a sick thrill while giving a lecture on something gruesome and unsavory.
But at the Roxy, Murphy behaved like an old flame coming by for a drink: gregarious, flirtatious, coy and amusing - he opened the floor to a Q&A about a third of the way through. He made fun of the Boston accent by repeating the phrase “pahhhk the cahhhr” and half-joked that it was a shame the Dresden Dolls weren’t in attendance, play-growling, “Amanda, where ARE you?” to see if maybe they’d turned up after all. He admitted without batting an eyelash that Bauhaus couldn’t stay together because when the four hook up, “We’re like a bunch of Marys.” And several times he stooped down at the side of the stage to hold the hands of his most devoted Boston fans, though there were limits to the intimacy: He pushed away the arm of one woman who went straight for his crotch.
Musically, the solo tunes are brighter, hopeful sounding and significantly more melodic than the Bauhaus lot. And while that might not satiate folks that feed on ominous tones, it’s proof positive that Murphy’s no one-trick pony. “The Line Between the Devil’s Teeth” rocked good and hard with a mosh-worthy beat, and “Deep Ocean, Black Sea” had a punchy moment, but most of the selections were more like “Gliding Like a Whale” and “Huuvola,” written for his children, both of which were fueled by synthy backing tracks (there was no keyboardist on stage) and powerful vocal performances that recalled Bowie’s “Heroes.”
Whether whirling like a dervish at center stage, pogoing around or jumping an imaginary rope, Murphy bounded with enough un-Bauhaus-like playful energy that one must wonder: Maybe he split with them this time because he’s sick of visiting the dark side night after night. Indeed, Murphy has joined the land of the living, and the tone of his forthcoming CD will likely reflect that flickering, fun-loving spirit we saw emerge at the Roxy.
Brooklyn’s Ali Eskandarian opened with a brief set of four tunes that traversed the lines between spoken-word performance art, electronica and alt-folk, complete with mixed acoustic guitar and blasts of key-generated noise. Four songs weren’t enough of a taste to get a real handle on Eskandarian’s shtick, but watching him gyrate his hips and passionately flail around the stage left the impression that based on sheer spectacle value alone, we’ll be hearing more from him.
