 Siouxsie & the Banshees: The Seven Year Itch Live (2003) See, back in the day, they were righteously dark and daring, but also kinda crashy and misguidedly defiant … here, they're playing for the true believers, bringing back the riskiness of the early days with a renewed sophistication and—yes—glamour. I caught them on the American stretch of the tour, and was sufficiently blown away to hope for a live album to come of it, especially for the intense, unbeatable resurrections of "Cities in Dust," "Christine," and "Voodoo Dolly," plus the perfect mindfuck treatment of George Harrison's "Blue Jay Way." The live CD did come out, though the DVD is preferable, since it actually manages to capture the menacing excitement of the show. Visually, it's as jagged and yet crystal-pure as the music itself … lots of quick cuts and flashing strobes, etc. But it's the band's presence, particularly Siouxsie's absolute command (in a decadently mortuarial pinstripe suit) as she blasts her way through an uncompromising selection of the band's edgiest shit. Improbably, as with Wire, the Banshees get better with age, and it's a wonderful thing to watch them outplay any younger band you could name. I mean, Radiohead already plays like they're 60 years old, but the Banshees play like they aren't aware that any time has passed. They savor the music, they relish it, taunt it, tease it, roll around in it like a big bed made of pure cashmere, a languid, candlelit hour-and-a-half with a vibrator and all your most private fantasies, finally exploding in ecstatic moans of sensual deliverance. It's fantastic to see these guys revealed as old pros, showing people how it should be done. No nostalgia, no creaky joints, just a band that knows how to seriously kick your ass, and isn't afraid to. When Siouxsie & the Banshees are dead and gone, this concert film will be seen as one of the best ever. For now, it's sadly a fan-targeted affair, never to be seen by those who would tell you that a "great" concert film needs to be directed by a Martin Scorcese and/or feature an "important" baby-boomer artist. Fuck that. A great concert film brings you there, and this one forces a half-bottle of absinthe down your throat and plants you woozily swaying in the smoke and darkness, spellbound, miserably, gratefully captive. It's the kind of thing that should, but will never, be brought to IMAX. That would blow your fucking head off, so much more than the Rolling Stones prancing around or whatever. Siouxsie is a one-woman Challenger explosion with Billie Holiday's zombie soul, and the day will come when people finally realize she was one of the best ever.
Review by Big Daddy Big Ones |