That Black Lips and Ponys show I went to on Sun­day? Major­ly dis­ap­point­ing. Kudos to pro­duc­er John Agnel­lo, who along with the band engi­neered a record that accen­tu­ates Turn the Lights Out­’s Son­ic-Youthi­est moments. Unfor­tu­nate­ly for me, those moments turned out to be stu­dio arti­facts that nev­er emerged from their mud­dy mix Sun­day night.

A brief note on the Black Lips: what­ev­er their appeal, it was lost on me. I envi­sioned the spec­tre of Lit­tle Steven loom­ing over the stage, shout­ing non­sense about the salvif­ic pow­er of rock and roll, while Black Lips banged out rote three minute, three chord garbage rock [not a typo].

Did I men­tion that one of the gui­tarists hocks loo­gies and catch­es them in his mouth while he plays? He does. It’s the sort of thing only a moth­er — or Pitch­fork crit­ic Jason Crock — could love. 7.8!