Kills
Indie Rock / Rock
London, Brixton Academy, 29 October 2004. Two figures, under dim lights, which obscure more than illuminate. One, his jacket zippered up to his chin, eyes glaring headlight-style at the distant balcony, slashes and twitches in time to the rhythm of his guitar riffs. The other, her raven hair matted over her face, sways and rocks and thrashes along, incanting into her microphone the sweetest seduction one moment, then untethered rage the next. For one song, she sports a large floppy-brimmed hat. Afterwards, she removes it.
This Anglo-American duo force you to engage deeply in their music. Where most contemporary groups hit you with an elaborately orchestrated reading of a song, attempting to erect their own perfect castle in sound, The Kills reduce rock & roll to its barest components. As much as what’s played, you hear what isn’t played, the space between the notes, music as a force that flows between the people creating it (and listening to it).
The girl, VV, stares out the guy, Hotel. He fires an intense volley of noize into her stomach. She spits back at him, an inch or two from his face, and collapses to the floor. He places the body of his guitar, now rampaging into feedback, on the ground between her knees, and angles the neck over her. She arches her back, hair flailing. The sound surges…
You don’t see chemistry like this on a stage every day of the week. The Kills, VV and Hotel, have a special relationship. They met five or six years ago in South London, while VV, née Alison Mosshart, was on tour in Europe with her band at the time, Discount. Hotel, then known as merely Jamie Hince, had just wound up his group Scarfo and was just knocking around a few ideas of his own, solo. Before Alison returned home to Florida, they exchanged numbers. They corresponded, sending each other letters, tapes (of music; of themselves talking) and occasionally splashing out on a pricey international call.
At the turn of the millennium, Alison moved in with Jamie in his flat in Gypsy Hill, London. They gave each other a stage name, and The Kills were born. In many ways, The Kills had been born the very day when they met. The band was an expression of everything they experienced together, a document of them. They were entirely self-sufficient. Jamie did most of the guitar, Alison did most of the singing, Jamie learnt to drum and laid down some backing beats on tape. What else did they need? Anyone else would be an intruder.
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