Black Rebel Motorcycle Club couldn't rev up Seattle crowd

The smoke machines whir at full blast and the lights go low. After a moment of feedback, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club crank out a fuzzy bass riff that nods every head in the room. Garage rock music. Roots-y garage rock music. Psychedelia-tinged, shoegazing roots-y garage rock music. Let the fun begin.

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club started turning their amps past 10 in Southern California in the late '90s. The three-member group recorded a demo, got Oasis frontman Noel Gallagher to say he liked them and signed with Virgin Records within a year. Five studio albums and 10 years later, they strolled onstage at the Showbox, still smoking that last cigarette.

The crowd, a strange mix of goatee guys, cute top and cute bag girls and comb-over, button-up Blackberry guys, did little more than nod, text, talk and drink the whole night. Even during a quiet piano ballad the drinking—not listening—crowdin the back of the venue buzzed continually.

The band, however, turned out fuzzy, My Bloody Valentine-influenced garage rock, despite their vocals being barely audible. They built walls of sound that exploded from the smoky stage and pumped fists in the crowd. Their catchy stomp "Berlin," with its chorus, "Suicide's easy, what happened to the revolution?" drew wild cheers and plenty of lip-synching.

While catchy rock riffs made the polo-shirted guys high five, the late-forties accountant two people over from me checked his e-mail. Something was obviously missing. The band, distant and sleepy at times, asked near the end of the night, "You got service out there?" to either shame the crowd or stall the show long enough to download the "PBR me" app for their iPhones.

After announcing their last song, the man next to me yelled "**** You!" and walked out. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is probably revoking his membership any second now. As for mine, there's probably paperwork. Maybe next quarter.

Matthew may be reached at mbrady@su-spectator.com