The Dead Weather liven up First Ave

​Sweaty, grungy and totally badass, The Dead Weather was a showcase for heavy hairbangin', electric convulsion-style dancing and all around dirty rock 'n' roll. The guitars were sharper than broken glass and the vocals pleaded and pulled with smokey infusions. The bass rattled warm organs and the drums perfectly complimented the full house of yearning fans. Frontwoman Alison Mosshart was by far the hottest thing to watch, but closing your eyes didn't lessen the experience. Lights flashed through eyelids, startling bodies in synchronized motions to the weighted sound; it was so fucking hot.  

The Dead Weather has a roster to boast: Jack White has teamed up this generation's Joplin, a.k.a. Alison Mosshart, Dean Fertita of Queens of the Stone Age and "Little" Jack Lawrence of the Raconteurs. Their first album, Horehound, was released earlier this month. During their hour set to the sold out crowd, The Dead Weather hammered most, if not all, of their tracks to date, pleasing listeners with loads of holy hell guitar solos and angered lyrics.

The show began with Mosshart in long sleeve cheetah blouse, her wild 'fro of black locks tangled atop her sultry face. "60 Feet Tall" seemed cold and dangerous, the lights kept low, expect for flashes syncopated to harsh drum beats or guitar squeals. White's curly mop flipped around as much as his drumsticks and Lawrence's thick-framed glasses were the perfect addition to his flowing black hair. "Hang You From the Heavens" came third with intermittent strobe lights, making the band's silhouettes look like a handful of nut-house escapees. Mosshart pulled her hair up while singing the song's key lyrics, never loosening her famous death stare on the crowd.

White came out from behind the drums a couple times, always inspiring loud wails from the audience. Standing at the mic, sticks in hand or back pocket, his voice sounded raw and ragged, yet bluesy and mournful. Mosshart whipped out her rectangle-shaped guitar mid-set, breaking up her naughty air-pelvic thrusts, or even better, an intimate tease atop the speakers with mic stand between her legs.

Photos by Jon Behm, click here for slideshow.


The boys backed up their leading lady during "So Far From Your Weapon" for an interesting vocal dynamic and White's soft mallets on the drums created a low thunder-like purr behind the melody. The combination of the group's near-cheesy collaborative vocals, eerie organ music and smoke made "I Cut Like a Buffalo" sound like the creep tunes in a state fair fun house.

A personal highlight was Mosshart and White's duet--or near makeout session on the mic. Mosshart teased the guitar with her body and White stoked the glistening instrument. On each side of the mic, their lips were only a lick apart, softly at first, then loudly preaching each word of the song. White and Moss would make hott musical babies. 

After a sweat storm of songs, Mosshart's face hit the spotlight and shone a mess a mascara and a mass of plastered black strands on her forehead. Cigarette in hand and gold boots on her feet, this woman can look like a train wreck and yet still manage to be completely sexy. A very-straight and kind of drunk lady friend in the audience confessed Miss Mosshart would be the one female who could get her in the sheets. Amen!