the 941

CL Tampa colleague and old pal Wade Tatangelo was gracious enough to invite a friend and me over to his place on Friday evening. We’d been in town to check out Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, opening for Stone Temple Pilots at Ford Amphitheatre. I’ll spare you the late night bombshell that, honestly, wasn’t all that shocking: Read Wade’s Tampa Calling blog for details. What follows is my acronym-heavy account of the pre-AWOL STP experience wrought by BRMC ­– which, as I suspected (and wrote about in CL this week), made a few new fans Friday night. 

Hurricane Fay still loomed in the late August atmosphere, and the skies threatened to dampen the spirits of assembled tailgaters and concertgoers willing to pony up 10 bucks for a tall boy of Coors Light. But torrential downpour be damned, guitarist Peter Hayes and bassist Robert Levon Been took the stage shortly after 7:30, launching into “666 Conducer” from last year’s Baby 81. The outdoor venue – its lawn seating off limits for the show – slowly filled to half-capacity as the duo, backed by Raveonettes touring drummer Leah Shapiro (subbing for the estranged Nick Jago), plowed through other album highlights (“Weapon of Choice,” “Berlin”) before turning to older material. 

The band touched upon 2005 acoustic triumph, Howl (“Shuffle Your Feet,” “Ain’t No Easy Way”), giving more time to their 2001 debut, B.R.M.C. “Red Eyes and Tears,” “Love Burns” and the hour-plus set’s penultimate anthem, “Whatever Happened to My Rock ‘n’ Roll” showcased Hayes’ and Been’s bluesy, blustering shoegaze charisma. They tag-teamed on vocals: A cigarette dangled from Hayes’ lips as he at one point strode his amp, while Been, not letting a cloudy and oft-drenching dusk storm prevent him from rocking the shades, worked the pit crowd. 

Black Rebel’s known for marathon performances that top two-and-a-half-hours. Having seen them twice before – once sharing the bill, once headlining it ­– I chalked up Friday’s comparatively low-key gig to the early curtain, support act status and a less-than-intimate venue that did little justice to BRMC’s wall of sound. Their initially reserved theatrics mounted with every number. By the time Hayes, Been and Shapiro ­– an impressive, pummeling player – called it a wrap, individual songs neared the 10-minute mark with nary a noodle or wanking guitar lick between them. 

I’ve never disliked Stone Temple Pilots, but I came for Black Rebel. As had been my previous experience at BRMC concerts, any band to follow would’ve proven anticlimactic. Stick a fork in me: With their set finished, I was done, stopping by the ladies room on the way to Wade’s for pizza and beer. “STP! ” came a toilet stall cry, echoed by numerous anxious femmes in Scott Weiland’s waiting. They’d have close to two hours before word of STP’s cancellation, officially attributed to inclement weather. Funny – a little rain didn’t stop Hayes and Been from showing the no-show headliners how it’s done.

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