WEASELS HEAD SOUTH...to worship King Khan & The Shrines

Wow… Long time no weasel news... We’ve been a little preoccupied and I won’t say it won’t ever happen again but we’ll keep it to a minimum. We’ve got lots of stories to tell still and here’s the first one…
A few weeks ago, we ventured south of the language border to see some bands. That’s something we hardly ever do and no we’re not proud of it. However, we had such a great time at La Zone with Jack of Heart and King Khan and The Shrines –we missed the first band :/ - that better times are ahead: we will definitely go back there very very soon for more sweat-dripping-from-the-ceiling-fun.

Luckily we have my sister’s gps to guide us to our destination tonight as we have absolutely no clue where we are going. After parking the car, we go looking for the venue. There's some light coming out of an opening in a blind wall, no sign though, or at least none that says “La Zone”. But the kids hanging about and the big guy standing in the doorway are enough of a “sign” I guess. We walk in and before they let us pay for the gig and enjoy some music, we have to pay something else... A membership of La Zone... Tsss those cheeky Walloons. So we all get a flimsy membership card, that will no doubt end up in our washing together with our smelly jeans, and finally make our way down to the basement. The underbelly of Liège is almost as dark as a darkroom –actually not that I know how dark that is, I have no experience but I can imagine-, it’s full of rockers and incredibly HO-HO-HOT as in steamy, sweaty and sticky.

I wriggle my way into the crowd as the Frenchies from Jack of Heart are already strutting their stuff on stage; I like what I hear so I want to see it too. They sound a lot like the raw 60s garage punkers Black Lips, a tad less chaotic, less whiny but definitely as dirty, jingly-jangly and energetic. This is a good start! I think I like it here!
I take off my jacket and sweater –did I already mention it's boiling!- and start to wriggle a bit more to the front, the big fat Canon in my right hand works a treat, not that the crowd splits like mozes’s sea but still, I get to where I want to be.
Taking pictures is a bit of a mission, the moment you take out your camera it fogs up like car in the middle of winter with two frisky teenagers inside doing frisky things. It’s basically a free 70s porn filter. Check it out!
By the end of the gig the steamy porn filter miraculously fades and we get a better view of the band...
...and what they're wearing. Nice toosh! erm, I mean touch!
After the messy -good messy- apotheosis of Jack of Heart I head back to my other weasel friends who enjoyed the show from a distance. Now we just have to wait for King Khan and his crazy company. Waiting in-between gigs has never been our strongest point, certainly not after we've been totally fired up by those French boys. Luckily, there's always the bar to take our mind of things, the art on the walls and a few friends from Liège and Brussels with whom it's always great to catch up and practice a little French.
Finally The Shrines make their appearance, and a little later King Khan himself enters the room, dressed as cooky African warlord mixed with an Azteque king. They're fashionably late but who cares, it's only monday! We've seen countless videos of their wild shows -or shall we say ceremonies- so we're totally stoked to see them on stage in this little club, packed to the rafters. And from the beginning it's clear they won't let us down. Soon the temperature rises another few degrees and in no time, the whole club and everyone in it is sweating like pig in Jewish shvitz. Once you get over the fact that indeed there's gallons of sweat running down your back, it all adds to the experience.

This band is quite a sight: a Canadian Indian, son of immigrant, and a German backing band playing a mixture of a few typically American music genres: soul, garage and psychedelic rock. Really, who would have thought those stiff Germans could swing that hard?! I for sure didn't! The only one who isn't swinging, not even nodding his head, is the drummer. He looks like he's taken about 10 xanaxs. He is on another planet, a planet called "utterly bored". His facial expression doesn't change at all, I don't even see him blink! Not that it matters, plenty of entertainment on this little stage! The French keyboard player goes completely nuts! He's lying on the floor while playing his little organ, pushes it over, drags it to the middle of the stage and finally stands on top of it while playing the strings of a guitar still attached to the bearded guitarist. High priest King Khan goes for a little promenade amidst his followers and the two guitarists on the right have a ball doing choreographed dances. The craziness floods of stage and spreads into the crowd like a highly contagious form of musical Ebola, everyone is dancing with a big smile across their face.
After a nice long set and a good few encores, the evening ends aptly in total chaos. While the Germans and the crazy Frenchmen play each other and each other's instruments, King Khan gracefully puts on his feathered crown and leopard skin jacket, and strides of stage through the crowd, straight to the backstage where he's probably got a harem of young girls waiting for him.
Not bad, not bad at all for a first Belgian gig.