Days before their show, nobody knew what The Jesus Lizard was up to. The enigmatic Austin noise band has always been a touchstone of the scene, but for the past five years, they’ve been on hiatus. Even though they technically broke up in 1999, the band announced a surprise show on June 6 at The Blue Room, much to the jubilation of locals and hardcore fans alike. With the announcement came many debates: a new record? A surprise tour? Just one day before the show, all questions were answered when the band posted news — a new studio album (the first since 1998’s “Blue”) and a tour to accompany it. A similar feeling of excitement emanated from the venue: an almost palpable energy of suspense mixed with sheer bliss.
First to the stage was local heavy duo Friendship Commanders, made up of guitarist and vocalist Buick Audra and drummer Jerry Roe, who provided backup vocals. As Roe deftly slid into the drum kit set perpendicular to the audience, Audra began with a dedication.
“We recorded our second album with Steve Albini, and we want to send this out to him,” Audra said. “This one’s called ‘In The Afterthoughts.’”
Audra laid down a sludgy riff as Roe swung his hands across his four crash cymbals. Albini was the legendary audio engineer who fronted formative bands like Big Black and Shellac and most famously produced Nirvana’s “In Utero.” He passed away last month at 61.
They made their way through 2023’s “MASS,” a record inspired by the loss of fellow musician Marc Orleans who played in the prolific collective Sunburned Hand of the Man. As the duo played on stage, one could detect strands of both these artists’ signature sounds and feel the complex emotions that developed from that grief.
The Jesus Lizard soon walked on stage, with frontman David Yow snarling, “Don’t be nervous, breathe, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” They took their places and launched into “Puss,” a sprawling, seminal track for the group. For one, it showcases their longstanding collaboration with Steve Albini — the song, like many others, was produced by him. The drums, played by Mac McNeily, even had a touchstone of Albini’s recording techniques: a singular microphone facing downward toward the snare instead of under the drum. Moreover, the song captures the peak of their critical success. “Puss” was released in 1993 as a split single with Nirvana, just months before “In Utero.”
Yow meandered and stumbled across the stage, and eventually, a fan beckoned for him to jump into the crowd. He did so, re-emerging with his shirt unbuttoned, yelling unintelligibly into the microphone. The band careened into “Glamorous,” a track that builds slowly: first with McNeily’s mechanical drumming, followed by Duane Denison’s precise guitar and David Wm’s rhythmic bassline. All devolved into chaos as Yow bellowed into the mic with a fleeting intensity.
(Ben Arthur)
At its conclusion, Yow joked, “I f*cked that up, we’re gonna do that song again.” As if on cue, Dension began the iconic riff to “Mouth Breather,” a raucous song that saw the oldest of fans throwing elbows. In that same vein, Yow threw his Heineken can into the air and spat across the stage, light beer and saliva dousing the front row.
After a few songs, including the new single, the band announced they were recording the show for an upcoming live album. Received by raucous applause, they broke down into sheer noise, and out of the rubble emerged “Chrome.” The song reveals the frantic inner workings of one’s mind, asking why “some people feel desire.” Eventually, Yow interrogated the crowd directly, yelling “I don’t know why” as he gripped fans’ heads with his bare palm. He screamed and pointed, singling out fans directly who stood shocked at the spectacle. In return, a man reached out his hand, touched Yow, and immediately fell back into the pit, as if graced by God himself.
As the band finished the set, Yow once again fell backward into the crowd. The band produced feedback until, after a few minutes, flashlights emerged. As Denison, McNeily and Wm left the stage, fans looked around with panic across their faces. Yow had disappeared.
“A trapdoor?” one fan asked. Another chanted his name, as if that would make him reappear. Eventually, the rest of the band returned as Yow’s head popped up from the front of the crowd.
“Mary?” he asked, seemingly calling a random name out into the void.
Yow jumped back onto the stage as they sped through two encores, including a cover of “Wheelchair Epidemic” by fellow Austin, Texas, band Dicks. With a resounding clattering of noise, the show ended and thus began a mad rush for everything lost: a sweatshirt, a pair of earrings, a phone, one’s sanity. As I filed out into the hot summer night, I knew one thing was certain: after far too long, The Jesus Lizard was back.
