The Afghan Whigs Burn it All to the Ground in Their Hometown
The Afghan Whigs are somewhat of an enigma. A soul and R&B-influenced alternative rock band that emerged from the burgeoning rock scene in Cincinnati, Ohio, in the late 80s/early 90s alongside the broader rise of alternative music in the US. The first non-Pacific Northwest band to be signed to Sub Pop Records and later shifted around major labels like Elektra and Sony. They were darlings of late night, and you’ll never hear a critic say anything less than enthusiastic praise. And despite an unbelievably loyal fanbase, they never quite broke as big as they should have. But that never mattered much to fans. We were proud to have this band as kind of our own little secret. Yes, we often obnoxiously shout about their greatness to anyone who would listen, but it also felt like we were a secret organization, a club that had VIP access to one of the greatest bands in the world.
The Afghan Whigs have survived and thrived for 40 years on this fan loyalty. And they’ve only improved with age. Their recent albums are just as good as any of their originals. And, live? This band smokes. They always have. From their earliest days playing tiny clubs up and down Short Vine in Cincinnati to their current 40th anniversary tour of legendary clubs around the world, they play every show with the skill of experienced journeyman musicians as though they are on the biggest arena stages.
The lineup has changed over the years, but the core founding members, singer/guitarist Greg Dulli and bassist John Curley, are the core foundation of this band, longtime friends, partners, and musicians who, 40 years in, are as committed to their craft as they were as young, hungry musicians playing Sudsy Malone’s Rock and Roll Laundry.
Last night, in their hometown of Cincinnati, at the legendary Bogart’s, The Afghan Whigs demonstrated why they are one of the greatest live bands in the world. And it made an old man cry. Twice.
I’ve seen this band live countless times. I couldn’t even try to estimate how many times. And after each show, I probably declared it to be the best one. This was unequivocally the best one. Pulling from nearly all of their albums, the band carefully crafted a setlist designed specifically to take you on an emotional journey. Opening with the ridiculously heavy Parked Outside from 2014’s brilliant comeback record Do to the Beast, the band put a stake in the ground, saying we’re here, we’re older, but we can still fucking rock. From here, the band wound through history visiting 1992’s Congregation (I’m Her Slave), 2017’s In Spades (Light as a Feather), 1993’s masterpiece Gentlemen (What Jail is Like), 1998’s 1965 (66), and finally debuting their new song House of I without taking a breath or breaking a sweat.
Soon, we were delivered what the Congregation had assembled for the one-two punch of Going to Town and Gentlemen, prefaced by an invitation from Greg to dance our asses off. And dance our asses off we did.
Of course, this came after an early admonishment from the stage to put our phones away and live in the moment. And if we were to have our phones out, please, please turn off your flash. As always, one fan broke this one important unwritten rule, blinding Greg and earning public shaming. Get it together, people.
We were treated to a guest appearance from Marcy Mays on Domino and Jimmy, not My Curse, but it was a super rare treat that the congregation obviously appreciated.
One of the many highlights of the show came late in the evening when the band delivered Fountain and Fairfax and My Enemy. Greg always delivers, and on these two songs in particularly he just fucking goes for it. When the music stopped, and every single assembled soul SCREAMED FOUNTAIN AND FAIRFAX back at the stage, it was clear we were moving as one, artist and fans intertwined in the ecstasy of the moment. Live music rules.
For me, an Afghan Whigs show is like a high school reunion. I’d never go to a high school reunion. Those were not my people. I found my people in crowded, smoke-filled clubs, surrounded by loud music. I ran into friends old and new. I received at least 30 comments on my “Who the fuck is Greg Dulli?” shirt. I was home.
The show wrapped with an unbelievable trio of songs delivered without the customary dance of leaving the stage and the fans begging for more. Summer’s Kiss, Into the Floor, and a crazy slow version of Miles Iz Ded wrapped the evening, leaving the assembled congregation speechless, awestruck, and satisfied.
Live music is special. An intimate way to connect with the songs and artists we love. Sometime you connect with music so closely that it becomes part of your very being. The Afghan Whigs is that to me. The soundtrack of my life, a band that has been there through heartbreak and celebration. Songs that are wired into my brain, and scarred on my heart. Support live music when you can. See those bands from your youth, find new bands to love. Experience live music with other fans. Find your people. I’m fortunate to have found mine.
Last night I shared that moment of catharsis with my son, who now understands what I’ve been blathering about for years. He saw magic happen. We all did.