The choice of The Lemonheads to open the Psychedelic Furs concert at the Showbox last night was an interesting one. Another band steeped in ‘80s and’90s nostalgia with punk roots that also achieved major mainstream success. Fans don’t always get such a twofer.
The Lemonheads played a solid set with lots of their old hits like “Confetti,” “My Drug Buddy,” “Hannah and Gabi,” and “It’s a Shame About Ray,” and frontman Evan Dando released a still-full, lustrous set of locks from his wool cap two songs in, but the crowd was clearly primed and anxious for the Furs to come on. While The Lemonheads chose to play their characteristically short and catchy songs with a rougher, grungier edge that belied their early pretty Boston boy days (no moony, acoustic version of “It’s a Shame About Ray” to be found here, to this fan’s disappointment), the Furs, by contrast, played a bright and jubilant hour-and-a-half show with Richard Butler, ever the showman, brimming with smiles and cheeky energy, singing even their darker songs with a gleefulness that made you forget just how old these guys are.
Dressed in a black suit with a white cuffed shirt, silk vest, and saddle shoes, he was the elegant conductor, artfully gesticulating with his hands, throwing an arm around his bandmates, including bassist brother Tim Butler, kneeling in his signature yogic-like poses as he sang soulfully to the crowd, that iconic voice still burning through (unlike his British contemporaries such as Echo and the Bunnymen, Butler never fails to warmly connect with his audience despite the austerity of many of the songs). It was a deliciously slow boil as the Furs carried us through “President Gas,” “The Ghost in You” and “Love My Way,” the latter, unfortunately, the one song of the night that got fairly butchered when Butler went off key, though adoring fans didn’t seem to mind.
Midway through, the group ratcheted things up with a string of punkier classics like “Run and Run” which toned down the sax and lent a slightly ‘80s cheese factor that had a few volatile fans heckling him near the stage. (It made me pine for the days when they’d play with a cellist, which married better with their arty sound.) By the time they got to a melodic but high-energy version of “Heaven,” fans were dancing wildly and fully lathered.
The band ended with the very ‘80s-glossed “Heartbreak Beat,” the audience singing reverently along, and Butler bowed deeply and dramatically, exiting the stage just before it ended. It was clear they’d have to do an encore, and sure enough they returned for a rendition of “Pretty in Pink” with synchronized lighting that lit up the oval ceiling of the Showbox a bright fuchsia. But for diehard Fur fans who shun that synth pop, John Hughes-entrenched hit, Butler closed down the house with the brooding but rocking “India.” The Psychedelic Furs—and Butler in particular—retain the verve and Bowie-like sensuality that drove them to stardom across the pond. Last night, decades after their rise to fame, they reminded us of just how they did it.
