janesaddiction.org

kittykat wrote: So yet again all the touts get the tickets, they are all over the web for insane amounts of money and a lot of fans are left behind empty handed damn the touts!!!

czuczu wrote:Whores
Ain't No Right
Just Because
Ted, Just Admit It
Been Caught Stealing
End To The Lies
Up The Beach
Ocean Size
Three Days
Mountain Song
Stop
Jane Says

^ should have been this - wasn't a bit overwhelmed when I posted previously..

Jane's Addiction – review


Koko, London

Like the Red Hot Chili Peppers, another Los Angeles rock/funk outfit of around the same vintage, Jane's Addiction never quite leave the building. Members may come and go, "hedonism" issues may threaten stability, but they plough on, men of a certain age dispensing bleak thoughts through amplifiers turned up to 11. It was an appropriately battered-looking quartet that appeared at Koko, though singer Perry Farrell had extra reason to look hollow-eyed: last weekend he contracted a throat infection that forced the cancellation of headlining slots at Reading and Leeds. The Koko show got the go-ahead, but Farrell made it clear – piteously coughing and telling us he didn't want "to get you sick" – that he was a brave trouper to be there at all.

But you can't keep a veteran show-pony down, and he rose to the occasion. Was there ever any doubt he would? Shirtless guitarist Dave Navarro, his musical other half, prodded him with dirty-sounding blues, funk and metal riffs, and Farrell delivered. He dolefully turned old favourites about a heroin-addicted flatmate (Jane Says) and serial killer Ted Bundy (Ted, Just Admit It) into seedy singalongs, and made a couple of songs from next month's fourth album, The Great Escape Artist, interesting by twiddling with a computer to produce a primitive (but novel for this band) electronic garnish.

There's a discordantly camp side to Jane's Addiction: Farrell's banter between songs was deliberately fluttery – let's not repeat his comment about the doctor who treated his throat – and the two near-naked dancers who occasionally writhed around the stage were comic-book cute rather than sexual. Yet the music was a web of influences, from Latin to calypso to broken-down blues, all meshing to create dark, engrossing songs. The set ended with Stop! and a shower of glitter, and Farrell and company wheezed off stage, croaky but very much unbowed.