Tonight my ticket says “Greg Dulli’s Twilight Singers” and for the next 2 1/2 hours he doesn’t let us forget. It's with a long exhale of cigarette smoke that he blesses the evening by saying, “Mi Noche, Su Noche, Esta Noche”, stringing the confessional Decatur St. right to its back. His microphone stand has an attached ashtray and drink holder and neither is vacant all evening. No doubt those were two key pieces of equipment on some roadie’s checklist during this quick European trek.

She Loves You’s material is seamlessly entwined from the beginning with Too Tough To Die followed up by A Love Supreme. Covers are of course no surprise to anyone familiar with Dulli’s live shows, but this time around there is no novelty here. The crowd recognizes that these songs are his. By now in the few quick pauses allowed between songs I can already hear my ears screaming. Later, Dulli jokes that he can’t hear the crowd when he asks if we want more, devilishly grinning back at his band and adding, “maybe its because we are so loud”. He is obviously proud with himself.

Dulli takes his first long pause as the band trudges on with their funereal take off of I Want You (She’s So Heavy)’s lead in that eventually gives birth to Strange Fruit. Leaning back on his heels he pauses for a cocktail sip and smoke, surveying the crowd. He speaks very little tonight and just as it might seem he would allow us all to stand on that riff for the rest of the evening he wordlessly rejoins his band.

Years ago, onstage with the Afghan Whigs I saw Dulli proclaim, “If you don’t like The Beatles, you don’t like pussy”. Ever since then any set of his I’ve seen has paid at least some small tribute and tonight he sings All You Need Is Love before propelling into a trio of Twilight songs led off by Love.

A little over an hour into the set and Dulli digs into Gentleman to pull out If I Were Going. Barcelona howls appreciation and I think to myself that the Spaniard in the bathroom wearing his Up In It t-shirt must remember this from ten years ago. They play an abridged version and he replaces the last few lines with Steve Miller’s chorus from The Joker. Steam from the sold-out crowd is now clearly visible in the red stage lights and condensation has blacked out the club’s windows. The piano begins Martin Eden, the band’s quietest moment yet, and the entire crowd can be heard singing along. There are few passive fans in attendance this evening. You get a sense that drummer Bobby Macintyre, the most animated of The Singers, is playing his heart out for Dulli alone (when required to also playing his tambourine with the same manic fervor). All in all it us who reap the benefits as be beats out Black Is The Color Of My True Love’s Hair to end the set.

Dulli returns solo and takes up position behind the keyboards to play an almost unrecognizable version of Abba’s Dancing Queen – accompanied midway through by the rest of the band. With the newest Twilight Singer, After Hour’s Manuel Agnelli, taking over Dulli’s guitar they plow into the chauffered Killer. Calling the next song a “negro spiritual” he plays Outkast’s Roses before returning to center stage.

The band is flawless during the Whigs’ Uptown Again and 66. They drive into The Faces’ Ooh La La and play it to each other like a private joke. Dulli banters quickly and promises to return to Barcelona quicker than last time, with that he says, “first this song is by Prince and then its by me”. Purple Rain turns into Black Love’s Faded and in the excitement Rick McCollum’s shifty wah-wah during Dulli’s pleading versus is barely missed as the band epically follows into each chorus. It's buenos noches and bye as Dulli gathers his cigarettes and departs. The crowd tries in vain for more knowing very well there is nothing left. We all file out the door disheveled and sweating and there is no doubt in our minds that we are Greg Dulli’s crowd.
Andrew Becker