Live in L.A.

Photos by Wild Don Lewis The Count, his virginal brides; he’s dead, he’s not dead, he’s dead, he’s not dead — okay, we got “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” out of the way. Yes, Bauhaus played the ticking, tapping, and the foreboding bass line of the greatest post-punk epic ever written, but true fans — all you lovely fairies, Count Choculas, Frankenberries and heaving-bosomed mistresses — on this final night of the prototypical goth band’s pre-’Ween shows were in awe way before the second encore. No crawling like a rat or hanging like a bat this time: Singer Peter Murphy (white shirt, black smoking jacket) merely appeared on the side of the stage, slowly paced its length throughout with nary a boo between songs, and, thankfully, gave guitarist Daniel Ash (bumblebee shades, sleeveless Matrix-style trenchcoat) the glory. Murphy may have gone blond and bald, but Ash is still the sexiest man to sport overplucked eyebrows, with a head of hair that deserves its own line of products. And, boy, could he play guitar, especially on the band’s excellent punk covers of Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust” and T. Rex’s “Telegram Sam.” Ash ripped through “Dark Entries,” a relentlessly ferocious piece that comes screeching at you like something out of Wild Kingdom. And if you like your Bauhaus spellbindingly slow, Ash slid a drum stick across his guitar strings on “Hollow Hills,” taking it to even gloomier heights. How eerie was it to watch the band’s shadows play on the Wiltern’s gilded walls? Or, during “The Passion of Lovers” (yes, the passion of lovers is for death) when the stage lights appropriately went bordello red and we inappropriately flung our “nut-painted arms” into the air with girlish glee? Midway through “Hair of the Dog” the band just simply stopped in worship me, my pretties pose for what seemed like an eternity. The theatrics on the other side of the proscenium? Well, on a night like this goths and vinyl went together like a pimp and chalice. Yawn. So we gave our vote for best in show to the Björk/swan lady, or whoever was carrying around Neil Postman’s Amusing Ourselves to Death.

David J and shades Daniel Ash and shades, hair, pensive allure

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