It’s impossible to talk about Bauhaus without addressing immortality -- and not just because of the band’s Dracula-rising epic “Bela Lugosi’s Dead” either. Okay, so that epic creature feature of a song did enable generations of Goth ghouls and goblins to live out their most lethal fantasies. (It also seemed to inadvertently set the stage for a global love affair with zombies.) But the nearly 10-minute long slice of half life was no mere celebration of undeath. Rather it was a bid for Bauhaus to stake a claim that would last well beyond the grave -- theirs and ours.
The bid worked of course. Better than probably even the band dared believe it would. And nowhere was that fact more in evidence than during Bauhaus’s recent resurrection at the Hollywood Palladium.
“Bela” is still a milestone. In fact, it may even be more of a milestone now than when it was originally released. (Remember the single never even cracked the Top 10 way back when.) The song also remains a bleak and blissful joy to behold -- and to be heard. Bassist David J.’s slow descent; guitarist Daniel Ash’s nightmarish screeches; drummer Keven Haskins’ relentless throb; and, naturally, vocalist Peter Murphy’s howl-at-the-moon croon. All that was all there, then. All that is there, now. And the band played all that for all that it is worth.
Turns out, all that is still worth a lot too. A whole helluva lot. And the crowd wowed accordingly. But Bauhaus isn’t the kinda outfit that rests its laurels on one infamous song. So “Bela” got buried deep in the set, where it could be fully appreciated but not the full focus of appreciation.
It was a gutsy move. Then again, Bauhaus has always been a gutsy band. It was clear in their sound. It was clear in their stance. It’s also clear in their influences. “Bela” didn’t pop up in a bubble; neither did Bauhaus. There’s a rich history there. Something deep and dark and mysterious. And it springs from the very gods themselves.
That’s undoubtedly why Bauhaus opened with John Cale’s obscure non-LP b-side “Rosegarden Funeral of Sores.” It’s also undoubtedly why they chose to close the show with Iggy Pop’s “Sister Midnight,” T. Rex’s “Telegram Sam” and David Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust.” All four of those homages paid great tribute to the originating artists. And all four showed the band’s not afraid to give credit where credit is due.
More importantly perhaps, the choice of choice covers also proved that Bauhaus’s own songs can stand right alongside their immortal brethren. The glam slam of “She’s in Parties.” The poetic preen of “God in an Alcove.” The dystopian dirge that is “Spy in the Cab.” The soapbox lashing that is “Double Dare.” And the urgent roar of “In the Flat Field,” which is at least as mad, bad and dangerous to know as Byron.
And equally influential. Just as there likely wouldn’t be a Bauhaus without Bowie or Bolan or Iggy or the Velvets, there also likely wouldn’t be a Manson or a Reznor or a Danzig or a Cult or any one of a hundred others without Bauhaus. Yes, the songs live on. So does the band. In our hearts and in our minds and in our heroes. And on Sunset Boulevard this fateful November night it became apparent that both song and band shall continue to live on long after you and I are gone, baby, gone.
Undead, undead, undead, indeed.
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