Well, not exactly last night, but Friday night’s Black Lips show at the Crocodile was bound to be a disappointment. In the interview they did for the Stranger, they made a big deal about how being known for their gimmicky on stage antics was getting old, how the weren’t trying to be some “shock-rock” band, and how they wanted to be taken seriously for their music, maaan. That’s all well and good, but I can’t help thinking that their new corporate overlords, Vice, will be sorry to hear all that. A band doesn’t just cruise into a deal with a label like that based on garage psych revivalism alone—it takes blood, sweat, piss, and vomit to break Williamsburg.

But even sweat was in short supply at the Crocodile. The band played their songs, and well, but they were limp and static. One of the guys spat a loogie into the air and (almost?) caught it in his mouth. Some eager audience members threw ice and sprayed beer towards the stage, but if they were hoping to inspire some antics, they failed. For the most part it was a typical Seattle show—tired looking audience members and a seemingly bored band feeding off each others’ inertia.

Antics aside, I at least expected the band to look like a bunch of white trash southern punks, but instead each one resembled a different cartoon character hipster: the preppy/indie rocker, the hippie, the white hip hop kid, and one who could be best described as lumberjack/grunge god. There was no aesthetic to go with the total lack of energy.

It must suck to get pigeonholed as a gimmicky band, but if that’s what people focus on, it’s because it’s entertaining, and there’s no reason people can’t like your shtick and still hear your music—they’re not mutually exclusive. Still, Black Lips have turned a corner (or backed themselves into one), and now they face the challenge of maintaining some buzz without the riotous live show that garnered them so much attention in the first place. It’s KISS without make up, and nobody wants to look at Gene Simmons’ hideous face.

And if the band want me to focus on their music, well fine. They play a fairly fuzzy, fairly acid-fried brand of proto-punk garage rock. It’s fine—not outstanding, but fine. A couple songs have pretty sharp hooks and a lot more of them just bash the same old chords against the wall, hoping something sticks. I know there are more serious criticisms than “it’s boring,” but there it is—you claim to be in the business of entertainment, so entertain me.