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HIM
April 10, 2010

Elton John burst onto the music scene when the Beatles proclaimed him their British Invasion successor. Lacking kinsmen to furnish the figurative baton, HIM has traversed genres from goth to glam to tarnished rock in pursuit of their own fortune. Fostered by equal measures perseverance and drive, they produced seven studio albums successful enough to amass a worldwide reputation and fashion themselves Finland’s premier musical export. After coursing through The Rave on October 23, 2005 in support of Dark Light, they returned on April 10, 2010 with some old numbers, a few new, two borrowed, and a packed lineup of spectacular material that just plain rocked.

Perhaps the most clandestine aspect of the blithely gender-hopping “love metal” aficionados surfaced midway through their opening number. Rather than existing merely as the blokes who back Ville Valo, HIM actually comprise a conglomerate of intricately-skilled craftsmen who do not so much navigate their material as command it. Irrespective of whether one enjoys the often excessively dramatic and love-harangued lyrics or the demonstrative, black-eyeliner ache they accompany, even a casual observer could appreciate the underlying craftsmanship. Why none of them have garnished fan bases on par with Ville escapes logic. Lead guitarist Mikko Lindström (“Linde”) in particular establishes himself as a top-notch henchman, for reasons that extend beyond perhaps the single most impressive set of dreadlocks this side of Marley, while bassist Mikko Paananen (“Migé”) winds into the tracks with impressive zeal. Emerson Burton recalls River Phoenix and could probably rival Ville in the fine art of fan captivation if he ever emerged from triple-tiered keyboards. Current drummer Gas Lipstick remained sequestered behind his drum set but furnished a pounding backbone and essentially cemented the notion that HIM has managed to neatly sidestep the technical ineptitude that seems endemic among today’s most popular acts.

Appearing every bit the strategic frontman that has swirled, snarled and slunk through more than a decade’s worth of music videos, Ville enraptured an adoring audience in his trademark rapacious fashion. Interspersing hits with good-natured commentary the growing cult of American followers eagerly devoured, he meandered the well-traversed melodies of hits by alternating an almost coquettish falsetto with his smoke-hewn tenor (his once surgically-attached illuminated cigarette conspicuously absent). The selected lineup spanned their repertoire, from the cover-turned-single “Wicked Game” to the most recent disseminations “Heartkiller” and “Scared to Death,” not forgetting to traverse perhaps their most well-known stateside hits “Killing Loneliness” and “Wings of a Butterfly.” The one-song encore attended the ‘70s tradition purveyed of closing with a cover, unleashing Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” to a veritably beatific, if black-clad, phalanx of sated HIMphiles.

HIM careens gaily along a slightly grim gradient audible textile, garnering equal aplomb for the almost twinkling lead-in to “Join Me in Death” and the grinding descent into “Buried Alive by Love.” With today’s supposed rock increasingly diluted by rap, dance and punk, an evening of straight-ahead, no-frills rock and metal serves as a salve for the ache of genuine music fans beaten into torpor by the vegetarian cuisine today’s radio favors. Why greater success in the States continues to elude them remains a baffling shame; but those to whom the heartagram serves as a beacon of rock hope, HIM receives reverence in direct proportion to their talent. Please, don’t make us wait another five years for an encore Eagles Club performance.

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