12 years on from their debut album, is there any life left in the D?
As someone who's been a fan of the duo for roughly half my life, it kills me to say they've seen better days — that these jokes, some of which haven't changed in over a decade and aren't likely to change anytime soon, have simply run out of steam; that these songs have lost some of their charm.
Like a pale Ice Cube, Jack Black's persona has been played out and bowdlerised over a dozen shitty family comedies, and there's no coming back from that.
But maybe that's just me. When the schlubish rock gods stroll out on stage, seemingly unchanged by a decade of wealth and fame, they receive a reception worthy of a religious figure. The setlist draws largely from last year's Rize Of The Fenix and their self-titled debut, perhaps wisely neglecting The Pick Of Destiny, and the crowd sings along to every word. Oh, sure, everyone loses their minds for 'Tribute' and closing number 'Fuck Her Gently', but songs like 'Kielbasa', 'Roadie' and 'The Ballad Of Hollywood Jack And The Rage Kage' go over just as well.
After rocking a full band set-up when they were last here supporting The Foo Fighters, Black and Gass have stripped it right back for this tour — it's just them on acoustic guitars, with the occasional recorder and toy saxophone, and assistance on handclaps from roadie Johnny Spikes and support act Sasquatch. They take pride in their minimal approach, with Black gleefully introducing the band: "On drums, no one. On bass, no one. On keys, no one. I do have to admit that on the Macintosh, doing some cues, there was... oh yeah, no one!"
Their enthusiasm is admirable, but I'm not sure it's contagious. The show largely falls flat for me, as does most of the banter they've trotted out on countless stages in countless cities, but I'll be damned if Brisbane isn't eating it up — rock may be dead, but apparently the D are eternal.
