Alison Mosshart and Jamie Hince spent a majority of time onstage separated by several feet Friday at a near-capacity Riviera. Yet the two members of the Kills reacted to one another’s movements as if joined at the hip, their bond yielding interpretive choreographic showmanship that could’ve passed as part of a Hubbard Street Dance performance. Resembling lovers who remain in an unhealthy relationship simply to get on the other’s nerves, the pair seized on a distorted melange of mangled blues and convulsing art-rock to convey a dangerous sexual dynamic.
What began more than a decade ago as a cross-continental collaboration has evolved into the rare duo that shuns gimmickry. While Florida native Mosshart moonlights in the Dead Weather, her partnership with the English-based Hince in the Kills brings her fiery persona to the fore. Boasting spindly legs, a commanding pout, threatening attitude and wailing voice, Mosshart belongs to a lineage of edgy front women that counts Chrissie Hynde and pre-self-parody Courtney Love among its ranks.
Utilizing a microphone stand as a mannequin with which she did as she pleased, Mosshart twirled, twisted and thrust in response to the music. As Hince began songs via an overdriven guitar and drum machine, the singer paced in tight circles, periodically chewing her fingers, the tension and anxiety ultimately boiling over in the form of snarled words, yowled refrains and lacerating murmurs. Staring through shocks of dyed red and burnt-orange hair, Mosshart oozed risk. She embraced a “Fatal Attraction” mindset on “Future Starts Slow” and turned sensual breathiness into menacing warnings on a stomping “No Wow.”
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Ready to strike back, Hince proved an ideal foil, answering feverish hisses and sultry teases with an array of raw, fuzz-drenched shards. Accompanied by programmed beats and the occasional pounding of live drumming, he channeled ugly situational sounds—clanging auto parts, blaring security alarms, clogged garbage disposals, beeping electrocardiographs—through his guitar. The duo’s tribal soul (“Pots and Pans”), rattling lullabies (“Baby Says”) and throbbing reggae (“Satellite”) facilitated physical expressiveness, Mosshart and Hince transmitting savage desires without ever touching.
They came face-to-face before drifting to opposite corners during the country-laced boogie “Kissy Kissy,” each taking pleasure in resentment, delighting in repeated pledges to stab the other’s heart. Bruised emotions even surfaced when the Kills toned down the noise. Still, for all the despair, a stripped-bare cover of Willie Nelson’s “Crazy” and the cabaret ballad “The Last Goodbye” peeled back the grime to expose traces of vulnerability no amount of aural turmoil could disguise.