Never known for a tame disposition, the Afghan Whigs arrived at a packed Metro on Friday seeking revenge and craving lust. They got both, and then some. Playing with bloodthirsty force and on-point precision that heightened the high-stakes noir narratives, the rejuvenated group incinerated everything in its path, leaving nothing in its wake but the smoldering aftermath of toxic decisions. “I’m so excited you decided to come over and beg,” purred frontman Greg Dulli on the Middle Eastern-tinged “Matamoros,” flaunting the menace and control he relished throughout the potent 95-minute performance.
While instances of bands mounting a second act that equals or betters their initial go-around happen about as frequently as the Cubs winning the pennant, the Afghan Whigs are making a strong bid for entry into that elite club. More than two years removed from its initial reunion tour, the sextet sounds tighter, fiercer and more focused than it did in its brawling heyday. Now sober, Dulli demands utmost discipline and accountability from his mates—an expanded cast that includes original bassist John Curley. The Afghan Whigs also embraced the challenge of advancing beyond the past by releasing its first album (“Do to the Beast”) in 16 years last April.
Indeed, newer material served a primary role in shaping the vicious nature and uncompromising attack of a career-spanning set punctuated by ominous warnings, deadly secrets and ruinous relationships. “Parked Outside” thrust and crunched as Dulli loaded up on snide sarcasm, digging in his heels at the sight of chaos and provocation. A phase-treated guitar carved out a dance groove during “Royal Cream,” on which Dulli associated love with deception and disease. “Lost in the Woods” found the singer pounding on a drum and prowling the stage, committed to exacting vengeance and taking his pound of flesh from the victim.
For the Afghan Whigs, corporeal desires were often as satisfying as retribution, and occasionally, one and the same. “Now You Know” stung with venomous condescension and scathing accusation, Dulli turning the idea of a romantic kiss into an everlasting reminder of betrayal. The R&B swagger and decadent storyline of “Going to Town” evoked Bonnie-and-Clyde ruthlessness, while the song’s strutting soul-laced counterparts, “John the Baptist” and “Somethin’ Hot,” placed hedonistic passion ahead of detrimental consequences.
Few bands are more adept at navigating such volatility, especially when it means blurring lines between good and evil, selfishness and repentance, temptation and restraint. Sins, dreams and heavenly demons competed a midst the country-western snap of “Algiers,” a devil perched on one of Dulli’s shoulders and an angel on the other, both knowing the battle won’t soon be won.