POP MUSIC REVIEW : Cult: Painful Sincerity Amid the Riffs

After opening with the “one day a rain’s gonna come and wash all the scum off the streets” rap popularized by a certain former taxi driver, the Cult kerranng! in the New Year before a capacity crowd at the Long Beach Arena. Balloons cascaded from the ceiling as the Cult tossed off a learned-it-at-soundcheck version of “Auld Lang Syne” that was distinguishable from the rest of the set by virtue of its once having had a memorable melody.

Cheap joke. After all, the British hard-rock quartet has at least 30 minutes of solid material, as demonstrated throughout the course of its 90-minute set.

Having devolved from gloom-doom boomers to college radio faves for the usual three days to the ele - metal rock band with two gold LPs, these big-noise boys can now truck around a big-time stage set-up, complete with a light truss that rotates at big moments to reveal a big red Maltese cross, but they really don’t need the spectacle. The energy they expend running around striking poses alone could’ve lit up the whole city of Long Beach.

Meanwhile, guitarist Billy Duffy played nothin’ but racket. Bassist Jamie Stewart--another minimalist--and this year’s tour drummer were as tight as the space between the blocks of the pyramids and about as solid, and vocalist Ian Astbury carried on as if he were Jim Morrison’s baby brother, the Salamander Prince himself.

Speaking of rock offspring, Bonham--the British quartet led by drummer Jason Bonham, son o’ late Led Zeppelin drummer John--preceded the Cult with a 50-minute set that sounded alternately like his father and Foreigner-type radio fodder (the hit “Wait for You”). These Led Clones might have a (birth)right to the sound, but the shameless “my dad was blah-blah-blah and I’m gonna do this one for him” rap before the rendition of the Zep’s magnificent “Black Dog” (lowlighted by the guitarist’s leaving about half the solo’s notes in the dressing room) must’ve had dad rockin’--but mostly rollin’ over--in his grave. That is, if the rip-off of “Kashmir” hadn’t already flipped pop’s top.

The Cult, of course, has its own rip-off of “Kashmir.” Laying on the ‘60s imagery with a hod full of soul, it’s also got a song about deceased Warhol scenemaker Edie Sedgwick, written as a cautionary drug tale. It’s that crazy combination of flagrant riff-lifting and painful sincerity that makes the Cult the closest thing pop music has to the Troggs nowadays. Can’t wait for the bootlegs of the studio bickering to surface.