Shadows and Silhouettes: The Brian Jonestown Massacre Casts a Psychedelic Spell in Dallas
On September 26, The Brian Jonestown Massacre transformed The Studio at The Factory in Dallas into a hazy dreamworld. Bathed in dim blues, purples, and the occasional cold white wash of light, Anton Newcombe and his ensemble emerged not with spectacle but with a drifting invitation. The opening number, “Whoever You Are,” set the tone for a night where the music wasn’t performed so much as conjured—slowly pulling the near-capacity audience into a hypnotic state.
The Brian Jonestown Massacre
From the start, the set unfolded less like a sequence of songs and more like a gradual immersion. “Vacuum Boots” pushed the rhythm into a trance groove, guitars weaving with subtle feedback and echo, while the lighting left the musicians as near-faceless silhouettes. By the third number, “Do Rainbows Have Ends?,” the haze fully bloomed, shimmering with the shoegaze-inflected psychedelia that has long defined BJM’s sound. The audience stood entranced, some swaying gently, others almost motionless, content to let the tones roll over them.
The Brian Jonestown Massacre
The lighting played as much of a role as the music itself. Rather than dazzle with spectacle, the band performed in shadows. Flickers of strobes and angled beams sliced the dark, briefly illuminating a profile or guitar headstock before disappearing again. It was a deliberate choice, one that heightened the band’s reputation for atmosphere over flash. Within that darkness, songs like “#1 Lucky Kitty,” “S. Fudge,” and “Days, Weeks & Moths” floated by like spectral echoes. When “That Girl Suicide” arrived, the crowd murmured recognition, some singing softly along, their voices merging into the swirl of sound.
The Brian Jonestown Massacre
The middle stretch of the set found BJM building momentum. “Don’t Let Me Get in Your Way” carried a sharper edge, giving way to the taut pulse of “When Jokers Attack.” Yet just as quickly, the band drifted back into languid reverie with “Sailor” and the fan-favorite “Anemone.” The latter was a highlight, its chorus blooming into the room as if suspended in fog, stretching well beyond its recorded form.
The Brian Jonestown Massacre
The closing trio—“Pish,” “Servo,” and “SuperSonic”—acted as a ritualistic descent. “Pish” rose and fell in waves of guitar haze, while “Servo” slowed the pace into near-meditation. By the time “SuperSonic” arrived, the performance felt less like a finale than a release: the band standing almost still, bathed in shadow, letting feedback linger as the audience carried the final resonance into silence.
The Brian Jonestown Massacre
What stood out most in Dallas was the discipline of the performance. This wasn’t a night of chaos or explosive crescendos. Instead, the band leaned into mood and patience. At times the pacing felt cautious, almost hesitant, but once the set settled, its hypnotic pull was undeniable. The audience rewarded the restraint with their own: quiet during pauses, swaying during grooves, erupting only when a melody demanded it.
The Brian Jonestown Massacre
Anton Newcombe, long the unpredictable center of BJM, played his role with quiet authority. There were no theatrics, no domineering gestures—just presence. He allowed the ensemble to shape the evening’s contours, keeping the spotlight on the collective mood rather than himself. The carefully curated setlist balanced new material with older staples, weaving together decades of psych-rock wanderings into a coherent, immersive journey.
The Brian Jonestown Massacre
In the end, The Brian Jonestown Massacre offered Dallas not so much a rock show as an invitation to drift. In shadows and silhouettes, in moody drones and lingering echoes, the band proved that surrender—rather than spectacle—can be the most powerful spell of all.