One thing you can be sure of with masters of uplifting LA sleaze-rock Jane’s Addiction is a damn good party. And this being a halloween party and all, Jane’s, never a band to be labelled predictable, have thoughtfully provided several nubile beauties in the foyer of the venue, standing stock-still and armed with police batons and riot shields instead of broomsticks. So far, so Jane’s Addiction then.

But when they emerge after an interminable wait (only made bearable by gold Tequila), it’s the music that provides the lion’s share the fun, while the spectacle is enticing enough. Guitarist Dave Navarro, twirling his goatee and guitar hero-posing like his life depended on it, rings out the powerchords of instrumental ‘Up the Beach,’ and the audience crackles with excitement. But when he lays into the funky, choppy riff of ‘Stop’ (off their 1991 masterpiece Ritual De Lo Habitual), then it's time to really cut a rug. Singer Perry Farrell bounds out in a silver overcoat, giving it his trademark yelp: “Here we go!”, and there is no option but to jump up and down elatedly. How many bands returning after years away from touring sound this fresh?

The set simply rolls along like a juggernaut adorned with feather boas, and ‘Ain’t No Wrong,’ Been Caught Stealing’ and ‘The Riches’ (off current album ‘Strays’) all soar like the anthems they are. However the peak comes when Perry Farrell nonchalantly introduces their unashamed prog epic, ‘Three Days,’ by way of a feeble pun. When the melancholy opening chords of this mighty song kick in, it’s perhaps even more affecting given his ironic playing down of the whole situation. After all, who’d admit they were actually ‘progressive rock’? To be honest there’s so much lust, emotion, pathos and beauty in this 10 minutes of greatness that it just transcends any feeble pigeonholing. By the end of it you’re left feeling light-headed and exhausted – ravished by rock 'n' roll.

Encores come as predicted, with ‘Ocean Size,’ as tight and polished as the rest of the set, followed by ‘Jane Says,’ its poignancy slightly tarnished by the return of the baton-ladies (with their shields strangely emblazoned with the word ‘Polite’ instead of ‘Police’), gyrating sexlessly to the song’s subtle melody. This incongruous, no-doubt ironic finish could never spoil what was the best party of the year.
James Parker