Photo: Aaron Sammut

The sign on the Globe tonight says ‘CLOSED FOR WEEN!’ Tumbleweeds blow down a Brunswick Street empty of black t-shirt wearers, potheads, goatee-growers and their girlfriends. They’re all cramming into The Tivoli to see Ween, returning for the first time in ten years. Buckingham Green, one of their proggier rock songs, opens their set and sets the tone for the night: lots of solos from Dean and some rock poses from Gene. Gene spends most of his time ambling around in a hobbity way with no shoes, but when he does bring out the big guns he’s a master of them. The tiger claw is saved for their ‘sexy’ songs and he holds the goblet of rock aloft during the psychedelic chorus of Mutilated Lips. The goblet, it overfloweth. Dean’s soloing in Voodoo Lady is so intense I see smoke coming off the guitar, though that might be his cigarette. Later, he breaks a string but covers it so well I wouldn’t notice if he didn’t rip the remains away with a theatrical flourish as the crowd cheers. There are a couple of instrumental jams that seem indulgent to those of us who aren’t in jazz trances, but otherwise it’s a full set, showing off songs from all over their catalogue. A few numbers off the new album, La Cucaracha make their way into the set-list, including excellent renditions of My Own Bare Hands and Your Party. The latter is an odd song to hear a crowd sing along to, as was Spinal Meningitis (Got Me Down), but honestly there aren’t many Ween songs it doesn’t seem odd to hear a crowd of people chanting. After almost three hours, the band exit. Even if it’s another decade before they come back again, we got a full dose of them tonight.

JODY MACGREGOR

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