Sold-out crowd turns AFI concert into singalong

He frequently claimed to be emotionally numb, as if his heart pumped Novocaine through his blackened veins.

"I feel nothin' at all," AFI frontman Davey Havok sang during a set-opening "Medicate" at a sold-out House of Blues on Sunday night, clad in a shiny silver suit that appeared to be the inverse, aesthetically speaking, of the sentiment he gave voice to in primal fashion.

But for all the alienation and uncertainty inherent in his words, Havok's physical presence bears very little, if any, of it.

Live, AFI is all about expelling the anxiety and dislocation that populates their tunes in flashy bursts of energy, as if their aim is to simply burn through any self-doubt right along with a few hundred calories.

Havok leads the way, a nerve-ending incarnate, punching the air, swinging his mic like a lasso, leaping atop the drum riser, turning his angst into a physical fitness routine.

Guitarist Jade Puget spins himself in tight circles, peppering the band's equally brooding and bracing catalog with riffs that register like body blows.

Since debuting a decade and a half ago as a Misfits-inspired punk troupe that paired dark subject matter with bright hooks, AFI has evolved into a band that incorporates more digital flourishes and downcast, '80s Brit-pop influences into its repertoire.

Their latest disc, "Crash Love," is AFI's bid for a big-sounding guitar rock album.

Puget took the stage holding his instrument high in the air triumphantly, like a trophy he'd just won, and it was a fitting gesture, as he really took the reins on the band's sound with some near-metal soloing.

His playing provided the backbone for a wide-ranging clutch of tunes.

There was the raw-throated screamo of "Kill Caustic," which Havok sang hunched over at the waste, biceps flexed, transposed with the propulsive pop of "End Transmission," a dark daydream with twinkling keys. A fast, sharp-elbowed take on Filth's "Today's Lesson" didn't seem out of place next to "Beautiful Thieves," an almost operatic sounding rebel yell.

What united a pretty heterogeneous mix of songs was the audience itself.

Turning almost every tune into a loud singalong, the crowd drowned out the band at times, and Havok let the die-hards lead the way on fan favorites such as "Silver and Cold" and "Death of Seasons."

The latter tune provided a pretty succinct encapsulation of what this band's all about: The verses came at perilously high speeds, with Havok snarling in almost exaggerated fashion, like a B-movie villain.

"Writhing with sickness, thrown into banality, I decay," he howled. "Killed by the weakness, but forced to return. Turn it off."

Then the chorus hit, and it was sweet-sounding and cleanly sung, a blown kiss after a blow to the jaw.

As the song progressed, the mood didn't brighten any.

"It won't be all right," Havok announced near song's end, "despite what they say."

But then the chorus kicked back in, and the crowd followed AFI's lead, singing their sorrows away, if only for an evening.

Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at jbracelin@ reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0476.