See my full photo set of the Bauhaus show on Flickr.

Babies born near Northampton, England in the years 1953 - 1957 were no doubt injected with some miraculous, strange substance that retards aging, causing said babies to remain utter hotties far into their late 40s and early 50s. Find me the doctors who delivered all four members of Bauhaus, and I'll put the plastic surgeons out of business!

(Namely Peter Murphy, Daniel Ash, David J and Kevin Haskins. See also the official sites for Peter, Daniel, David, and for Kevin's Messy Music).

To prove this theory can't be attributed to the usual excuses, such as a Dorian Grey-style pact with the devil, observe fellow 1950s-Northampton-born comic book genius Alan Moore. Although he did play in a one-off band with David J called the Sinister Ducks, so perhaps Satanic youthfulness pacts can rub off on subsequent bandmates.

Last night, Bauhaus played the venerable Cleveland Agora. Though not their first tour since breaking up in 1983 (they also did some shows in 1998), this tour is remarkable. Unlike other bands who just won't stop (I'm looking at you, Rolling Stones!), Bauhaus never fell prey to annual-tour-to-fill-the-coffers disease. Sure, Peter Murphy made solo albums, as did Love and Rockets (essentially Bauhaus minus Peter), but neither milked the last drop of blood from their fans. We were waiting for this tour, and it delivered.

Back in April, Bauhaus played Coachella. I get the feeling show reviewer Jonah Flicker is considerably younger than me from his statement: "Still, the surprise of the night, Bauhaus outshone many of the higher-profile acts at Coachella this year. And the competition was fierce: Wilco, Spoon, Keane, the Kills, Weezer, Coldplay..."

Excuse me? You're comparing Weezer to Bauhaus? Weezer?!?! On what planet is Weezer higher-profile than Bauhaus? They'd sooner slap those babyfaced, fake-Elvis-Costello-glasses-wearing losers than share a stage with them. Peter Murphy makes bowel movements more interesting than Weezer. But I digress...and display my clear bias. (Hey, I'm not on the MSM payroll, I'm entitled).

Before we left for the show, my boyfriend and I shuddered: would we be the oldest people at the show? Thankfully, no. Usually, when you go see a band that you've loved for more than half your life, you end up surrounded by 18-year-olds yelling for the only song they know. I pictured Phantasy [local gothy club] refugees with dyed black hair screaming for "Bela Lugosi's Dead" until I ended up decking one or more of them. But not last night.

The band hammered their way through every back catalog-highlight you'd hope to hear them play (see set list below). Peter Murphy's elegant voice, a voice that could read the telephone book and make it sound interesting, was in fine form.