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Pop Rock Nation

Category: Reviews

music-and-concert-reviews-you-wont-see-anywhere-else

  • Who Stole Thievery?

    Who Stole Thievery?

    No one doesn’t like Thievery Corporation. They’re funky, they’re groovy, they’re just plain cool. They flip basslines to the sitar, they trade the traditional drumset for bongos and wood blocks, and their sexy lounge rhythms could form the soundtrack of a jewel heist movie. They’re on my “top ten favorite bands of all time” list.

    It’s a sweet moment when you find out that a group you absolutely love is playing in your town. Especially if it’s Thievery. Even the long wait until showtime is sweet.

    They opened the sold out show with Lebanese Blonde, which they pretty much had to do given how many people saw Garden State. Even though it’s their most well-known song, it’s a legitimately great song – that sitar charms you like a snake.

    Thievery Corporation doesn’t just play a concert – they put on a real show. For the first fifteen minutes, I was literally agape at the sheer awesomeness of the spectacle: the slinky-scarved Persian dancer; the woman in what looked like a cross between a fairy costume and a French maid outfit; the guy jamming on the sitar; the block player; the bongo guy; the deadpan and afroed horn section; the bass player who danced and slid around in his socks; the DJ on an elevated stage behind them, at the top of the pyramid, lit from behind by a screen panel that dimmed until he looked like a god, illuminated and conducting this enormous orchestra. That was all sweet as hell.

    Then they started playing songs off their latest album, Radio Retaliation, and they lost me. This is by far my least favorite of their cds – Mirror Conspiracy is my favorite, with DJ Kicks and Richest Man in Babylon not far behind. Radio Retaliation marks the shift from groovy lo-fi to full on reggae.

    Thievery has been dabbling in reggae sounds for a while – some of the songs on the aforementioned wonderful albums explore Rasta sounds and slants, and they work because the voices and beats add layers to the grooves rather than hijacking them.

    It’s not bad music – I don’t think Thievery is capable of that. Objectively, it’s decent reggae/dub, complete with laudable anti-war, anti-Bush themes. The guys who performed these songs dressed in white pressed pants and navy blue overcoats. They’ve got dreadlocks and damn, can they move. The problem is that they sounded more like Fela Kuti than Thievery. They sounded almost ordinary.

    Regardless of their song choices, Thievery has an amazing energy that vibed really well with the crowd at the House of Blues.

    So hey, the Boston House of Blues is open! It moved from Cambridge to Fenway, where Avalon used to be. It’s bigger than Avalon – apparently it can hold about 3,000 people (it didn’t seem like there were that many people, but the third level of the place is reserved, so I have no idea how many people can fit up there. I hear there’s bleacher seating).

    I hung out on the second level, where the Aztec and black and white paintings make it feel like a museum. Water costs $4. The bathrooms are big and clean. The sound system thumps and envelops without ever reaching a cringe-inducing volume, and the lighting verges on psychedelic. The floor was so jammed that people had to settle for collectively swaying, but a little dance party up on the balcony wing. An impressive venue, all things considered.

    The line up is impressive too. George Clinton played the night after Thievery, and there are dozens of other big names in rock, blues, and alternative music on the calendar. The downside is that HOB is owned by a subsidiary of Clear Channel, which makes me feel like a sellout, but I figure that selling out in the name of experiencing great live music is sometimes necessary and always forgivable. Right?

    Thievery put on nothing short of a fantastic show. I just miss the old days when they went to town with a sitar, some horns, and a block of wood, and showed us all what it meant to get down and funky.

  • First Listen: The Fray

    frayEvery couple of years, along comes a mega-successful pop/rock band that has catchy tunes but no discernible identity at all…think Matchbox 20 before Rob Thomas developed a personality. The most recent example of this phenomenon would have to be The Fray. On the back of two mega-successful singles, the Denver-based quartet’s debut album, How to Save a Life, came out of nowhere to sell nearly three million copies. This happened despite the fact that the band had nothing to market themselves with except for their songs-no gimmicks, no outspoken members, no hot lead singer for the chicks to fawn over. Nope, The Fray were the brown paper bag of pop/rock groups…

    …and now they’re back for round 2. Their self-titled sophomore effort follows the template set by their debut. Midtempo piano-based tunes with a bit of a rock edge, angsty lyrics, and hooks that are incredily catchy and easy to sing along with are the order of the day. You’ll hear these songs coming out of radio stations and advertising TV shows for some time to come.

    First single You Found Me is cut from the same cloth as the band’s earlier hits like Over My Head (Cable Car) and How to Save a Life, only with a stronger guitar sound. The piano isn’t as front and center, and The Fray sounds like an actual band instead of a showcase for tortured lead singer Isaac Slade. Never Say Never will definitely be a future single, with the refrain of “don’t let me go” giving the song a lighter-waving vibe as well as an immediate hook. Absolute is another winner, with a pretty falsetto chorus, while Ungodly Hour is a more spare, almost Tori Amos-like piano ballad. Slade’s fragile higher register is a good fit for this brittle song.

    The Fray trips up on account of its’ anonymity. It’s taken me three weeks of listening in order to be able to differentiate songs. Even though the album is incredibly compact (10 songs, 43 minutes), there are 3 or 4 tracks that don’t have anything to separate themselves from the pack. They’re pleasant enough to listen to, but there’s nothing unique about them, and they’re not hooky enough to stand out. Then there’s the issue of Slade’s vocals. While his voice (which occasionally sounds like it’s about to crack) definitely packs an emotional wallop, there’s only so much angst you can take. I also remember reading a review of this album that noted the fact that Slade’s vocals are often garbled. Glad to know I’m not the only person that notices that.

    There’s not a lot of experimentation to be found on The Fray, which I guess is a good and a bad thing. Good because they know what they do best, and bad because the songs have a definite similarity to one another-especially because they fall under two tempos-slow and slower. It’s actually nice to hear the band stretch out a little on the album’s final two songs. We Build Then We Break has an anthemic, thundering U2 vibe, while Happiness brings in a gospel choir for emphasis.

    At the end of the day, if you dug How to Save a Life (which was a reasonably enjoyable record), you’ll dig this album. The Fray doesn’t exactly have anything exciting going for it, but it’s dependable, radio-friendly pop, sort of like the love child of Coldplay and 3 Doors Down. Much like the band’s debut, there are a couple of standout songs as well as a couple of completely generic ones, and while I recommend it with reservations, I still think it’s a worthy addition to a pop/rock fan’s music collection.


  • Review: Bruce Springsteen’s “Working on a Dream”

    bruceAs one of the web’s most esteemed (and self-dubbed) Bruce Springsteen scholars, I’ve been trying for weeks to figure out what it is about Working on a Dream that enraptures me so. It’s something other than the most obvious answer, which is “because it’s Springsteen, and I love Springsteen.” That particular answer doesn’t really explain away Human Touch and The Ghost of Tom Joad, after all. No, I’ve decided that there’s a very strange explanation for this affection: Working on a Dream doesn’t really sound much like Springsteen at damn old all.

    Let me explain. We’re all grown-ups here; we all know that rockers stagnate as they age. Once-great artists in their twilight years are often reduced to pale imitations; oh, sure, their new albums may offer a peak or two between songs that NOBODY WILL EVER EVER REMEMBER lesser compositions, but how often do they retain their creative vigor, the youthful viscera of their most hungry recordings? It’s rare, indeed, and I could go into a treatise of once-great artists plagued by this malaise, but it’d be reductive and full of lots of bitterness towards the Stones.

    So it’s with great pride for my beloved Boss that I proclaim: after floundering creatively for the better part of the 90s treading water with undercooked versions of old-school Springsteen, new-millenium Bruce has bounced back, creatively if not commercially, through several batches of lively (and just plain GOOD) tunes and a wise refusal to adhere slavishly to his signature sound. This is a Bruce competing with the litany of new kids highjacking his sound all the way to critical acclaim, not a Bruce obsessing over his glory days. (Ha!)

    And Working on a Dream sounds terrific. Bruce’s domestic bliss yields his best returns since domestic dischord proved a qualitative boon for him on 1987’s Tunnel of Love. This time, he’s writing shiny retro pop tunes, for the most part planted firmly in the soil of 60s pop. There’s a lot of Brill Building songwriting, and a lot of Phil Spector moments–think back to The River, and try to imagine an album of variances on “I Wanna Marry You”. Shoulda-been single “My Lucky Day” is the sunniest thing I’ve heard from any artist in quite a while, all tight harmonies and jangly guitars. The title track sounds like an outtake from Magic, albeit a particularly optimistic one. And the only indication that checkout-girl fantasy “Queen of the Supermarket” didn’t come from the era that it so effortlessly evokes is the surprise f-bomb. (And I’d be remiss not to mention “This Life”, which fits the milieu quite nicely, but has the best hook on the album, a soaring melody that demands summer mix slots from everybody that listens.)

    In fact, Springsteen rarely missteps here. Opening up with an 8-minute folk tale (“Outlaw Pete”) might not have not been the best harbinger of things to come, and it’s far from the album’s strongest song, but it’s fascinating to listen to the keyboard-spackled Springsteen-by-way-of-Killers-by-way-of-Springsteen paradox he’s created for himself as the song’s tone. And deep cut “Kingdom of Days” threatens to be really boring, but smacks you with a killer second chorus while you’re napping. (There’s all sorts of interesting stuff nestled in the album’s second half, too–the folksy “Tomorrow Never Knows” sounds kind of Seeger Session-y, and “Surprise, Surprise” sounds like someone picked a fistful of these retro pop tunes that hopefully will prove to be new-Springsteen’s signature, and found this polished beauty among their ranks.) If there’s a misstep, it’s “Good Eye”, full of ugly distorted vocals and an overabundance of harmonica–sure, it might be the worst thing Bruce has come up with since, well, Human Touch, but residing as it does in the midst of such an impressive playlist, I’m sure we can all be understanding.

    (Side note: “The Last Carnival” concludes with an a cappella outro of wordless harmonies. It sounds fantastic, but it’s interesting to note that it sounds an awful lot like the end of “Slapped Actress” by the Hold Steady, perhaps the band most notorious for accusations of E Street aspirations. Homage, or simple curiosity? Either way, it’s cool.)

    Pretty much universally terrific, Working on a Dream is Bruce Springsteen’s best post-heyday record. There’s an energy and a craft here that most aging artists tend to shy away from; the songs are great, the arrangements impeccable, the production gloriously glossy. Bruce has graduated from young, grungy small-town escapee to domesticated, middle-aged troubador–and manages, in the process, not to sound worse for the wear. It’s terrific work, and I can only hope it entices back those who may have bailed on the Boss.

    He may take a while to find his footing, but there’s a crucial truth at play here: you never doubt The Boss.