Category / Concerts

by sweensryche

The Album of the Year, so far

Janelle Monaé – The ArchAndroid

After seeing Janelle Monaé last summer – when she was the relatively unheard-of opening act on No Doubt’s reunion tour – and being thoroughly blown away, I scampered over to the merch tent and picked up her Metropolis: The Chase Suite EP. After writing a review in which I compared the R&B singer/songwriter/bandleader to James Brown (which is no hyperbole), my wife and I listened to the EP on the ride home, hoping for an onslaught of funky adrenaline comparable to her live set. And while it’s a very good record, Metropolis’ complicated sci-fi storyline and uneven production values couldn’t live up to the lofty expectations of that moment. Monaé’s debut LP The ArchAndroid, on the other hand, would’ve most certainly extended our post-concert high. A nearly flawless mix of stomping R&B grooves, richly produced pop ballads, twisted Latin rhythms, jazz crooning and orchestral suites, this is a dizzying accomplishment that puts Monaé on a short list of artists who can push the envelope and cross over in the same supercharged breath.

After an over-the-top cinematic intro, complete with booming brass, whispering woodwinds and ominous string passages, Monaé breaks into “Dance or Die,” an Outkast-meets-Gloria Estefan barnburner that’s a great example of what she does best – laying into a simple groove in a way that makes it more than the sum of its parts. This segues into “Faster,” an equally propulsive dance floor cut on which Monaé confesses she’s “shaking like a schizo” over sped-up jazz guitar licks.

But The ArchAndroid is an 18-track concept album about cyborg clones, time travel and futuristic psycho wards – it can’t get along solely on the funky stuff. Hence some deftly sequenced moments where Monaé slows things down and shows off her range, doing her best Lauryn Hill impression over the Willy Wonka strings of “Neon Valley Street,” dipping into some English folk melodies on the solemn “57821” and delivering a romantic pop masterpiece in “Oh, Maker.” And when certain songs fall short – which is bound to happen on such a long record – they’re still drenched in the same unflagging creative spirit as everything else. Even though the out-of-place Of Montreal collaboration “Make the Bus” temporarily derails things, you’ve got to respect its boldness.

“So much hurt/On this earth/But you loved me/And I really dared to love you too,” Monaé sings on “Oh, Maker,” over a light-as-air arrangement that sprinkles back-up vocals through the verses like so many raindrops. As the sonic equivalent of raising your eyes to the heavens and enjoying what you see, this track is the centerpiece of The ArchAndroid. Because like one of Monaé’s inspired live sets, this album’ll knock you on your ass like a bolt of lightning hurtled by the gods.

by sweensryche

Cheeky Monkee

At one point last Friday evening, my wife and I were sitting in the third row of the very intimate Bear’s Den Showroom (within Seneca Niagara Casino), and Davy Jones was on stage with his shirt unbuttoned to the waist, caressing one of his rather pert bosoms in his hand. “When I was a kid, I didn’t know about man boobs!” the ’60s teen idol exclaimed, inspiring a mix of riotous laughter and uncomfortable stares from the crowd. It was possibly the most surreal live concert moment I’d experienced, beating the previous one by a mile (seeing Live singer Ed Kowalczyk get hit in the head with a shoe). It’s also a bit of a microcosm of what this show was like – loads of funny, awkward comedic moments crammed in-between carefree renditions of Monkees classics. Jones isn’t a comic genius by any stretch, but he is a sparkling personality – coming from him, lame one-liners (“We’re getting lots of requests tonight, but we’re gonna sing anyway!”; “I have three daughters, all girls.”) became endearingly silly things. And the music was great – sunshiny hooks, connect-the-dots lyrics and big, boisterous harmonies. From the ’60s pop classics to those 64-year-old moobs, it was a feel-good night all around.

You can read my review (which avoids mention of the Jones boobage), if you so wish.

by sweensryche

Everything I review, I review it for you.

I reviewed Bryan Adams for the second time in three years last night, doing pretty much the same thing he did the first time around – presenting stripped-down, acoustic versions of his hits. It made me think about how MTV needs to bring “Unplugged” back, because when it’s the right artist, a look at the skeletons of their songs can be revelatory. Bryan Adams isn’t one of those artists, of course (he did do an “Unplugged” set in 1996, regardless). His songs are simple, sugary pop numbers beefed up with punchy guitars and that strong, sandpapery voice – when you strip away the window dressings, there ain’t much left. Except for lyrics like “It’s so damn easy making love to you” and “Let’s make a night to remember/From January to December.” Adams needs the trappings of ’80s rock stardom for his music to make sense; the intimate acoustic thing just isn’t meant for him.

While doing a little research before the show, I stumbled upon a video of Adams’ performance with Nelly Furtado at the Winter Olympics opening ceremonies. It’s a huge, lip-synced mess (if you don’t believe me, check out Adams missing his backup vocal cue around 32 seconds in).

My last review of this guy inspired some vitriol from the Adams faithful. I’ll let you know if the sequel gets them just as riled.

by sweensryche

An evening both Phosphorescent and Gray

Things have been a little crazy in my world lately (I just gave birth to my seventh child and haven’t been able to track his father down anywhere! Plus I started a killer new job at friggin’ Travers Collins & Company), so it’s taken me a while to post about last week’s David Gray show. As you’ll see in my review – because you will read it, goddammit – it was a glowingly received performance by the beloved Brit. ‘Twas his first-ever Buffalo gig, and judging by the often-rapturous response he received – we’re talking dudes giving standing ovations and devil horns – it was a long-awaited event.

I wasn’t one of those folks hotly anticipating Gray’s safe, sensitive modern rock in a live setting, but the guy performed admirably, laying into the big hooks and pretty chord changes of his tunes with real fervor. The guy’s never going to blow your mind, but he ain’t gonna get on your nerves, either.

The opening act, on the other hand, was a revelation. Phosphorescent’s blend of country, psychedelia and shoegaze was a total crowd-husher, overflowing with ghostly harmonies and lyrical imagination. I picked up their 2007 record, Pride, at intermission – it’s a gorgeous thing, but I was slightly bummed that it contained none of the tunes I just saw them perform. I impatiently await their next release.

by sweensryche

Let me off!!! LET ME OFF!!!!

I had the unenviable task of reviewing Train on Tuesday night, a band whose hyper-polished, pseudo-spiritual rock has made for some of the worst singles of the last decade or so. I went in with an open mind, though, hoping that their live set was a more organic and enjoyable thing – if those ubiquitous melodies were executed in an honest way, it could have made for a bit of a good time. Not so, sadly. Not only was Train going through the motions during their Town Ballroom set, but its singer, Patrick Monahan, fancied himself a sarcastic card with a voice of an angel. He began the horrifically saccharine ballad “When I Look to the Sky” by asking the crowd to quiet down so he could sing a cappella, without a mic. It was a nice idea, don’t get me wrong – a gift from a singer to his fans that you rarely get at big rock shows. But when it’s done with this kind of material (“Sky” is clearly inspired by Richard Marx’s “Right Here Waiting”), it’s just gross. When it comes to every aspect of the artistic process, from songwriting to recording and performing, Train isn’t interested in leaving the cozy confines of their modern rock station.

by sweensryche

A Ferrick Weather Fan

I’m about a week late posting these comments about Melissa Ferrick’s show at Babeville’s basement club The Ninth Ward, but you can chalk it up to me still getting my wits back after being thoroughly blown away. Well, not really. You can chalk it up to laziness. Still, the singer/songwriter was in top form, playing beautifully constructed songs and positioning them as one side of a lively conversation. Her guitar playing is magnificently fiery at times; I can’t imagine the calluses she must have. Going in not knowing much about Ferrick, I left with a real desire to hear more, and a feeling that I had just taken part in something genuine. Check my review, if you don’t believe me. And if you don’t feel like clicking, then this paragraph that was cut from the story sums up my thoughts: “After a career that began with lots of mainstream promise, the trappings of stardom proved elusive for Melissa Ferrick. And thank god for that, because this music is too nuanced and heartfelt for cold, cavernous arenas. Its copious charms deserve to be heard up close, by a crowd that’s in the moment, ready to catch her if she falls.”

by sweensryche

Paid Tha Cost To Be A Fan: Snoop Dogg’s Late-Night Gig

When Snoop Dogg wrapped up his smooth, electrifying set around 12:15 on Sunday night, I booked it for my car – and realized that my legs weren’t working so well. As I stumbled down the Town Ballroom’s tiny staircase on my way out, my ears ringing from the slithering funk beats of classic Snoop, I was torn by mixed feelings. On the one hand, I had just seen a hip-hop legend absolutely tear up the stage of an intimate venue. On the other, I had to stand around for four hours before it happened, during which a screening of Snoop’s straight-to-DVD turd of a superhero movie insulted my intelligence, and opening act The Constellations assaulted my ears with their half-baked acid rock. But as my review will reveal, the glass was definitely half full on this night. And it’s all due to Snoop’s still-top-notch vocal abilities.

by sweensryche

That “Walking In Memphis” Guy

My review of last night’s Marc Cohn concert can be seen in today’s paper, or right here. While the guy’s style is way too squeaky clean for my taste, he has an awfully rich voice, and his humble, intimate set was a pleasant thing. The opener, Kristina Train, showcased a voice of a special caliber – most of my thoughts on her set were cut for space reasons, so I’ll paste ’em here: “Cohn was preceded by the singer/songwriter/fiddle player Kristina Train, whose smart, soulful performance grabbed the crowd’s attention from note one. As the Savannah, Georgia, native delivered tunes off her debut record “Spilt Milk,” her honest, bluesy voice filled the room, sounding like Feist if she had a little Gladys Knight in her diet. And while the originals were good, Train’s rendition of Carolyn Franklin’s “If You Want Me” was the high point – a playful burst of genuine R&B.”

by sweensryche

Oldies to Spare

For the entirety of my childhood and a good portion of my adult life, listening to Buffalo radio stations wasn’t a completely awful experience. Amongst the Foxes and Edges, the Joy and Magic, the Jack and Alice, there was one station that never let me down – Oldies 104. A station devoted to the most exciting period of pop music history, it got The Beatles, Beach Boys, Sam Cooke and Sly Stone in my DNA from a young age, as my mom schlepped me around to Little League practices, piano lessons and such. But several years ago, the station changed its identity, along with its format. As Mix 104, it sounds like pretty much everything else on the dial, a mish-mash of chart-toppers from the last 40 years. I still haven’t recovered.

But my feelings of betrayal were somewhat assuaged on January 9, when I took in the oldies cover band Spare Parts at Arty’s Grill on Buffalo’s East Side (the place is awesome, with the picture here absolutely doing it justice). Over the course of their several-hour set, this group of retired postal workers (and a few younger ringers) dished out joyful, endearingly sloppy renditions of “Sea Cruise,” “Runaway,” “Slow Down,” “Do You Love Me,” “Mustang Sally” and so on. It was the most fun I’d had at a show in a while, and not just because I had some pals in the band. As a crowd of Spare Partisans and Arty’s regulars danced, clapped and raised their drinks in salute, I yearned for the days when this kind of reverie was just a twist of the knob away.

If you’re the kind of person who gets pissed off at the phrase “oldies but goodies” (why do we have to be reassured that they’re goodies? There’s a much better chance that an oldie is a goodie than a new Nickelback song), I’d recommend the Spare Parts experience. Not only will the set list be crammed with several of your favorites, you can look forward to half-assed Elvis impersonations, charming originals, the soft-spoken witticisms of bassist/de facto bandleader Frankie Flame, and a general air of unpretentiousness. Because when a band pays homage to the building blocks of rock and soul without taking itself seriously, the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.

by sweensryche

A Low Point

I’ve been spending way too much of my time lately writing about the best musical moments of this soon-to-be-finished decade. So I figured, why not get a little negative?

I dipped into my archives for a look back at the worst live performances I had the pleasure to get paid to see over the last several years, and one instantly rose to the top – Avril Lavigne at HSBC Arena on March 29, 2008.

It was a display of everything empty and devious about mass-marketed art, pairing an anesthetized punk aesthetic with plugs for the artist’s clothing line at Kohl’s. The review’s below, enjoy!

Avril Lavigne works for her tween audience
March 30, 2008, edition of The Buffalo News

It’s almost unfair to ask anyone older than a teenager for an objective opinion of Avril Lavigne. Because while her utterly manufactured sound, emotions and image are about as grating as anything in popular music these days, it’s also a masterfully crafted cocktail for adolescent music fans. On Saturday night in HSBC Arena, Lavigne’s core demographic hung on her every word, screaming and dancing along to songs about girlfriends and skater boys like they were on some kind of sonic sugar high.

The moment the singer hit the stage, it was clear why the youngsters were acting like they’d had too much of their Halloween stash. Everything about Lavigne’s “Best Damn Tour” was purely confectionary, from the pink and black motif to the backup dancers and the mindlessly hooky pop songs. The strokes of genius amongst all the tween-friendliness were the fake symbols of rebellion, such as the skull and crossbones spanning a large portion of the stage floor. By making the kids feel like they were at a rock show without offending their parents, Lavigne’s set designer pulled off quite a neat trick.

Unfortunately, the singer herself doesn’t have such a wide appeal. Starting her set with the massive hit “Girlfriend,” the Napanee, Ont., native strutted around the stage accompanied by her fauxhawk-laden dancers, half-singing and half-screaming the chorus to the obvious delight of the crowd. Sure, the refrain is idiotic on paper (“Hey hey/you you/I don’t like your girlfriend”), but as Lavigne delivered it live, her shrill, reedy voice gave it a level of obnoxiousness that can only be experienced in concert.

The singer’s five-piece band ripped right into the next tune, “I Can Do Better,” but not before she could say, “Are you guys ready to rock out? This song is about being strong, not settling, not taking crap!” Another upbeat, 99 percent pop and one percent punk rock tune about believing in yourself, “I Can Do Better” is one of two weapons in Lavigne’s repertoire, the “angry punk song” and the drippy ballad.

Lavigne’s third selection was an example of the latter. “Complicated” was one of those impossible to avoid piped-in supermarket songs back in 2002, and the singer delivered a loyal replication, smiling and waving to the crowd while ironically delivering lines like, “Chill out/whatcha yellin’ for?”

The rest of the night played out as expected — a few rockers, a few ballads, repeat. But even though the arena crowd was noticeably sparse, it made a serious racket the whole time.

Seeing the way young people take to her music, it casts a different light on some of her lyrics. Whether intentional or not, a few lines can be legitimately read as explorations of how frustrating it is to grow up and enter the real world. As Lavigne sang lines like “Why’d you have to go and make things so complicated?” and “This innocence is brilliant/I hope that it will stay,” it was almost as if she understood, and cared about, her audience.

But Avril Lavigne is more of a brand than an artist. The angst that’s present in her songs is less “life isn’t fair” and more “life isn’t fair because my mom wouldn’t buy me those capris at American Eagle.” Life does get complicated when you get older, but it comes with a silver lining. With real emotion comes the inspiration to make great art — something Lavigne hasn’t quite gotten the hang of.