Jason Lytle at Al's Den, Portland, OR 5/4/12

Nada Surf at Wonder Ballroom, Portland, OR 3/23/12

Smooth Operator

Sade/John Legend
Rose Garden Arena
August 15, 2011
Sometimes reality just won't do; that's where Sade comes in. There are rare living figures in music that have built such mystery around themselves, they're more a concept than a person (think: Prince). Sade Adu is one of those artists. Shattering the mythical aura this reclusive Nigerian-British chanteuse possesses, she and her eponymous band stepped onstage at the Rose Garden, delivering two hours of rhythmic soul-pop enhanced by seductive, otherworldly video projections.


Just now hitting the road in support of Sade's platinum 2010 album Soldier of Love, the group kicked things off with the record's punchy title track. Alluring, adorned in black and tiptoe-strutting across the stage, Adu was in fine voice and focused throughout. A technically locked-down, tightly orchestrated revue of her three-decade catalog, the show's strongest moments were revealed in favorites, from the subtle, elegant "Your Love is King" and the sax-driven "Smooth Operator" to passionate torch songs like "Is it a Crime" (a standing ovation-garnering highlight) and the pained yet resolute "Jezebel."

Belting it out and armed with dazzling staging and production, Adu gave ticketholders their money's worth. And in a move seemingly aimed at showing her at her most relaxed and "normal," a video was shown during the new song "Skin" depicting the singer with her hair down, frolicking through a field of flowers, relaxed, and smiling. It was an unexpectedly revealing glimpse that dispensed of the glamour and exposed another side to her.

On the downside, there were a few obscure songs performed that were more memorable for the glitzy special effects that accompanied them than the actual music. A valid criticism of Sade's catalog is that it tends to spring from a bit of a slow, monochromatic smooth jazz well, and the energy flagged at times. However, when the drums, horns, and keyboards surged, Adu soared skyward, as on the percolating "Paradise," and during "The Sweetest Taboo," when some fans made a point of rushing to the aisles and dancing.

Ethereal yet humanized, intimate yet distant, by the time Adu sent "No Ordinary Love" cascading over the audience, all in attendance had been transported to her sophisticated, timeless world.

Modern R&B hitmaker John Legend gamely filled the opening act slot with a crowd-pleasing yet unchallenging mix of piano-driven, Top 40-ready tunes that split the difference between Luther Vandross and Marvin Gaye, which sounds better than it actually was. Legend's a photogenic, lively young artist with class, but some growth is needed. He's got the horn section and the backing singers, but what he really needs is a little James Brown.

Neil Young Trunk Show

The journey never ends for Neil Young. Captured cinematically just a few years ago in the formal Nashville recital Heart of Gold, the legendary rocker and that film's director Jonathan Demme return with Neil Young Trunk Show. The result is a rich, organic chronicle of the 2007-8 tour in support of Young's Chrome Dreams album. With multiple video angles and handheld cameras, Demme's spontaneous approach meshes perfectly with Young's free-floating, soft/loud, this-old-man-will-do-whatever-he-wants-to artistic imperative.

It's hard to think of another 60-something singer-guitarist granted as much reverence by his audience, and one that can summon as much electric fury. It was a smart idea, then, to capture the aging Young in this particular chapter in his career - increasingly grandfatherly and gentle one moment (the acoustic "Harvest" and "Oh Lonesome Me" are given poignant readings), then flattening the crowd the next with blazing steamrollers like "No Hidden Path" and "Like a Hurricane." Humble every second, yet never pandering, Young reveals himself throughout, apparently feeling every note he plays to the utmost. And as this concert movie goes on, the foundational themes of this singer-songwriter's body of work -- how a defiantly solitary man reconciles himself with the outside world, love, and spirituality -- come into progressively clearer focus.

Young and his band, including bassist Rick Rosas, guitarist Ben Keith, drummer Ralph Molina, and backup vocalist/wife Pegi, present a wholly convincing argument for artistic purity and old ways. With an eye toward both spectacle and heart, Demme captures his subject unpacking a Trunk Show complete with a live painter, vintage lighting, and, at center stage, those songs. It all boils down to the songs; Young serves no other master.

Bring on Your Wrecking Ball

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band
October 2-3
Giants Stadium
East Rutherford, NJ
"We are here tonight to uphold our solemn vow... to rock the house!!!" shouted Bruce Springsteen at Giants Stadium to a thundering ovation from the locals. This is a nightly declaration by the Boss, and the second and third shows of a five-night homecoming stand in New Jersey were no exception. What was exceptional about this run was the fact that these were the final Springsteen concerts at the soon-to-be-razed venue, not to mention the legend's decision to perform one of his classic albums in its entirety each night. This plan found the E Streeters substituting their usual ad-hoc set list with a structure that might have thrown lesser acts off-kilter. But this is the mighty E Street band, and their effortless balance of formal song sequences and capricious, Jersey bar band looseness made this pair of shows exhilarating successes.

The opening salvo of tunes on October 2 featured the brand-new Giants Stadium valentine "Wrecking Ball" ("Bring on your wrecking ball," Springsteen sang with defiance, a sentiment seemingly aimed at both the venue and his ageless self), the brassy "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out" and the apparent beer/bathroom opportunity "Working on a Dream." Then, Springsteen and his cohorts dusted off Darkness on the Edge of Town, a thematically dead-serious song cycle that is a bit ambitious to tackle in a football stadium. While certain tracks from this LP, a favorite of die-hards, are rousing Boss concert staples ("Badlands," "The Promised Land," "Prove it All Night"), it was unclear whether melancholy deep cuts like "Factory" and "Racing in the Street" would play to the upper decks. But perhaps unsurprisingly, the group delivered the album with a vigor and sense of pride that made it work completely. From "Badlands" to the closing title track, the highlights included Springsteen's white-hot fretwork on "Adam Raised a Cain"; an affecting "Racing in the Street," which gave Roy Bittan's piano work a lovely showcase; a knockout take on the rarely-played "Streets of Fire"; and Nils Lofgren's dazzling spotlight moment during "Prove it All Night," which was less a guitar solo than an exercise in sonic arc welding. At the end of the album performance, the Boss proudly gathered up the specific members of the band that were responsible for putting it on wax, which was an appropriate moment of acknowledgement, especially for the late E Streeter Danny Federici.

Following Darkness came light in the form of the upbeat "Waitin' on a Sunny Day," which found Bruce jumping in the stands and enlisting a young girl to sing the chorus while her dad held her, to massive applause. It was a terrific move, and a significant one: Springsteen's chance to climb off the messiah pedestal his fans place him on and unite most directly with his audience. That interactivity continued with the nightly request segment of the show, where the Boss collects hand-made signs from the audience that beg for obscurities and covers. Tonight, hopefuls holding up their placards for "I'm Goin' Down," the sweetly romantic Tracks nugget "Be True" and Elvis' rollicking "Jailhouse Rock" were the lucky winners. And as is the norm for Springsteen, medicine is to be taken with the sugar, so the overdue reappearance of Magic's "Long Walk Home" (complete with an impassioned vocal by Steven Van Zandt) and an exultant rendition of "The Rising" set the expected equilibrium.

Speaking of balance, the powerful enthusiasm of the cross-generational New Jersey multitudes was just as weighty a factor at Giants Stadium as the Boss himself. Singing along to every song, waving and throwing their arms in unison, and generally suffering from mild hysteria, they somehow imparted an even more mythic status upon Springsteen than he already carries on a normal day. Witnessing that level of hero worship amid impeccable performances of standards like "Thunder Road" and the house-lights-on, everyone-go-crazy cue of "Born to Run" is that most rare of concert experiences, a reminder of the power, glory and promise of rock n' roll. To conclude Night 2, the "liberate ya, confiscate ya" tilt-a-whirl of "Rosalita" sent tens of thousands happily into the rainy Jersey night.


The third installment of Springsteen's fiver at Giants Stadium offered a complete performance of Born in the U.S.A., a populist favorite album from 1984 that catapulted the Boss into household name territory. While this may have looked like a coup for casual fans -- the chance to hear the Boss' biggest radio and MTV hits, such as the title song and "Dancin' in the Dark" -- in these parts, there are no casual fans. For the assembled faithful, it was all about hearing these tracks in sequence, as well as blue-moon live selections like "Cover Me" and "Downbound Train."

Despite this officially scheduled main event, Springsteen, the ultimate showman, still knows how to surprise. During "Hungry Heart," (which has devolved into rote, if lighthearted, audience karaoke) he leapt into the pit at midfield and bodysurfed all the way back to the stage without incident. It would have been a nice "remember-when" story for all these Jersey folk to tell their kids someday, if they didn't already have all their kids in tow.

That stunt pulled off, Springsteen and company delivered Born in the U.S.A. An impactful, if not quite as emotionally rewarding suite as the previous night's Darkness on the Edge of Town, this album performance was both bracing (the haunting "I'm On Fire" sat Bruce at the edge of the pit, while teenage girls in front of him fawned -- that's sex appeal at age 60, folks) and tentative ("Cover Me" sorely lacked the punch it has on record). Still, this Saturday night party got jumping with carefree rave-ups like "Darlington County" and "Glory Days."

With yet another record covered, it was time to cover someone else per audience request: the live rarity/Tom Waits-penned "Jersey Girl," a tender ballad that found every tongue in the stadium singing its "Sha la la la la la la" chorus. The early E Street R&B pressure cooker "Kitty's Back" followed, with the fireworks-punctuated Irish stomp of "American Land" not far behind. By the time the holy benediction of "Thunder Road" hit the warm autumn air, this night we were free, and Bruce's vow wasn't broken.

Bring on the wrecking ball.

Trapping Foxes

Fleet Foxes/Blitzen Trapper
Crystal Ballroom
April 12

"The sun it rises..." goes an ethereal harmony from Fleet Foxes, and it couldn't have been more apt on this Easter Sunday. With heavenly voices and often forceful purpose, the Seattle longhairs faithfully recreated nearly all of their breakthrough, self-titled debut, along with music from their first EP. And while this concert fell just short of the religious experience it might have been, there was still plenty of spiritual uplift and exquisite folk-rock songwriting to marvel at.



For an act so road-tested and showered with international accolades (the esteemed Pitchfork's 2008 album of the year was theirs, and the tastemaking British, they love'em), Fleet Foxes are an almost frustratingly modest crew. Arrogance is never advisable, but a bit more confidence and showmanship, especially between songs, should be almost second-nature after over a year of touring the world and playing such high-profile gigs as "Saturday Night Live." Bandleader/top Fox Robin Pecknold sang and strummed to potent effect, and his four bandmates are well rehearsed, but the prolonged silences between songs as they geared up to play their next piece constantly killed momentum and left Pecknold, and by extension, the audience, feeling a bit awkward, like a couple on a first date that are struggling for a conversation item. This situation did find Pecknold openly mentioning at one point how vulnerable he felt, which was admirable in its candor, but thanking your opening band at two different points during the show and begging the audience for its patience with new songs is not expected or warranted behavior from an outfit that has the world fawning at them right now.

Gaps between songs aside, the quintet otherwise delivered a lush, frequently magical 75 minutes of music, churning out and harmonizing on the operatic "He Doesn't Know Why," their solemn, eccentric single "White Winter Hymnal," three promising new tunes, and several other numbers using such gravitas-instilling Biblical language as "my brother" and "your protector." Meanwhile, the climactic reading of "Mykonos" had an epic scope, and its skyward incantations were genuinely powerful. On this, the holiest of Christian holidays, Stumptown's indie rock disciples had their own sort of Easter service - a late-night revival administered by guys that looked suspiciously like JC himself but better yet, sang like angels.

Opening up the evening were the Portland's current favorite sons Blitzen Trapper, who, with a winning, well-paced set, nearly gave the Seattle headliners a run for their money. Here's a gang of individually unremarkable dudes that fast exceed the sum of their parts as soon as they play together. With three sets of keyboards onstage, inventive percussion instruments (water-bird whistle, anyone?) and an overall layered sound, the group dished out a sharp, infectious batch of post-hippie rock that was organic, surprising and at times in line with such power-pop outfits as Squeeze and The Knack, if those acts wore flannel and sprang from the Pacific Northwest. Armed with rockers, ballads and singalong choruses rooted in folk, blues and jammy psychedelia, Blitzen Trapper nonetheless kept the songs compact and the instrumentation neat. The Foxes still beat the Trapper on this night, but it was a close one.

Archive CD Review, 2002 - Guided by Voices, "Universal Truths and Cycles"

Guided by Voices
Universal Truths
and Cycles
Matador

It's a fact of life – you have to overcome emotional barriers before you can move on. On Guided by Voices' last album, Isolation Drills, bandleader/indie rock poet laureate Bob Pollard, fresh from a failed marriage, relayed his inner turmoil with some of his most revealing and tender songs to date. Now that he's got that off his beer-soaked chest, it's time for this Dayton, Ohio-hailing troupe to return to what they do best: be America's top purveyors of immediate, completely alive rock 'n' roll.

Enter Universal Truths and Cycles, which handily reconciles GBV's lo-fi garage roots with the high-gloss approach they've adopted in recent years. There's the swaggering, noisy "Skin Parade," brief acoustic fugues ("Zap," "The Weeping Bogeyman"), and urgently melodic gems spiked with Pollard's famously obtuse wordplay ("Christian Animation Torch Carriers"). It's hard to pick out a clunker anywhere on this disc; "Cheyenne" annoys at first with Pollard's maudlin falsetto, but then it somehow grows on you.

Similarly, given the consistent quality of these 19 tracks, it's tough to single out highlights, but I submit the anthemic, staccato-riffing "Back to the Lake," the cascading "Storm Vibrations," the scrappy "Everywhere With Helicopter" and "Eureka Signs," a revved-up chunk of resplendence and grit.

For all their singularity, GBV isn't immune to betraying their influences. The folky "Factory of Raw Essentials" sounds like Pollard channeling Gordon Lightfoot, and "Wings of Thorn," with its percussive guitar strumming, could be sandwiched into every future pressing of the Who's Tommy and no one would notice. Nevertheless, as Cycles thrashes and jangles to a close, all that is great about this thing called rock seems gloriously distilled. Grade: A