The Musical Performances at the Biden Inauguration Highlight America's Bankrupt Culture

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Big music stars performed to ring in Joe Biden’s presidency, but they were just as unoriginal and underwhelming as he is.

In a grand ceremony worthy of a dementia-addled aristocrat, geriatric Joe Biden was sworn in as the 46th president of the United States yesterday.

America has had an inauguration for the president every four years since 1789, making yesterday’s event the 59th in U.S. history. I believe Joe Biden is the only man to have attended every single one of them.

Four years ago, Trump’s low rent inauguration celebration featured Toby Keith, Three Doors Down and Lee Greenwood, which wasn’t a murderer’s row of talent so much as a ‘makes-you-want-to-kill-yourself’ lack of it.

I think we can all agree the last thing this country ever needs to see again is Lee Greenwood serenading the masses with his flag fornicating hit from the Paleolithic era, “God Bless the U.S.A.”, a heinously malignant earworm that makes me not just ashamed to be an American, but a sentient human being.

Not surprisingly, the stars came out in full this year to salute Joe Biden, who had considerably more star power on-hand to ring him into office than Trump in 2017.

Case in point, Lady Gaga sang the national anthem at the swearing-in ceremony. The glorious Gaga, who has the voice of an angel and a face made for radio, arrived looking like she just came off The Hunger Games set. Her dress appeared to be a tribute to a venereal disease polyp designed by Oscar de la Herpes.

Gaga gave her all…but the problem was that it was just way too much. Her heartfelt performance quickly devolved into an overwrought vocal spectacle that looked and sounded like a drag queen Brunhilde wrestling an amusement park Bugs Bunny.

A short while later Jennifer Lopez strutted out to sing “This Land is Your Land” and “America the Beautiful”. If you needed any more proof that America was a vast cultural wasteland, just consider that Jennifer Lopez is now the Woody Guthrie of our era.

J-Lo also gave her all but unfortunately it wasn’t nearly enough. Unable to utilize her most valuable ‘asset’, Ms. Lopez’s lack of vocal prowess was left as exposed as her backside was covered.

Biden loved the performance though and as J-Lo walked past he quickly smelled her hair and declared, “I Love you, Charo!”

The final performer at the ceremony was Garth Brooks, who kept it country…Walmart country, by wearing jeans that were two sizes too small, a belt buckle the size of a Ford F-150 pick-up truck, a black blazer and a shirt with no tie.

Good old boy Garth sang “Amazing Grace” in his usual banal country twang and proceeded to remind viewers that only in America can a minimally gifted, chubby, cowboy poseur become a chart-topping music mega-star.

Biden was deeply moved by Garth’s song and proclaimed he was “so proud that Gene Autry could be here today at my First Communion.”

Later that night the heavy hitters came out for a made-for-tv inaugural celebration titled ”Celebrating America”.

The show opened with Bruce Springsteen doing an acoustic version of his song “Land of Hopes and Dreams” at the Lincoln Memorial. For nearly fifty years Springsteen has been the genuine voice of working class America and is such a national treasure he should be named poet laureate emeritus. His performance was solemn, soulful and stirring and perfectly encapsulated this dire yet determined moment in American history.

The show went precipitously downhill from there.

Tom Hanks, America’s everyman if everyman were a sanctimonious, self-satisfied, holier-than-thou billionaire, was the master of ceremonies.

Hanks was the perfect choice since his filmography looks like a greatest hits of Pentagon and Intelligence community propaganda, as his film’s routinely sell flag-waving revisionist history and muscular American militarism, imperialism and corporate colonialism all under the guise of honor and duty-bound niceness…just like Joe Biden.

Hanks turned the smug all the way up to 11, maybe in an attempt to stay warm, and did his best to reassure his “friends and neighbors” that all was well and life is now back to normal thanks to Biden.

The highlights of Celebrating America were easily the aforementioned Springsteen as well as the Foo Fighters – who played a striking rendition of “Times Like These”.

The lowest of lowlights was Jon Bon Jovi lip-syncing to his cover of The Beatles “Here Comes the Sun”. Bon Jovi’s performance was as odious as the rancid air in Elizabeth, NJ along the turnpike. Jovi’s nasally vocals were so abysmally, egregiously, hellaciously awful it was utterly astonishing. The fact that he was lip-syncing only made it all the more embarrassing.

Lip-syncing dominated the festivities, with Ant Clemons and Justin Timberlake, Tyler Hubbard and Tim McGraw, Demi Lovato, Katy Perry and maybe even John Legend, who Biden thought was his old friend Corn Pop from the mean streets of Wilmington, all lip-syncing or being greatly electronically aided in their vocal efforts.

Lip-syncing does make sense in this context though since the contrived performances perfectly encapsulate the charade that is our corporate-controlled democracy.

Speaking of charlatans, presidents Clinton, Bush and Obama appeared on the show, apparently from The Hall of War Criminals. They each said that despite their political differences that they were able to come together and kill people across the globe and crush the working class…and we should do the same now in the name of unity. Yay unity!!

If the inauguration ceremony and ‘Celebrating America’ - with all its insipid, manufactured performances and star-spangled sappiness honoring our elderly president who’s only capable of muttering or shouting incoherent inanities - are any indication, we are an artistically, intellectually and politically bankrupt nation…and we are truly doomed.

My solution….Springsteen/Grohl 2024!!

A version of this article was originally published at RT.

©2021

Buddy Guy - Saban Theater: A Review

BUDDY GUY - SABAN THEATER - MARCH 8, 2020

This past Sunday night, March 8th, 2020, I ventured out to the Saban Theater in Beverly Hills to see 83 year old blues guitar legend Buddy Guy.

I’ve been trying to see Buddy Guy for years and it has just never worked out. Either he was playing too far out of Los Angeles or his L.A. date conflicted with a previous engagement for me. I had the same experience regarding another blues legend, B.B. King. I just never got it together to see B.B. and then he was dead and that was that. Since Buddy Guy is now 83, I figured I had to make it work now or the opportunity might not come around again.

Buddy Guy has had one of the more remarkable Blues careers, as he has worked with some of the all-time greats, like Muddy Waters, Junior Wells, Howlin Wolf, Little Walter and Sonny Boy Williamson. Seeing him live is like catching a glimpse of history.

My night out at the Saban got off to a late start as the show wasn’t scheduled to begin until 9 pm. After the quick Uber ride to the venue i found my seat, which was in the front row of the balcony, and settled in, every fifteen minutes or so busting out the Purell and doing my part to fight coronavirus.

The opening act was Tom Hambridge, a drummer, singer, songwriter and producer who has been arojund the block once or twice. Hambridge was also the drummer for Guy’s backing band 9and has produced many of his more recent albums).

Hambridge has a pleasing stage presence as he chatted up the audience with ease during his set. He was joined by terrific blues pianist and vocalist Marty Sammon who is also in Guy’s backing band. Both Hambridge and Sammon are serious musicians and they showed their worth all night.

Hanbridge’s concise twenty minute set that started at 8:50 and dutifully ended at 9:10. After a 30 minute wait Sammon re-entered the stage and introduced Buddy Guy.

Buddy Guy is pretty spry for an 83 year old…but he is 83 years old. As he ambled onto the stage he looked every bit of those years. When he started playing his guitar he still seemed pretty old. But when he opened his mouth and sang it was as if he was transported fifty years back in time.

Guy is best known as a consummate blues guitarist, but his singing voice is utterly sublime. The power of his voice, its range and versatility are simply stunning to behold. During the course of the show he was able to go from a blues growl to a delicate Marvin Gaye falsetto with remarkable ease.

The show, and Guy’s guitar playing, definitely got off to a slow start. Guy’s playing feels much less crisp and authoritative than back in his heyday. His playing is, at times, rough around the edges and disjointed which can be pretty jarring coming from a legend like Buddy Guy.

Guy is supported by a terrific band that consists of Hambridge, Sammon, as well as a rhythm guitarist and bass player…I was unable to procure the names of them both. The guitarist though was stellar and had a rip roaring solo that nearly burned the Saban down to the ground. .

Speaking of the Saban, the venue is very nice to look at but the acoustics are pretty dreadful. The sound mix for Guy’s show was all over the map too, and so the show never gathered the momentum it needed to be successful.

Adding to the show’s problems was the fact that Buddy likes to talk, and he would often get sidetracked by obnoxious fans who were much too familiar with the blues royalty performing before them. More than once I wanted to tell people to sit down and shut the fuck up, but to Buddy’s credit, he did that for me.

Buddy Guy’s stories were insightful and revealing as he often spoke about his viciously poor childhood in Louisiana with his sharecropper parents who only had a third grade education. Guy said that he didn’t even know what running water was until he was 17, and picked cotton throughout his youth, which is how he saved enough pennies to buy his first guitar.

Guy also gave lectures on the blues, and gave demonstrations from different blues greats, like his friend B.B. King, John Lee Hooker, Eric Clapton and Jimi Hendrix. The problem though was that Buddy never played complete songs, just snippets, and it all felt sort of haphazard and incoherent.

The highlight of the show was when Buddy started experimenting with the guitar and then walked into and through the crowd playing. This was most definitely Buddy at his most enthused and energetic, and the crowd lapped it up, rushing to get as close as they could for selfies…God help us all.

The lowlight of the show came shortly thereafter when Buddy introduced a guest, a young kid of 11, who he had met at an airport or something. The kid came out and played guitar with Buddy and the band. The kid is a kid…so everyone was nice about it…but holy fuck this kid was god-awful. Buddy played with him and coaxed him along and the entire process lasted way too long and just sounded like two dying cats fighting a horny racoon. Absolutely brutal. I mean…this kid was so bad it made my teeth hurt.

The show ran about an hour and twenty minutes, and before Buddy left the stage he handed out guitar picks to everyone in the front rows. This was a nice gesture, but with all of these fans shaking his hand I couldn’t help but think that an 83 year old with health issues (Buddy said during the show he has sinus problems, and was wiping his nose and drinking a “special drink” throughout) shouldn’t be touching strangers in a crowd during a pandemic.

After Buddy left, I did a thorough purell cleansing of my own hands and headed for the exit and then home.

In conclusion, Buddy Guy’s best days as a guitarist are well behind him, but his voice is still as forceful and tender as it ever was…and for this reason I did enjoy my Buddy Guy experience. if you get a chance to see him, lower your expectation before going in and you’ll have a good time. Buddy Guy won’t be around forever, so if the chance comes along to catch him, you might as well take it.

©2020

KISS - Staples Center: A Review

KISS - STAPLES CENTER - MARCH 4, 2020

On Wednesday March 4th, 2020, I risked life, limb and soul as I ventured out to the Staples Center despite a potential Coronavirus outbreak, in order to see Knights in Satan’s Service…aka KISS.

Kiss, those old 70’s rock warhorses, which boast the current configuration of Gene Simmons (bass, vocals), Paul Stanley (lead vocals guitar), Tommy Thayer (lead guitar) and Eric Singer (drums, vocals), are on their supposedly “final” tour titled The End of the Road World Tour. For a variety of reasons, included among them that I have never seen Kiss live, I decided to indulge in some rock and roll nostalgia and check them out.

I am not what you would call a “Kiss fan”. When I was a little kid Kiss were definitely a thing and back then in an attempt to be cool I did indeed buy my first and last Kiss album, Kiss Alive, but despite my best attempts coolness has eluded my whole life…as has Kiss fandom.

Unlike other kids I was never a member of the Kiss Army and didn’t have Kiss memorabilia or action figures or anything. In fact, my childhood interaction with Kiss was so short-lived that I don’t think I could name more than a handful of their songs even today.

I never even considered seeing Kiss until last year at a Waterboys show, the keyboardist, Brother Paul, mentioned he was a huge Kiss fan and everybody in the alternative friendly crowd mockingly laughed. Being the contrarian I am, this put the bug in my brain to maybe go see Kiss.

When I saw that Kiss were coming to the Staples Center I looked at ticket prices and they were a bit pricey for me so I lost interest. Then a few months later I looked again and sure enough prices had dropped and I found a solid deal for a very good seat. I was still hesitant to pull the trigger though…but when I saw that the opening act was going to be none other than Diamond David Lee Roth…and I knew I had to attend.

Let me explain…when I was a kid I wanted to be David Lee Roth when I grew up. Dave was fronting Van Halen at the time and was the epitome of the dangerous rock and roll star, chicks dug him and dudes wanted to be him. I loved Dave so much I used to wear jock straps on the outside of my spandex pants (when I wasn’t wearing assless chaps) and would do flying split kicks off of any elevated platform I could find.

When I grew a bit older, my Dave fandom morphed as my best friend, the inimitable Keith Hertell, and I would drink copious amounts of Jack Daniels and he would bust out his guitar and keyboards and we would have an impromptu Van Halen inspired jam session. To be clear, our jam sessions, and my fandom, were only attached to Van Halen, never to the abomination that was Van Hagar.

Besides being the Eddie Van Halen to my Diamond Dave, Keith was also a highly decorated member of the Kiss Army from his early childhood. Kiss was Keith’s first love and the band were indelibly imprinted upon his brain at a young age. If rock and roll is religion, then Keith’s denomination was most definitely Kiss.

Keith Hertell was an extraordinary human being in every respect. He was an actor (infinitely more talented than I could ever hope to be), musician and comedian of astounding natural ability…and most importantly he was one of the most kindhearted and funniest people you could ever hope to meet. When I first encountered Keith it was at an audition for a comedy troupe of which he was already a member. We improvised a scene together and became fast friends. We worked in that comedy troupe for a few years and then ventured out into the “real world” as best friends and creative partners who would write and perform together.

Even though Keith enjoyed partying, to his undying credit he remained a steadfast friend and support to me when I went through some very serious substance abuse issues and got sober. In order to commit to my sobriety i had to jettison some long time friends from my life…but not Keith, who remained a constant and crucial part of my existence.

Tragically, in April of 1997 Keith was killed in a horrific crash in Titusville, Florida when the vehicle he was riding in was hit head-on, in broad daylight, by a driver driving on the wrong side of the road. At the time of his death, Keith and I we were working together at a soul-sucking office job to make ends meet. He took a few days off and went away for a weekend to attend a wedding. He returned in a casket.

To the people that loved him, Keith’s sudden death was a life-altering trauma. We were like the dinosaurs and his death was the meteor hitting the earth that blotted out our sun. We all barely survived the impact, but with the warmth of the sun removed from our sky we were doomed from that day forward to monotonously walk our cold and dying earth in perpetual darkness until our own inevitable demise. My own grief over Keith’s death has been like an iron cross I’ve carried for the last 23 years, and has, on many occasions, weighed me down nearly to the point of suffocation.

Which brings me back to Kiss and David Lee Roth. When I saw that Diamond Dave was opening for Kiss on their supposedly final tour, it felt like a sign from the gods of rock and roll. I simply knew I had to go to the show as an homage to my dear friend, creative collaborator and faithful Kiss Army member, Keith Hertell. So that is exactly what I did.

Thankfully I was able to snatch up a very good seat, in a VIP section no less, for the very affordable price of $55, and found a very easy and cheap public transportation option to get me there too…so off I went.

I have been to the Staples Center before for basketball games and fights, but never for a concert. As I walked toward the entrance of the arena, among the ticket holders and various t-shirt and food vendors, there was a very crazy sweaty man, probably homeless, frantically walking in a wide circle singing Van Halen’s “You Really Got Me” at the top of his lungs. I thought of Keith and I and our drunken rock and roll ramblings of yesteryear and chuckled as concert goers gave a wide berth to this crazy man who seemed completely detached from reality.

Which brings us to David Lee Roth. Diamond Dave took the stage at exactly 7:29 pm when his band kicked into…you guessed it…“You Really Got Me” and it felt like deja-vu all over again from the lunatic outside the arena.

I have seen Dave perform solo a handful of times and with Van Halen once. He used to be really good. His voice was never great, but unique and entertaining, and he was a commanding stage presence and consummate showman. Oh how the mighty have fallen.

Roth’s charisma and front man prowess have eroded to a stunning degree as he is now reduced to mugging and clowning for the crowd with an impenetrable smile implanted on his face. For the majority of the set Diamond Dave seemed like an old lady wandering around a parking lot looking for a cardboard box to live in.

There seems to be something genuinely wrong with Dave at this point. The implanted perma-smile, and the slapping himself in the face - which he did multiple times, are bizarre to the point of alarming. On the bright side, at least the tight 40 minute set was devoid of his usual signature ramblings and rants.

As for the music, Dave’s backing band is terrific, but Dave feels like a vagrant loitering in their set as opposed to being the main attraction. Roth barely even pretends to sing anymore but instead lets his backing band cover most of those duties. When he does attempt to sing it is a train wreck. His phrasing is atrocious, breath control non-existent and he actually sounds like he is tone deaf. He also appears to be trying to transition from being a natural baritone to being a very unnatural tenor, a Herculean undertaking even under the best circumstances, but as a 65 year old man-child, impossibly delusional.

Roth’s vocal impotence was only heightened exactly 35 minutes after he left the stage when 68 year old Kiss front man Paul Stanley arrived on the scene showing off his still impressively powerful voice. Even Stanley’s speaking voice is stronger and clearer than Roth’s singing voice at this point.

Kiss hit the stage at exactly 8:45 and proceeded to absolutely destroy the Staples Center with the most glorious rock spectacle imaginable. Their two hour and ten minute set was jam packed with a cavalcade of rock and roll accoutrements like glitter, balloons, flame, explosions, rising stages, guitars shooting fireballs, lasers, fiery pinwheels, spitting blood and fire, rotating cranes and Paul Stanley flying across the tops of the audience…as well as a cornucopia of guitar, drum and bass solos.

This is such a rock show it is almost a parody of a rock show…almost. The musicianship of the band and the hard earned professionalism of Simmons and Stanley overcome the band’s catalogue of often-times middling songs and keep the festivities from ever devolving into self-satire.

Kiss put on an undeniably magnificent show that was…dare I say it…contagiously fun. There are definitely times when Kiss veers towards Spinal Tap territory, but musically they are so good and vocally so impressive that they get away with it. It also helps that the band is both entirely committed to what they are doing and take the music totally seriously, but never quite take themselves too seriously.

Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley are the two founding members still left in the band, and they are definitely running the show.

When Simmons dons his Kiss outfit and make up he stops being the sort-of-ridiculous 70 year-old man that he is, and becomes this…thing….this creature…this archetype. In his full Kiss regalia, Simmons oozes a startling power and charisma that dominates the stage. Simmons transformation is remarkable, and his stage presence, his natural dance movements and his singing voice left me stunned.

Paul Stanley also embodies an archetype when he gets his Kiss gear on, that of some kind of New York devil clown. Stanley has kept himself and his voice in great shape and he takes full advantage of both as he struts and dances across the stage and belts out tunes with aplomb.

Both Simmons and Stanley have been doing this for over forty years and it shows. Stanley immediately connects with the wider audience and effortlessly lures them into the palm of his hand, while Simmons must have pointed to, smiled at, or spoken with nearly every person in the crowd during the performance. Both of them boast a rogueish charm that makes every member of the audience feel as if they are part of the show and friends with the band. It is impressive to behold.

What I found fascinating about Kiss was the psychology on display. The make up they wear is like a mask in Greek Theatre. These masks allow them to play characters that tap into archetypes and unleash a power that they do not possess as regular people.

There is a sequence in which Simmons does a bass solo that segues into the song “God of Thunder”, where Gene is acting this role to perfection. Simmons is expertly doing a mask acting exercise in this sequence, a sort of Kabuki transformation, where he never speaks but mimes his beast like character’s intentions. It is gloriously entertaining and the crowd goes crazy for it.

The makeup is also a brilliant device because it keeps the band relatively young and allows the audience to maintain a certain level of suspension of disbelief. The makeup means the band looks just like they did in the 70’s…making Kiss the ultimate rock and roll avatar for being forever young. It is easier to accept Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley behaving the way they do on stage when you aren’t reminded that they are old enough to collect social security.

The distinctive makeup and the creation of these archetypal alter-egos also gives the possibility that the band Kiss…and the brand Kiss, can live on after the founding members retire or die. The makeup and the band are a brand like a sports team, at some point you aren’t rooting for the individual players but rather just rooting for the laundry.

A perfect example of this was that on my way home from the show while riding on the Metro, I heard two strangers talking about the concert. One guy, who was middle-aged and had seen Kiss many times and was obviously a big fan, thought that the entire original band, including former members Ace Frehley and Peter Criss, had played the show that night. Frehley and Criss haven’t performed with Kiss for years, but you wouldn’t know that by seeing a show because replacements Tommy Thayer and Eric Singer wear the same makeup and outfis that Frehley and Criss once did.

This notion struck me as well during the show when I was so impressed by the band’s vocals, and Simmons and Stanley’s vocals in particular, that I wondered if they had ever used “body doubles” to perform for them. I mean, how would anybody really know? So, say if Gene Simmons retires and someone else steps in…people might not even notice at first.

As for the actual members of Kiss…these guys don’t need any help just yet. Although, I must admit when I heard how good the band’s vocals were my first two thoughts were they were lip syncing or were aided by a backing track. Am I 100% sure that Kiss are doing all of their vocals? To be honest…no I am not. That is not entirely a knock against the band but rather a testament to how unbelievably good they sounded and how brutally cynical I can be.

As terrific as Simmons and Stanley are, guitarist Tommy Thayer and drummer Eric Singer are equally impressive. Thayer is a a dragon slayer on guitar as he plays with a ferocious precision that never falters. Singer is like a clone of Peter Criss as he plays with the same jazz-influenced style and dynamic showmanship. Singer’s vocals are also impressive, as he knocks his version the Criss song “Beth” out of the park.

The audience was a great mix of peoples. On one side of me was a middle-aged mom and her teen son, on the other a trio of twenty something Latinos, and right in front of me a conservative looking couple in their 60’s, all of whom rocked the whole night. The energy of the crowd never lagged and they and the band were into it the entire time.

If this is Kiss’s last tour they are certainly going out with a bang…but I wonder if the success of this tour will make the brain trust of Simmons and Stanley, who are notoriously motivated by money to an absurd degree, reconsider retirement. I’ll say this, I would definitely pay to see them again.

In conclusion, I did not expect much from Kiss but I had so much fun seeing them it is sort of miraculous. I went by myself, didn’t talk to or interact with anyone else, and yet I had a smile etched on my face the entire time. I was absolutely giddy basking in the glow of my live Kiss experience. If you have never seen them, I wholly encourage you to do so. If you go with another person you might have twice the fun I did!

I wasn’t a Kiss fan before…but immediately after seeing their spectacular show at the Staples Center I went down to the local recruiting station and enthusiastically enlisted in the Kiss Army. I ship out for basic training next week and will do all I can to make the world safe once again for 70’s rock. I hope to serve with honor and distinction.

Just as Paul Stanley dedicated the show to Kobe Bryant and those lost in the helicopter crash that killed him, I dedicated my Kiss concert to my friend Keith Hertell. Thankfully, I was at times able to see the show through his eyes, and came to fully understand his undying love of the band. I would like to think that Keith is in the heavens right now in his full Kiss regalia, looking down on me with an abnormally-long tongue extended through a most mischievous smile. I hope I’ve made him proud. I look forward to one day seeing him again…we have a lot to talk about.

SET LIST

Detroit Rock City

Shout It Out Loud

Deuce

Say Yeah

I Love it Loud

Heaven’s on Fire

Tears are Falling

War Machine

Lick It Up

Calling Dr. Love

100,000 Years

Cold Gin

God of Thunder

Psycho Circus

Parasite

Love Gun

I Was Made For Loving You

Black Diamond

ENCORE

Beth

Do You Love Me

Rock and Roll All Nite

©2020

The Waterboys - Belasco Theater: A Review

The Waterboys - Belasco Theater - October 15, 2019

My year of living musically most likely came to a close last Tuesday, October 15th, when I ventured to downtown Los Angeles to catch my final scheduled concert of 2019, The Waterboys at the Belasco Theater.

The Waterboys are a Scottish-Irish band fronted by singer-songwriter Mike Scott, who hit the height of their success back in the 1980’s, and at that time were poised to become the next big thing. As is often the case, due to a variety of reasons, the band never became the next big thing, but they have been churning out quality music for decades.

I had never really thought much about The Waterboys in my life and considered them a one hit wonder, with Whole of the Moon being the hit, until an Irishman enlightened me as to the band’s and Mike Scott’s virtues. Four years ago I was invited by my Irish immigrant friends Cuchuliam and his bride, the Rose of Dun Laoghaire, to see The Waterboys at the Fonda Theater. I was duly impressed by the band’s musicianship and the potency of their songs. Cuchuliam then loaned me his Waterboys catalogue of music and I was off to the races in becoming a Waterboys fan.

In the four years since our last jaunt to a Waterboys show, much water has passed under the bridge, but once again Cuchuliam and the Rose of Dun Laoghaire generously, and shockingly considering they both suffer from Short Arms-Deep Pockets Syndrome, gifted my companion, the irrepressible Lady Pumpernickle Dusseldorf, and I some tickets to catch the band live…this time in support of their new album Where the Action Is at the Belasco Theater.

Any time that I spend with Cuchuliam and The Rose is often trying. As longtime readers know, I loathe the Irish with the fury of a thousand suns and do not even consider them to be legally human. What makes Cuchuliam and The Rose all the more difficult for me to tolerate is the fact that they are immigrants and since coming to America have built a vast fortune by stealing jobs from Americans and exploiting our generous welfare state. You may be wondering why on earth I would be friends with such lowly creatures, and that is a valid question. The answer is that they are literally the only friends I have left. Everyone else I know hates me with even more passion than I hate the Irish, and thinks even less of me than I think of those Emerald Isle animals. Just as politics makes strange bedfellows, so to does being reviled and rejected by the world make strange friendships…hence my twenty year relationship with Cuchuliam and the Rose of Dun Laoghaire.

My evening with the Irish got off to a typically Irish start when Cuhculiam and The Rose arrived fashionably, but predictably, late to dinner at a swank downtown restaurant. The Irish are always at least a half hour late for anything and everything, which is why they are virtually unemployable…Cuchuliam and his addiction to the dole being living proof of that.

Also in keeping with Irish tradition, they arrived absolutely stinking drunk. They had no doubt been drinking all day, which should not be surprising since it was a Tuesday after all, but that didn’t stop them from consuming heroic amounts of alcohol while ordering and eating every type of potato the restaurant had on it’s menu.

The drink led these Irish hounds to be predictably talkative. I was then lucky enough to witness a debate between these two rosy cheeked leprechauns over which “ethnic” group was the worst. Mexicans fared the best in this debate because they '“invented Tequila”, which apparently goes a long way with the Irish. The other minorities did not fare as well, and were cursed up and down in between verses of “Danny Boy” and choruses of “Jesus, Mary and Joseph” and “Jesus weeps!”

After being asked to leave the restaurant, we navigated our way to the Belasco. The theater was about two blocks from the restaurant, which was good because I don’t think I could have carried my drunken Irish luggage any farther.

I had never been to The Belasco and was duly impressed by it. It is a gorgeous space with a high domed ceiling and exquisite crafted and ornamented walls. The space is not very big, but a perfect size for a show such as The Waterboys.

As we awaited the show, to no one’s surprise the Irish hit the bar. When they returned a stranger, who looked suspiciously Irish, approached and then hugged both Cuchuliam and The Rose. This stranger, Potato Man, was a long lost Irish friend who just like Cuchuliam and The Rose, had been sucking at the American teet for the last twenty years. They must have been passing out Waterboys tickets at the welfare office because besides Potato Man, Cuchuliam and The Rose, The Belasco was filled to the brim with Irish and Irish-wannabes.

The show started a little after 8 pm and the crowd greeted the band graciously. The Waterboys have had a variety of lineups over the years but their current members are Mike Scott (lead guitar and lead vocals), Steve Wickham (fiddle), Brother Paul (keyboards), Aongos Ralston (bass), Ralph Salmins (drums).

The show opened a little bumpy with Where the Action Is. The song was fine and the band sounded great, but the sound for Mike Scott’s vocals was off. There was a bit of an echo and it was terribly tinny. The vocal sound was sub-par for the first few songs but thankfully was subtly corrected and the rest of the show went without an audio hitch.

The band played two 10 song sets with a twenty five minute intermission in between them. The songs were solid and the band played with aplomb, but the show was a bit of a let down. There are some reasons that the show did not connect as much as my previous Waterboys outing four years ago did. The first is that Mike Scott was admittedly suffering from a cold, and thus his energy was a bit down.

Secondly, I think the tone of the show, which was fun and gregarious, does not fit the band’s catalogue. Scott is a deep and philosophical song writer who lyrically bares his soul and cuts himself and humanity to the bone. Fun is not his strong suit, whereas honesty, earnestness and genuineness are his strong suit.

The pacing of the show and the set list added to the feeling of disconnect. A sign of the show’s oddity was that for the last quarter of it a large and loud crowd gather on the other side of the bar, outside of the music space, and had a very raucous discussion, nearly drowning out the band and certainly distracting the audience. It was odd…but just another odd thing in a show that never totally came together.

The highlights for me, and there certainly were highlights despite the unevenness of it all, were Fisherman’s Blues, which is just a great song off a great album, as well as Medicine Bow, Whole of the Moon (the encore) and Salmins drum tribute to Ginger Baker, which was extremely well-done. All of the musicians throughout the show were impressive, most notably Brother Paul’s frenetic organ and Wickham’s volcanic fiddle.

The show ended around 10:30 or so and my date and I headed for the exits. When we last saw Cuchulain and The Rose of Dun Laoghaire, they were making out with a leather-clad, goth woman who may or may not have been Morrissey in drag. When they took a break from their make out session they spotted us across the room and gave us a big smile and wave. We waved back and headed to the car wishing we had more and better friends. But as my father used to say…wish in one hand and shit in the other and see which hand fills up faster.

As we hastily drove home through L.A. traffic, we reminisced about what a strange Irish night it had been…and how we wished we could see these wonderful, glorious, generous, vivacious and loving Gaelic vermin more often. If only.

SET LIST

Where the Action is

When Ye Go Away

Dunford’s Fancy

Fisherman’s Blues

London Mick

A Girl Called Johnny

Still A Freak

Nashville, Tennessee

Medicine Bow

Ladbroke Grove Symphony

INTERMISSION

Man, What a Woman

Rosalind (You Married the Wrong Guy)

Blues for Baker

We Will Not be Lovers

If the Answer is Yeah

Nearest Thing to Hip

November Tale

Morning Came Too Soon

In My Time On Earth

ENCORE

The Whole of the Moon

©2019

The Who - Hollywood Bowl: A Review

THE WHO - THE HOLLYWOOD BOWL - OCTOBER 13, 2019

I am currently in the midst of the home stretch of my year of living musically, as I am seeing my final three shows of the year in a ten day span. Last Sunday night I saw nouveau classic rockers Greta Van Fleet try and resuscitate the moribund rock genre, and this past Sunday night I trekked out to the Hollywood Bowl to catch the legendary rock act, The Who. My year long music odyssey will, barring any last minute concert opportunities, come to a close on Tuesday night with a walk down memory lane with The Waterboys.

The Who have been around for longer than I’ve been alive, and for the majority of my life I was indifferent to them. I never considered myself a fan and saw the band as sort of on the second level of elite classic rock bands….somewhere behind The Beatles and Stones but ahead of Queen.

When I came of age and became aware of their music, The Who were still major players but Keith Moon was dead, and they were turning out radio friendly, but seemingly vapid albums, especially compared to their earlier ground-breaking work (Tommy, Quadrophenia, Who’s Next). To be clear, I didn’t hate the band or its music, it is just when I started paying attention to them their music really wasn’t worth paying much attention to.

Then was around the time in 1979 when The Who made news due to a stampede at one of their concerts in Cincinnati that resulted in 11 people being killed. I was just a kid but this story was huge news and I think unconsciously created a negative association with the band. One thing I do remember clearly about the whole thing was a gloriously absurd “serious” episode of the sitcom WKRP in Cincinnati that dealt with The Who tragedy in a painfully 1970’s sort of way.

With this sort of ambivalent attitude toward The Who from an early age it should come as no surprise that I have never seen them live. It wasn’t until about ten years ago that I really got into the band and started listening to their earlier, more seminal works. I had heard about the rock opera Tommy for decades but had never actually sat down and listened to the whole thing…and when I finally did I got what all the hype was about. The same was true of Quadrophenia, their much maligned other rock opera, which I absolutely love. And of course, I always thought Who’s Next was a great album, and upon reexamining it concluded it was even greater than I remembered.

It was in this frame of mind that I bought Who tickets for their Sunday night show at The Hollywood Bowl, a venue I had never been to before. The Sunday show is the middle of three shows the band is playing at the Bowl in October, and I got pretty decent tickets for a reasonable price…reasonable for big market concert tickets that is.

Half of the original The Who members are dead, with iconic crazy man drummer Keith Moon dying in 1978 and genius bass player John Entwhistle passing away in 2002. The remaining original members are lead singer Roger Daltry and lead guitarist and all-around creative master force and maestro Pete Townshend.

Having never been to the Hollywood Bowl, I asked around about advice on getting there and parking and all that and the resounding response I got was to not drive there. So my date, Lady Pumpernickle Dusseldorf and I bought park and ride tickets and took a special bus to the venue. I don’t know how much time the bus saved on the trip to the Bowl, but it certainly reduced the hassle and stress of the commute and I highly recommend it.

On the bus trip and on our entering the venue, one thing became very clear regarding Who fans…they are overwhelmingly geriatric. The masses of decrepit elderly, limping and foot dragging Who fans struggling to make their way into the show looked like an invasion of the walking dead.

The Hollywood Bowl is a gorgeous venue and the sight lines and acoustics are fantastic. Our seats were in Section K, which is a little less than mid way from the stage to the back of the seating. The one issue with the Hollywood Bowl is that the seating is comprised of long benches, so that means some disruptions whenever someone not near the end of the bench has to go to the bathroom…and with a large collection of geriatric rock fans with leaky bladders, that means a lot of bathroom breaks.

The opening act was Liam Gallagher, formerly of the 1990’s Britpop band Oasis. The show was scheduled to start at 7 pm and, like old people at a buffet, Gallagher hit the stage promptly at 6:59 and was greeted with a smattering of acknowledgment.

Gallagher played a series of new material, or material new to me, with a bad attitude and even worse pitch, to a decidedly disinterested crowd. The more irritated Gallagher became the more disinterested the masses got, with each feeding off the other.

Liam Gallagher was the picture of petulance and entitlement on Sunday night as he bitched and moaned that no one was getting aroused about his flaccid performance. The reality is that the audience of fossils Gallagher was trying to excite had no clue who he was since they were in their 40’s and 50’s when his band was moderately successful in the mid-90’s. These dinosaurs would rather have been watching the watermelon smashing comedian Gallagher, rather than the off-pitch former Oasis front man Gallagher.

And speaking of Oasis, they are a band that are a total mystery to me. When their big album What’s the Story (Morning Glory) hit the states, my reaction to the hype around it was…what the fuck? I felt like a rock and roll Rip Van Winkle that woke up after a twenty year nap to discover this milquetoast Britpop band was, out of nowhere, all the rage. Their previous album, Definitely Maybe, which had the allure of being “mysterious and cool” because it was British, was actually monotonous and shitty. Their mega-hit follow up was supposed to be a cornerstone of the Britpop movement, but it was more a vanguard of a shit-pop movement, as it was a bland stew of arena anthem rock wrapped in the pose of independent, edgy coolness. It struck me that Oasis, and the entire Britpop phenomenon, were a manufactured reaction to the organic explosion of American grunge rock. Oasis and their Britpop contemporaries were trying to cash in on the desire to be a part of a “new wave”, similar to grunge but a poor, disingenuous and entirely manufactured facsimile. The problem with Britpop being the next-big-thing or alternative/replacement to grunge though is that Britpop was generic crap, and was only appealing to those who were either late to the grunge bandwagon and/or were desperate to stay on the cutting edge of cool and alternative pop culture.

At the end of the day, Oasis’ real skill was not music, God knows, but rather in drawing attention to themselves through self-serving boasts about non-existent talent and staging headline feuds between Liam and his band mate brother Noel, the founding members of the oft-bickering band.

In this way Oasis and the Gallagher brothers are really performance artists and not rock musicians. Liam kept the performance up on Sunday night by being a middle-aged enfant-terrible thoughout his lackluster performance. He chastised the crowd when he introduced one song by saying, “here’s another one you don’t know”. And when he played the one hit from Oasis the audience by chance might know, Wonderwall, but they didn’t sing along, he chastised them further by spewing out “I guess you don’t know the words”. No Liam, people don’t know the words to your derivative Britpop drivel, and they don’t give a shit about you being a bad boy or whatever you think you are. You are a poseur and a clown who deserves a swift boot to the teeth. Now go fuck off, ya feckin twat.

Gallagher played a crisp 25 minute set that felt like 225 minutes. But then he left and we waited for The Who to arrive. The crowd swelled but we were blessed with two empty seats next to us so we never felt pinched in and we were right next to the aisle so we didn’t have to worry about being trapped by the masses.

The Who hit the stage at 8:04 pm, and were greeted with robust cheers. The band, which consisted of old staples Daltry and Townshend, also included Townshend’s younger brother Simon (guitar, vocals), Zak Starkey - Ringo’s son, on drums, Loren Gold (keyboards, vocals) and Jon Button (bass, vocals). The Who were also accompanied by an orchestra which was highlighted by sexy first violinist Katy Jacoby.

The band started the show with an abridged version of Tommy, their iconic rock opera. The show began with a rich orchestrated version of the opera’s Overture, then blasted off with 1921, Amazing Journey, Sparks, Pinball Wizard and finally We’re Not Gonna Take It all in quick succession without the band or the audience stopping to catch their breath.

At this juncture the band shifted gears from Tommy material and belted out Who Are You, a song which I never liked as a kid and which has further been eroded by becoming the theme to the CSI franchise. I actively dislike this song, but to give you an indication of how good The Who are live, I thought it was spectacular on Sunday night.

Who Are You was followed by an exquisitely cool version of the much under rated 80’s song Eminence Front and then Imagine a Man off of The Who by Numbers. To end this first section of the show the band played a song off of their new album which is due out in December. The song, titled Hero Ground Zero, was not very good, and the audience used it as an opportunity to relieve their aching bladders en masse.

The Who are a fascinating band as they have virtually been a greatest hits band for the last 35 years, as they’ve only put out one new album, 2006’s Endless Wire, since 1982. The new album, of which I will be receiving two “free” copies on account of having bought concert tickets, will be interesting to assess. As evidenced by the band’s stellar musicianship and performance on Sunday night, The Who can still play…the question remains though as to whether they can still create at an elite level. Hero Ground Zero was not a promising sign, but the second song off the new record that they played later in the evening, Ball and Chain, showed much more promise.

The band broke the show into thirds, with the first section accompanied by the orchestra and dominated by Tommy material. The second section was sans orchestra and showcased the songs Substitute, I Can See For Miles, a surprisingly scorching You Better You Bet and a powerful Won’t Get Fooled Again that featured just Daltry and Townshend on acoustic guitar. Won’t Get Fooled Again was utterly spectacular and was a testament to Townshend’s thriving guitar prowess.

The third section, which once again featured orchestral accompaniment, brought the night to a close with such gargantuan rock songs as 5:15, The Rock, Love Reign O’er Me and finished with the classic rock anthem Baba O-Reilly. The show was a brisk 2 hours and 10 minutes, all under a glorious full moon.

My impressions of The Who are that they have rightfully earned their spot on the Mount Rushmore of rock. Townshend and Daltry still put on a tremendous and energetic show for the ages. These guys are absolute masters of their craft and proved it on Sunday night.

Daltry has always been a power singer, belting out songs with a rarely matched dynamic vocal muscularity. Daltry is not the most nuanced singer in the world and has a limited vocal range, which is why Townshend is often recruited to handle the more delicate vocals, but to Daltry’s great credit he has always known who he is and never strayed too far from his strong points. At 75, it is truly remarkable that Daltry still sings with such a volcanic vocal vigor. Yes, his voice is weakened a bit from his 1960’s and 1970’s heyday, but not nearly enough for the songs or his performance to suffer. Daltry may not move like he used to, but he certainly commands the microphone and The Who catalogue with powerful aplomb.

Pete Townshend was, at one point in the late 60’s and early 70’s, the most ambitious guitarist and songwriter in rock music. His rock operas Tommy, Quadrophenia and Lifehouse - which morphed into the album Who’s Next when the Lifehouse idea fell through, were some of the most original and ambitious albums of that era. Interestingly enough, I think that Townshend’s ambition and arm wheeling showmanship often overshadowed his pure guitar virtuosity. Townshend is a supreme guitar player, and if Sunday night is any indication, he is still near the top of his game. Townshend still cranks his arm with magnetic abandon and occasionally musters some fancy footwork, but his showmanship has now taken a backseat to his virtuoso musicianship, and it is impressive to behold.

The backing band, particularly Zak Starkey on drums, are phenomenal. According to Townshend, Starkey was the only student Keith Moon ever had, no doubt having a dad who was the Beatles drummer helped convince Moon to take on this endeavor. Starkey’s Moon apprenticeship shows as he plays the drums with a controlled abandon and volatility very similar to his esteemed drumming mentor.

In conclusion, The Who put on a spectacular show on Sunday night filled with an energy that belied their advanced age. I am thrilled I finally got to catch them live and witness them play such a stellar set at such an historical venue as The Hollywood Bowl. The Who are immortal, and Pete Townshend and Roger Daltry are rock behemoths who still walk the earth. If you get a chance to see them perform live, I highly recommend you take it while you still can…you won’t be disappointed.

SETLIST

Overture

1921

Amazing Journey

Sparks

Pinball Wizard

We’re Not Gonna Take it

Who Are You

Eminence Front

Imagine a Man

Hero Ground Zero

Substitute

I Can See For Miles

You Better You Bet

Won’t Get Fooled Again

Behind Blue Eyes

Ball and Chain

The Real Me

I’m One

5:15

The Rock

Love, Reign O’er Me

Baba O’Riley

©2019

Greta Van Fleet - Hollywood Palladium: A Review

GRETA VAN FLEET - HOLLYWOOD PALLADIUM - OCTOBER 6, 2019

Greta Van Fleet are a hard rock band from Michigan currently on tour in support of their album Anthem of the Peaceful Army. I ventured out solo on Sunday night to catch their second of two sold-out shows at the Hollywood Palladium.

Greta Van Fleet are comprised of the three Kiszka brothers, Josh (vocals), Jake (guitar) and Sam (bass/keyboards) along with Danny Wagner on drums. The band came to prominence by making some waves in the stagnant rock genre with the release of two popular EP’s in 2017, Black Smoke Rising and the double EP, From the Fires.

Greta Van Fleet has been both praised and maligned as being a Led Zeppelin clone. The main reason for the Led Zeppelin comparisons are that singer Josh Kiszka has a Robert Plant-esque, high pitched singing voice that often emulates Plant’s signature wail. That said, the comparisons to Zeppelin are entirely unfair to Greta Van Fleet because Zeppelin is one of the handful of all-time great rock bands ever to strut the earth. Greta Van Fleet are not Led Zeppelin and never will be, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be good in their own way. Of course, when expectations are set so high by Zeppelin comparisons, let downs or resentments are sure to follow, and sure enough Greta Van Fleet has, I think unfairly, been ridiculed by many.

I was alerted to Greta Van Fleet back in ‘17 by my friend Red Dragon, who is a music afficionado exrtraordinaire. I thought the band’s songs Black Smoke Rising and Highway Tune, which are featured on both of their EPs, stood out as quality songs and much-needed solid rock hits.

The band’s debut LP, Anthem of the Peaceful Army, came out in October of 2018, and was a top-selling album upon its release. I checked out Anthem and while I liked some of it, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I did their EPs. I got my first glance at Greta Van Fleet live when they played Saturday Night Live in January of 2019. I was excited to see them on tv, but their performance was…underwhelming…to say the least. I found singer Josh Kiszka’s vocals to be pretty grating live and his overall rock star presentation to be at best sorely lacking, and at worst embarrassing.

Despite my lukewarm feelings about the band’s SNL gig, when I saw they were playing the Hollywood Palladium I quickly snatched up a general admission ticket. The ticket was moderately priced, after all the fees and such I think I paid 60 something bucks for it, and in my opinion it is always best to err on the side of going to concerts than skipping them.

Since I was flying solo, I did not , much to my chagrin, have a pre-show Shake Shack meal. Instead I waited until pretty late before heading out to the venue. When I got to the Palladium at 7:15 for the 7:00 show, the line to get in was around the block. The line went quickly though and the general vibe from fans was one of good will. In fact, a young couple waiting in line in front of me didn’t even have tickets and were trying to buy them online when an older couple walked past asking if “anyone needed free tickets”. The young couple said yes and this older couple took a few minutes and actually texted them two free tickets. Apparently the older couple’s two kids didn’t want to go to the show so they just gave the tickets away. It was an incredibly kind act and the couple in front of me were giddy with karmic bliss for the rest of our wait together.

I had never been to the Palladium before and was interested to see the space. The first thing that stood out to me was that the Palladium staff were exceedingly polite and good-natured. Both the security staff who worked the metal detectors, and the guy checking tickets, were very pleasant and warmly told me to “enjoy the show”. This may not seem like much, but considering the treatment you usually get from staff at concerts, this was extraordinary.

It was a general admission show so I scanned the area inside the Palladium and then made my way to about the 12th row of bodies from stage left. People were pretty tightly packed in and it was very warm, but the atmosphere was easy going.

The opening act, Shannon and the Clams, went on at 8:05 and the crowd received them with a subdued applause. I had never heard of Shannon and the Clams and was curious as to what they were all about. The band is made up of Shannon Shaw (vocals/bass), Cody Blanchard (vocals/guitar), Will Sprott (keyboards) and Nate Mahan (drums). The band looked coolly disheveled, as the three men wear slightly mismatched, vintage suits, with Blanchard sporting a bow tie and Mahan sporting a cowboy hat and bolo tie. Shannon, a buxom, Rubenesque blond, wore a classic mini-skirt.

Shannon and the Clams played a crisp set for about 35 minutes. The set was a driving mix of original Buddy Holly-esque retro rock, rhythm and blues and garage punk all with beautiful and precise doo-wop backing vocals. Their songs were strong and the musicianship impressive, especially that of drummer Mahan who never let the band’s momentum lag.

Shannon may be the named headliner in the band, but the straw that stirs the drink is Cody Blanchard. Blanchard’s guitar playing is a mix between Buddy Holly and Dick Dale. His singing voice is higher than Shannon’s, who possesses a gritty, lower register growl, but it is superb. Blanchard also possesses an ease and welcoming confidence on stage that is very appealing. That said, he does boast what may be the worst haircut of recent memory, a sort of thinning bowl cut/mullet combo that could stop traffic with its hideousness.

Shannon Shaw is a solid bassist and has an earthy power and undeniable charm about her. Sadly, the sound mix at the Palladium was not quite as crisp as it should have been and so her lower pitched vocals often got lost. That said, the band ended their set with a truly fantastic cover of Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit with Shannon on lead vocals, and she just crushed it.

Shannon and the Clams made a new fan on Sunday night, and I look forward to getting to see them again.

After Shannon and the Clams left the stage, the road crew went to work and the crowd started to swell. As the crowd swelled, some tempers flared and a near scuffle broke out near me but quickly subsided with some drunken bro-hugs and high fives.

The crowd was a very eclectic mix in terms of age. There were a lot of middle aged and old people, but a substantial number of millennials. My rough estimate would be that the crowd broke down as 40% middle-age/old and 60% teens and twenties. I did see a few moms and dads with their pre-teen kids as well.

Greta Van Fleet hit the stage at about 9 with When the Curtain Falls and were greeted with raucous cheers. What is immediately apparent upon seeing Greta Van Fleet live is that the musicianship of Jake (guitar) and Sam(bass) Kiszka and Danny Wagner, is really impressive. They are a tight trio and Jake is an absolutely filthy guitar player who plays with a demonic intensity.

The second song of the night was Edge of Darkness, and this is where things started to get interesting. The song is a rather mundane bit of rock and roll, but the rendition of it on Sunday night turned into an absolute bombshell. Seemingly out of nowhere Jake just erupted with a dynamic guitar solo that went on a combustible and entertaining odyssey. The band barely stayed with him as he just torched the Palladium and left it in a smouldering pile. He then followed it up with even more explosive playing on their hit Black Smoke Rising. These two songs combined confirmed that Jake Kiszka is the sun around which the rest of the band orbit.

Equally impressive were the rhythm section of Sam Kiszka and Danny Wagner. These guys grabbed a hold of the tiger that is Jake’s guitar playing and held on for dear life as it rampaged across Los Angeles. The chemistry between the two Kiszkas and Wagner is terrific and they are musicians to take very seriously.

The stage set up for Greta Van Fleet was pretty basic and relied a great deal on an overused smoke machine and very poor light design. The band played an, at times, uneven 11 song set, ending on a high note with a quality rendition of Highway Song. They then took an extended break and returned with a two song encore.

If you’ll notice, I have not mentioned singer Josh Kiszka yet, which is a bit unusual in a concert review. The reason for my apprehension regarding Josh is that I really, really wanted Greta Van Fleet to be great. I really want a rock band to come along that will drag the genre kicking and screaming back into relevance. Sadly…Greta Van Fleet is not that band, and the reason for it is Josh Kiszka.

Josh does hit some very high notes with authority, but he is no Robert Plant. Hell, he isn’t even David Coverdale. The reason Josh fails as a singer, and he does fail, is that his voice is totally lacking in any texture and nuance. Josh sings at a very high pitch, but that is all he is able to do. He doesn’t so much sing songs as yelp them out. He is unable to tell a story, connect emotionally or just break up the monotony with his voice. It is all one thing all the time. This was never so apparent as when the band, in tribute to the late Ginger Baker, did a cover of White Room by Cream. Josh’s vocals on that song were actually painful to listen to they were so bad.

The other issue with Josh, and I wish it wasn’t an issue worth mentioning, but it is, is that he is painfully uncool. Josh’s style is atrociously awful and only accentuates his uncoolness. Josh is a diminutive guy who looks like a Hobbit wearing a Leo Sayer wig who raided his hippy grandmother’s closet and stole the clothes she meant to burn rather than donate to Goodwill.

Josh also lacks any and all stage presence. Every single time he came on stage, which was numerous as he often disappeared off-stage for some reason, he would return by walking out and waving both hands over his head. He looked like a second grader getting off a school bus desperate to be welcomed warmly by his parents at the bus stop.

Josh has no rock star energy about him at all. He is not physically connected and can’t move well, and therefore he wanders the stage like a kid lost at the mall. When brother Jake is off on one of his meteoric guitar solos, Josh grabs a tambourine and flamboyantly plays it totally out of rhythm and looking ridiculous as he awkwardly and aimlessly, but energetically, gallivants around.

Some people, like Jim Morrison for instance, are born with “it”, while others, like Mick Jagger, have to manufacture “it”. Whether you are born with “it” or manufacture “it” doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you possess “it”. Josh Kiszka does not possess “it”. What he possesses is an “anti-it”, which is a shame because his brothers Jake and Sam definitely have “it”. These two aren’t just great musicians, unlike their singing brother, they are great showmen.

Maybe the stars will align and with experience Josh will grow and gain some stage presence, a stronger persona and identity, get a better stylist and then learn the finer nuances of singing and the vocal instrument. I certainly hope that happens and that the band become a huge success and revitalize the moribund world of rock and roll….but I’m not optimistic.

Sadly, it feels right now like Greta Van Fleet will have minimal staying power with Josh Kiszka as their front man. They can certainly grow as a band, and no doubt will over the next two or three albums…but with Josh as their singer they have a very clear and limited ceiling. Of course, since the band are three brothers and another guy, and the problem with the band isn’t the other guy, they aren’t going to replace their brother. So it seems that the Greta Van Fleet problems of today could be set in stone sans major development by Josh.

In conclusion, Greta Van Fleet are not Led Zeppelin, and hopefully they aren’t even Greta Van Fleet yet. Despite the band’s sterling musicianship, the vocals and presentation of lead singer Josh Kiszka are an albatross around its neck. The bottom line is this, the lead singer of Greta Van Fleet needs to be cooler than Greta Van Susteren, and he isn’t. Maybe in another year or two Josh Kiszka and his voice will have matured and will blossom into the rock star we truly need right now. I was rooting for him to succeed on Sunday night, and I’ll be rooting for him to succeed going forward.

SET LIST

When the Curtain Falls

Edge of Darkness

Black Smoke Rising

The Music is You (John Denver cover)

You’re the One

Age of Man

Black Flag Exposition

White Room (Cream cover)

The Cold Wind

Mountain of the Sun

Highway Tune

ENCORE

Flower Power

Safari Song

©2019

Queen - The Forum: A Review

QUEEN WITH ADAM LAMBERT - THE FORUM - JULY 19, 2019

Last Friday, July 19th, I continued my year of living musically by diving into the nostalgia pool to see Queen with Adam Lambert at The Forum. Queen are rock royalty from the 1970’s and 80’s which are currently comprised of two pivotal members from their original lineup, guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor, as well as new editions Adam Lambert (lead vocals), Spike Edney (keyboards), Neil Fairclough (bass) and Tyler Warren (percussion).

Like most rock fans of my generation (Gen X), I grew up with Queen being in heavy rotation on the soundtrack of my life, but unlike many of my friends I never really got into them like I did other bands from the era. I certainly recognized their genius, and Freddie Mercury’s astounding vocal abilities, but I just never became a super fan. For instance, I have never bought a Queen album…and it wasn’t until about 5 years ago that I actually possessed a Queen album when I got their three greatest hits compilations for free.

As much as I liked Queen’s songs, and I did like them a lot, in my eyes Queen was sort of a second level band from the second wave of the British Invasion. To me Queen existed, along with everyone else in the 1970’s, in Led Zeppelin’s long and dark shadow. As my musician friend Steam Roller Johnny once aptly said of Queen, “listening to Queen is like eating an ice cream sundae, it is delicious but it isn’t something you can eat all the time”. Even though that assessment seems spot on, there really isn’t any good reason I can conjure that I haven’t been a bigger Queen fan in my teenage and adult years.

When I saw Bohemian Rhapsody in the movie theatre last year I thought the film was pretty average fare that shed no new light on Queen or Mercury. That said, the thing that jumped out to me was the final fifteen minutes of the movie that showed Queen playing Live Aid. That sequence was electrifying and it sent me to the internet to find more live Queen. After devouring what seemed like hours of footage, I was left in awe of the band’s power and live presence.

Coincidentally…or more likely not…shortly after Bohemian Rhapsody got attention in movie theatres and at the Academy Awards, Queen announced a tour. Freddie Mercury has been dead for nearly thirty years, but the Queen machine has not stopped touring over the decades and cashing in on rock fan’s nostalgic impulses. The problem for Queen has always been…how do you replace Freddie Mercury, one of the greatest singers in rock history? From 2004-2009 Queen successfully went with the substantial and formidable talents of former Bad Company frontman Paul Rodgers as their lead singer. Rodgers is a stellar blues/rock singer in his own right, and even though his vocals are markedly different in almost every way from Mercury’s, the merger could be deemed to have been fruitful.

In 2014 Queen did a world tour with American Idol alum Adam Lambert as Mercury’s stand in. I was dubious of Lambert’s ability to go from a cavity inducing pop-star wannabe to a front man of one of the handful of great rock bands in the history of the genre. I asked my buddy and all around musical encyclopedia, music aficionado and Queen fanatic Red Dragon, if Queen with Adam Lambert was worth seeing. Dragon has seen the band many times, the most recent being with Lambert at the helm a few years ago. Dragon gave two vociferous thumbs up on Queen with Adam Lambert. That was good enough for me…so I bought the tickets the day they went on sale.

I’ve been to The Forum a few times to see concerts and it is a really great venue. While the nosebleed seats can be problematic due to acoustic issues, everywhere else in the building is a pretty good seat. Our seats were mid-arena and gave us a solid view of the festivities.

The crowd was, not surprisingly, mostly middle-aged or older. There were some younger people, and even families with young kids, but all the place there were white-haired, beer-bellied fellas and heavily made-up, fat-bottomed aging ladies squeezed into age-inappropriate tart attire. As I made my way up the stairs to my seats, I got stuck behind not one, but two, older folks trying to navigate the stairs with their canes. A women in front of me apologized for her lethargic pace and said mournfully, “it sucks getting old”. While it seemed at the time that truer words were never spoken, I would bet Freddie Mercury might argue that getting old beats the alternative. I later saw three more older folks being assisted up the stairs, to their seats, one was equipped with a full walker….a truer metaphor for the state of rock and roll could not be found.

There was no opening act so, in accordance with the band’s instructions, we arrived promptly at 7:45 for what was supposed to be an 8:00 show. The band did not go on until 8:30 but no one seemed to be any worse for wear from the delay.

Queen hit the stage with all the grandiosity you’d expect from rock royalty and the crowd erupted as they played the aptly titled Now I’m Here. The thing that struck me from the get go was that the band and Adam Lambert are very keen to respect Freddie Mercury and his fans. For the first four songs it was guitarist Brian May who stood at center stage in the spotlight, not lead singer Lambert.

It wasn’t until there was a brief break in the action where Lambert addressed the audience that he took a more pronounced role. During this break Lambert spoke to the crowd and mentioned the “pink elephant” in the room…namely that he was here and Freddie wasn’t. He assured the audience that he wasn’t here to replace Freddie because no one could replace Freddie. He was, just like everyone in the crowd, here to honor Freddie and his legacy. The band then kicked into a scathing version of Killer Queen with Lambert taking over the spotlight.

Lambert graciously and wisely embraces his role as substitute and surrogate Freddie, and his gratitude and undeniable cheeky energy are contagious as the audience not only welcomes him into the role but actively roots for him to succeed. Lambert has landed the sweetest karaoke gig on the planet and he knows it. He plays his role with aplomb and even though he constantly defers to May and Taylor throughout the show, he is able to be a cohesive and quality front man in his own right.

Lambert is a fantastic singer and his voice is well suited for Queen’s catalogue. There was a palpable sense throughout the arena of people being awed by Lambert’s vocal prowess and you could feel people being more and more impressed by his singing as the night wore on.

While Lambert has a remarkable voice…Freddie was a remarkable singer. For all of Mercury’s vocal gymnastics, what made him so amazing was that his voice’s foundational power was in the lower register…and from there his astounding range took off. Lambert’s vocal power is found in his higher register, which is pretty amazing to behold but does alter the songs a bit and turns a guttural connection with the material into, dare I say, a Broadway-esque, performance of the songs. In comparing it to dance, Freddie Mercury was Gene Kelly, who hit the bottom of the note hard, while Adam Lambert is Fred Astaire hitting the top of the note loudly but gently.

The “pink elephant” Lambert refers to is not just Freddie’s absence but the thing that he and Lambert have in common…namely their homosexuality. Freddie Mercury was gay…but Adam Lambert is super gay. If Freddie Mercury were alive to watch Adam Lambert perform he’d say, “I’m gay…but wow…that guy is REALLY gay”. To Lambert’s great credit he is unapologetically gay and people love him for it. I couldn’t help but think about the middle-aged and older people in the crowd who were swooning with every prance and preen of Lambert’s, and that in their lifetime homosexuality has gone from being shamed and marginalized to being celebrated.

It was also a striking sign of the total victory in the culture wars that one of Lambert’s great weaknesses as a front man is that he is so painfully safe. Lambert’s campiness is more akin to Liberace than it is to Freddie Mercury. Freddie was, at his core, a freak…a freak vocalist, a freak songwriter, a freak character…Freddie was aggressively a freak…it is what made him so deliciously Freddie Mercury. Adam Lambert is a nice kid with a great voice who gets a little sassy sometimes.

Brian May proved himself to still be among the rock guitar gods with his performance on the 19th, which was his 72nd birthday. May’s playing was precise and crisp, chock full of power and bombast. His voice has held up quite well too, as he sang acoustic version of “Love of My Life” and “‘39”. it was during this quieter section of the show that the audience spontaneously serenaded the appreciative septuagenarian with a hearty “Happy Birthday”.

Roger Taylor’s voice has held up pretty well too as he belted out solid version of I’m In Love With My Car and the Bowie parts of Under Pressure. Taylor’s drumming is another subject altogether and he has definitely lost a step. To his credit he accepts this fact and is very well aided by a Tyler Warren, who is the second drummer who covers for any weak spots in his drumming game. Tyler Warren is a whirling dervish who works his ass off in the shadows to keep the Queen machine rolling.

The highlights of the show were Killer Queen and Fat Bottomed Girls, the rendition of which really kicked the show into high gear, as well as exquisite back to back versions of Crazy Little Thing Called Love and Under Pressure. The crowd was in a state of orgasmic delirium for the show’s climax of Another One Bites the Dust, Radio Ga Ga and Bohemian Rhapsody (which features a vocal cameo by Freddie Mercury and younger Queen) which led into an encore that opened with a digital Freddie mercury playing “Ay-oh” with the crowd and then erupted into We Will Rock You/We Are the Champions.

Overall, the Queen with Adam Lambert experience was a contagiously joyful one from start to finish. From Queen’s terrific catalogue of songs to Brian May’s guitar virtuosity to Adam Lambert’s sterling vocals and welcoming presence, the entire night felt like a fitting tribute to Freddie Mercury in every single way, and I think would have made the original King of Queen very proud.

If you are a Queen fan then you really should go see them as they are worth every penny. If, like me, you are a marginal fan (or a new fan), I highly recommend you pull the trigger and spend the money to see them when they come to your town because, while they made good on their promise of “we will rock you”, and proved that that they really are the champions, they are getting long in the tooth and there is no telling when another one will bite the dust.

SET LIST

Now I’m Here

Seven Seas of Rhye

Keep Yourself Alive

Hammer to Fall

Killer Queen

Don’t Stop Me Now

In the Lap of the Gods…Revisited

Somebody to Love

The Show Must Go On

I’m in Love With My Car

Bicycle Race

Fat Bottomed Girls

Machines (or Back to Humans)

I Want It All

Love of My Life

‘39

Happy Birthday

Doing All Right

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Under Pressure

I Want to Break Free

You Take My Breath Away

Who Wants to Live Forever

Last Horizon

Guitar Solo

Tie Your Mother Down

Dragon Attack

Another One Bites the Dust

Radio Ga Ga

Bohemian Rhapsody

ENCORE

Ay-Oh

We Will Rock You

We Are the Champions

©2019

The Cult - The Greek Theatre: A Review

THE CULT - THE GREEK THEATRE LOS ANGELES - JUNE 15, 2019

Last Saturday night, June 15th, I continued my year of living musically when I went to see The Cult at the Greek Theatre here in Los Angeles. The Cult, a British band currently comprised of Ian Astbury (lead vocals), Billy Duffy (lead guitar), John Tempesta (drums), Damon Fox (bass) and Grant Fitzpatrick (keyboards), are playing shows to celebrate the 30th anniversary of their seminal 1989 album Sonic Temple, the most commercially successful record of their career.

I’ve been a Cult fan since 1985, which was when I first heard their breakthrough hit She Sells Sanctuary off of the Love (1985) album. That song, with its signature 12 string guitar riff, is the band’s most iconic hit and is one of the great rock songs of the 80’s.

The Cult have always been a bit of a strange band, an amalgam of different genres and types splattered together to make a whole that is not so easily definable. Their first album, Dreamtime, was a psuedo-psychedelic take on the alternative Manchester sound popular at the time. There second album, Love, was still in the alternative Manchester neighborhood but with a decidedly heavier sound. Their third album, Electric, which is my favorite album of theirs, is a balls to the wall, unapologetically raunchy and muscular hard rock blues album. Which brings us to Sonic Temple, the band’s fourth studio album.

Sonic Temple was the band’s biggest hit and definitely catapulted them into the upper echelons of radio air play. The album is a high octane concoction of fan friendly hard rock and is much more refined and musically “clean” than Electric, which is maybe why I comparatively don’t like it as much as its predecessor. Sonic Temple boasted four top-notch singles, Fire Woman, Edie (Ciao Baby), Sun King and Sweet Soul Sister, that dominated rock radio airplay in 1989 and 1990. After Sonic Temple the band, like many other hard rock bands from the 80’s, found itself overwhelmed by the cultural tsunami that was grunge and never recovered its commercial and artistic footing or relevance.

The Cult’s early career musical eclecticism made them difficult to define, but so did their inability to come up with a signature “look”. As much as we’d like to think that success is based on purely the music, the truth is that having a distinct style is just as important, especially back when MTV was in its heyday. The Cult were never able to make a music video that captured the imagination, and that hurt them in so far as it came to making the leap from rock stardom to rock superstardom. The Cult were always much more popular in Europe and the U.K. than they were in America, and I think that the lack of a standout video is a big reason why.

Another issue that may have held the band back was that its lead singer, Ian Astbury, who had all the prerequisites for rock stardom, a great voice, charisma and solid song writing, but never put together a coherent and discernible visual style that set him apart. In the Love years he looked like a Steven Tyler wannabe with bandanas hanging from his mic stand. In the following years he embraced a sort of Jim Morrison-esque manner and writing style but never found his footing as a true original…at least in terms of how he looked.

The band have put out 6 studio albums in the 30 years since Sonic Temple, and while some of them have been pretty good (1991’s Ceremony is excellent), they have never recaptured their pre-grunge swagger. Like many older bands, The Cult are now cashing in as a nostalgia act, touring on albums they made a quarter century or more earlier. In 2009 they went on the road and played the entirety of the Love album on the Love Live Tour. And in 2015 I caught them as they toured playing entirety of the Electric album. The reality is that this is how these guys have to make a living now a days, and while they won’t sell out stadiums anytime soon, they can certainly pack mid-size venues like The Greek Theatre.

I have never been to The Greek before, so I was excited to see the venue. I was surprised how easy it was to get there, and since I bought parking ahead of time, the logistics of getting to and from the place were made simple…always a big plus in Los Angeles.

The Greek is a gorgeous open air venue that makes the most of its Griffith Park setting. There is nothing quite so gorgeous as watching the sun set and the moon rise in a pristine outdoor space. The Greek is also very well run and maintained as it is impeccably clean, has expansive bathrooms, and offers a pricey but decent array of food and beverage choices.

Having not been there before, me and my companion, the irrepressible Lady Pumpernickle Dusseldorf, arrived early to the festivities. The show was schedules to “start” at 6:30, but had been moved up to 6 for some reason, and much to our shock we got there right after 6.

There were three opening acts, Vowws, Zola Jesus and Prayers. Vowws went on first and were a goth male/female duo. I knew nothing about them, and while they weren’t terrible, I do not feel compelled to learn more about them. They were good musicians and singers, but they lack any charisma or stage presence, and they weren’t aided by the fact that their moody music should be listened to in a dark room and not under the glare of an unforgiving sun. That said, the guitarist guy sounded like Depeche Mode when he sang and the female singer had a Siouxsie-esque voice. Bottom line is this...they were tolerable.

The second act up was Zola Jesus, of whom I had not heard. Zola Jesus is a female singer, and she was accompanied by a guitarist and a violinist. Zola Jesus walked onto the stage wearing a bizarre, body length gauze that obscured the audiences view of her. She looked like a cross between the bride of Frankenstein and a very poorly made Mummy. That said, she had a gorgeous voice and a confident and intriguing stage presence. I really enjoyed her performance and the fact that she incarnates this sort of stage entity that accentuates her really strong and lush voice.

The third and final warm up act was Prayers. Let me put this as succinctly as I can... Prayers is the worst band I have ever seen in my entire life. The band consists of one guy playing his computer, another guy odiously screeching out the lamest of lyrics, and a third guy who doesn’t wear a shirt and just stands there not moving at all. The band’s music is best described as cholo goth rap…and no that is not a typo. Prayers’ music was excruciatingly awful and their performance went on and on and on. Enduring this band’s set was like surviving both the Bataan Death March AND the Trail of Tears. At one point the lead singer, and I am using the term singer very loosely as his voice is aggressively repulsive, took out a knife from his pocket and was displaying it menacingly in some poseur-Satanic way and I began praying to the gods that he would either slit his own throat or throw the knife to me so I could slit mine…anything to end this musical holocaust. Finally, after what felt like hours, the root canal known as Prayers left and we were left with nothing but a beautiful night and the featured act.

The Cult did not go on until after 9, which was a bit frustrating as we’d been sitting there since 6. But when they did go on they hit the ground running. They opened with a rip roaring rendition of Sun King and the audience, that seemed pretty tired from the endless warm up acts, greeted them with boisterous cheers.

When I have seen The Cult in the past, Ian Astbury has always come across as an inconsistent, erratic and irritable stage presence. When I saw them in 2015 he admonished the crowd for not cheering loud enough while he gave what was a decidedly lackluster performance. While Astbury should have always been the center of attention at a Cult show, his uneven performances left him fading into the background. On the other hand, guitarist Billy Duffy, who is the picture of consistency and energy, never let me down. Of The Cult shows I have seen in the past, they always turned into Billy Duffy shows, with Duffy’s astonishing guitar prowess and showmanship taking center stage eclipsing Astbury and his uninspired effort and sullen demeanor.

I don’t know what it was at The Greek the other night, maybe it was the fact that the band had never played there before, but Astbury gave the best show that I have ever seen from him that night. Astbury was in jovial spirits, was engaging and energetic, even vivaciously dancing and prancing around the stage. This show was not a Billy Duffy Cult show, this show was, from start to finish, and without question, an Ian Astbury Cult show…and that was pretty cool to catch. Astbury even looked great, as he sported a new shorter hairstyle, a cool outfit and appeared lean and trim as if he had lost a bit of weight.

While Astbury’s voice is weakened and cannot hit the higher notes of his youth, he seems to have come to grips with this limitation and lets the audience fill in the gaps where he can no longer tread. For instance, on the hit Sweet Soul Sister, Astbury no longer even tries to hit those difficult and athletic notes of the chorus, instead he lets the crowd carry the day, and it works well in building rapport with the audience…or at least it works better than admonishing them for not cheering loud enough.

While Astbury took and held center stage, Billy Duffy was his usual steady brilliant self. Duffy’s playing hasn’t slipped a bit since the glory days of thirty years ago. Duffy is also a premier showman as he masterfully works the crowd as well as his Gretsch White Falcon. Duffy is one of the most underrated and overlooked guitar players of his time, but anyone who sees him live will attest that his playing is exquisite.

The Cult roared through their set, which included raucous renditions of Sweet Soul Sister, American Horse, Fire Woman and a glorious back to back combo of American Gothic and Spiritwalker. The crescendo was the final song of the regular set which was She Sells Sanctuary. While I love the song, and the band plays it with aplomb, the 12 string is missing from the live version and that is always a bit of a let down…but Billy Duffy certainly makes the most of what he has and scorched his way through the song.

After a rudimentary walk off…the band returned for a three song encore, which began with an explosive Wild Flower, then transitioned to a less than stellar Rain ( a great song but which suffers because it has been reworked for live shows, no doubt due to Astbury’s vocal limitations) and finally ended with a delirious Love Removal Machine that was a perfect cap to a fantastic show.

My biggest complaint about the show was that it felt too short. The band played for about an hour and twenty minutes or so and it felt like an abbreviated set. That said, I can also understand that the reason why Astbury was in such high spirits and so energetic was maybe that he knew he only had to do his thing for an hour and half and then go back home (he and Duffy both now live in Los Angeles).

While the show could have been longer, I have no complaints about the quality. The Cult gave everything they had and it was certainly well worth the price of admission. Speaking of which, the tickets we had cost around $58 or so, and we had excellent seats on the lower end of the North Terrace. My recommendation is if you are a marginal Cult fan, they are definitely worth seeing live in a mid-sized venue. You will definitely see Billy Duffy in all his amazing guitar glory, and you might, like me at The Greek the other night, get to see the splendor of Ian Astbury - Rock Star.

SET LIST

Sun King

New York City

Automatic Blues

Sweet Soul Sister

American Horse

Soul Asylum

Edie (Ciao baby)

Fire Woman

Rise

American Gothic

Spiritwalker

The Phoenix

She Sells Sanctuary

ENCORE

Wild Flower

Rain

Love Removal Machine

©2019