Crosby Collective

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The newly formed Crosby Collective vindicated, nay glorified, my devotion to Classic Rock with their highly musical performance of “mashups” last night at the Lobero, which they chose for their only (so far) Southern California appearance. Each mashup seamlessly combined two rock standards in leader Jason Crosby’s own arrangement, all played in a lushly harmonic sound put out by seven crack musicians (keyboards, strings and percussion) and four singers. I wish I could remember the exact combinations, but  the original artists represented included Led Zeppelin, the Grateful Dead, Michael Jackson, ELO, Allman Brothers, Neil Young, the Doors, the Kinks, the Beatles, Wings, Marvin Gaye, Sly Stone and Jackson Browne. Speaking of Jackson Browne, he came on for the second act and sang “My Opening Farewell,” the number he also sang at Town Hall for Steve Earle last fall, and “Colors of the Sun.” At show’s end he returned for an encore of “Running on Empty” and “Oh, Happy Day.” Seeing the hirsute Browne was of course a highlight, and the reason, I suspect, many people came, but it was the Crosby Collective that was surprising and special. When they broke into the explosive”Lithium,” I was left to imagine how mind-blowing it must have been to see Nirvana in a club, live. The Collective’s versions captured the magic of the original songs and made this one of the most satisfying concerts I’ve seen.
June 13, 2025

Ronstadt Revival

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A funny thing happened when Ronstadt Revival featuring Shannon Rae performed at the Lobero last night (9/14/24). After her second number, Ms. Rae confidentially told the audience they could ignore management’s request not to photograph or take videos of the artists. “Go ahead and take your pictures and share them on your social media account. Just put your phone down for a minute from time to time to enjoy the music.” Obviously, unlike actual stars, she was looking for publicity. But unlike usual audiences, the mature folks who had come out for this cover band, either didn’t have social media accounts or couldn’t care less about advertising their attendance. I didn’t see a single iPhone raised to take a picture all night. Later, she gave us a choice for audience participation: we could wave our arms in the air or raise our flashlights. The arms won.

As for the show itself, the music was good, the patter phony. Ms. Rae’s attempt to dress and wear her hair a la Ronstadt was lame, and she had no authentic stage presence of her own. If “How’re you doin’, Santa Barbara?!” is the best you can do to relate to the crowd, better not try. The songs were well played and fun to hear–”Different Drum” and “Desperado,” especially–but I probably would have enjoyed them more if I had kept my eyes closed.

Toad the Wet Sprocket

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Most bands you see “come from” somewhere, generally some place I’ve never been so I can fantasize about the music scene there. The original members of Toad the Wet Sprocket, however, grew up in Santa Barbara, which is mainly why I went to see them at the Lobero last week. A local band somehow seems less the real thing, even though these guys had several national hits that still receive airtime on classic rock stations. With family, friends and their former manager in the audience, the show had a different feel. It was a little less like a “rock concert” and something of a community gathering. Of course, Santa Barbara is a pretty special “community.” Leader Glen Phillips admitted the occasion made him nervous, and a roving videographer who ran around stage recording the whole concert added to the informality of the event. But the music, regardless of when or where it was from, went down easy, above all the hits: “Walk On the Ocean,” “Something’s Always Wrong,” and “All I Want.” Phillips ended the concert by saying, “Pretend we’ve gone offstage and have now come back for the encore. Here it is.”

Donavon Frankenreiter

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I’ve never been to a Phish concert, but I got the sense that the experience could be similar to the ALO concert at the Lobero last night. Described as a San Francisco jam band, the four nondescript members of ALO spun out 10-15-minute instrumentals with incidental lyrics, all with a lilting rhythm that had the audience bobbing, first in their seats but by set’s end all standing. It was perfectly pleasant, and I didn’t feel I was missing anything when I stayed seated, closed my eyes and let the sounds flow. But after an hour of what seemed the same I took off for home.

I had gone to the show in the expectation that Donavon Frankenreiter would be the headliner; that was how it was advertised on the Lobero website. But he opened and, arriving late, I only got to hear the last half hour of what might have been a 45-minute set. All his songs had a rolling rhythm that was easy on the ears. With his cowboy hat, suede jacket and husky voice he was a magnetic presence–more frontman than anyone in ALO. I didn’t know any of his numbers, but I felt quite familiar with each by their end. He wasted no time on patter, although I wouldn’t have minded some insight into personality. One song followed another, catchy and compact. It was enough to make me want to tune into Spotify the next day for more.

Justin Hayward

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From “Tuesday Afternoon” through “Question” and “Nights in White Satin,” Justin Hayward gave us a retrospective of the Moody Blues’ greatest hits at the Lobero last night (June 20). What was different was his backup: instead of Graeme Edge, Mike Pinder, Ray Thomas, John Lodge and, perhaps, a full orchestra, he had a lead guitar, a synthesizer and a flute. No bass, no drums, no pounding rhythm section. The songs went from mellow to ethereal; we were surrounded, not assaulted. Of course it helped that the Moody Blues were my favorite group of the ’70s, and I lived by their first seven albums (and bought the next three as well). Their later hits rock more and are probably played more today: “Your Wildest Dreams” and “The Story in Your Eyes” brought the audience to their feet. The three or four standing ovations mid-show were three or four more than I saw at the Bowl for Daryl Hall. For me, the happiest surprise was Karmen Gould on flute. I don’t remember the instrument playing such a big role in the Moodys’ music: here it was beautiful, as was she, and my spirits rose every time she picked up her flute. Julie Ragins resembled a blonde Joan Jett as she stood behind the Mellotron and added background vocals. Again, the female voices replacing the all-male Moodys resulted in a different, slightly softer sound. The long-haired Mike Dawes played a rather inconspicuous guitar for a self-proclaimed virtuoso: he opened the set with twenty minutes of acoustic guitar solo and hawked a nine-hour guitar clinic available on thumb drive. But with so few people on stage, each was a personality we came to know. Unlike Elvis Costello’s band, they were all a generation younger than Justin, who is my age and married 53 years. His voice showed some age, but he hit the notes and charmed us. The music is just as good today as it was a half-century ago.

Elvis Costello

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Elvis Costello and the Imposters put on a B+ show at the Santa Barbara Bowl last night and Daryl Hall (formerly of Hall & Oates) put on a C-, or maybe D+ show. For some reason–political, financial, or era–Elvis’s 75 minutes came first, accentuating how flat Hall’s following 75 minutes were. Based on comments Costello made, I think more concertgoers had come for him than for Hall, even though his heyday was more ’70s while Hall was ’80s.

Costello pleased the crowd by playing his most familiar songs–Pump It Up, Watching the Detectives, Everyday I Write the Book–amid a dozen I liked but didn’t know, then brought down the house with an encore of (What’s So Funny About) Peace, Love and Understanding and concluding with Alison. His voice left something to be desired, though not in volume, but he won us over with his enthusiasm and 70-year-old energy. His backup band was spare, but each of the four was a personality. My guess is that two or three have been playing with Elvis for most of his career, and the only “youngster” was Charlie Sexton, a semi-headliner in his own right. My accidental seatmate Dave, a rock guitarist around town, knew and admired the band’s musicianship.

By contrast, he referred to Hall’s larger ensemble as “like a wedding band.” The guitar player was good, he said, but as a group they disappeared along with the music. For starters, there aren’t any Hall & Oates songs I really love, even had they been featured more frequently (my favorite, She’s Gone, was missing). Whereas Costello knocked us out with his encore, when Daryl came back, in response to polite applause, he introduced a song of his new album–not why any of us was there. When he did play a familiar song, it regularly morphed into a 5-10 minute jam of little interest. A number of his songs were slow and boring, not the rockers we were primed for after Elvis. Nor did Hall have the edgy persona of Costello. He never lit a fire. In all, it was about the least interesting concert I’ve attended at the Bowl

Sierra Ferrell

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I’d never heard of Sierra Ferrell before Arts & Lectures added her to the program, and her one album I could find on Spotify didn’t excite me; so I worried that skipping the Oscars broadcast to attend her concert might be a mistake. Instead, both Siri and I were blown away. Her set was tight and her band was tighter. That they wore matching outfits and Sierra dressed outrageously was a tip-off that this was a performance. The songs, all of which were on either her first album or the one being released March 22, were every one a gem, polished by the tour that was ending in Santa Barbara. And they were all good. Sierra played the guitar, but her voice was her instrument, slightly nasal with a West Virginia twang. She didn’t speak much, but that wasn’t what the crowd was there for. And it was quite a crowd–young, enthusiastic, sold-out. A lot of people were turned on to Sierra Ferrell, even if I wasn’t. The next day I listened to her album again. The songs, familiar now, sounded better but still gave no hint of the way they came across live. I hope that some day we can say, we saw her when.

Cat Power Sings Dylan

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In 1966 when he performed at the Royal Albert Hall in London, Bob Dylan was the greatest songwriter of his (and my) generation. He was not, however, the greatest singer. Or even a very good singer. Nor did he seem to want to be. (He singing had much improved by the time he released Blood on the Tracks in 1974, if not before.) Cat Power (Chan Marshall) is a very good singer–a strong, throaty voice, jazz inflected with a rock base. So when Cat Power recreates Dylan’s ’66 concert, song by song, as she did at the Lobero on March 6, it is a marriage for rock history heaven.
The first half of Dylan’s set was performed acoustically and Cat followed suit, accompanied by a single guitar player and occasional harmonica. It opened with “She Belongs to Me” (‘She’s got everything she needs/ She’s an artist, she don’t look back…Bow down to her on Sunday/Salute her when her birthday comes’). By the time CP started meandering through “Visions of Johanna” my eyes were closed and I dreamed along. “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue,” “Desolation Row,” “Just Like A Woman” (‘But when we meet again, introduced as friends/Please don’t let on that you knew me when’) and finally the familiar refrain of Hey, “Mr. Tambourine Man.”  The second half, Dylan went electric, and Cat Power brought out drums, keyboard and electric guitars for the rest of the night. “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” (‘I started out on Burgundy/But soon hit the harder stuff’) and “Ballad of a Thin Man” (‘And something is happening here/But ya’ don’t know what it is/Do you, Mister Jones?’) were powerful, but nothing compared to the evening’s finale: “Like A Rolling Stone” brought the dedicated crowd to its feet, dancing and singing along. The best song of the ’60s is just as good today.

Dar Williams

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At last night’s concert Dar Williams sang but one song from her latest album. It was about going to Berkeley in the ’80s, “looking for the ’70s.” I think a lot of the audience, like me, was primed for the nostalgia she evoked. Peace, love, possibilities, a better world. Despite putting out seven albums this century, her playlist came almost exclusively from the ’90s, which was fine as it included perhaps my two all-time favorites: “The Christians and the Pagans” and “The Babysitter’s Here.” I was initially shocked by her troll-like appearance, a small figure on a big stage with only a keyboard accompanist, but she filled Marjorie Luke Theatre with her masterful guitar playing and clear, ethereal voice. She must have told her stories a zillion times, but her patter between numbers was disarming, as much a part of the Dar Williams experience as the songs. I couldn’t have asked for more.
But “more” I got, in the persons of the Amy Ray Band. If Dar is folk rock, Amy is country rock, reflecting her Georgia roots. I didn’t know any of her songs, but they were all melodic, mostly rocking and easy to follow. It took courage, or generosity, for Dar Williams, basically a solo act, to cede the opening gig to a seven-person band that played, as Dar did, for a full hour. They performed their encores together, which made Dar look even smaller, but left a final good-feeling community vibe in the evening air.
(Who produced this show?  There was no name on the program and almost no advertising. And during intermission between the acts, the Amy Ray bandmembers including Indigo Girl Amy, all had to come back on stage to dismantle the wiring and collect their sound system. The whole thing seemed more appropriate to a junior high auditorium, which this was, than a professional theater.)

Van Morrison

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At 79, Van Morrison is a living legend and, as expected, he took advantage of that to give his fans at the Santa Barbara Bowl the show he wanted, not the songs they surely would have preferred. Never known for his warmth onstage, Morrison’s night was epitomized for us when we saw his car pull away while his band was still performing the final number. That his final number was his first hit, “Gloria,” only reminded us of all the music we didn’t get to hear. With 44 albums to his credit, he had a lot of unfamiliar material to choose from; but of the dozen records I’ve listened to, often extensively, I recognized only “Into the Mystic,” and even that I barely recognized as he twisted and turned it around.
I will say that he kept the show moving, with one uptempo number after another, none lasting too long, and his backup band and singers were impeccable. His 80-minute set was unusually short: every other act I’ve seen ran right up to the Bowl’s 10 p.m. curfew; Van drove away at 9:15. His voice was remarkably intact, but his barking style came across as unfortunately harsh in the arena setting. Also unusual was the lack of  live video which made me glad, given Van’s diminutive stature, that we were seated close to the stage. I guess we were lucky to be graced with his presence, but I would have rather shared some “Tupelo Honey,” “Domino,” “Bright Side of the Road,” or even “Three Chords and the Truth,” not to mention “Brown-Eyed Girl,” instead of “Cotton Fields” and the dozen other traditional and cover songs that filled the program.