Archive for category: Reviews

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.

Graham Nash brought two hours of musical memories to the Lobero Theater last night, from “Bus Stop” with the Hollies to “Better Life” from his 2023 release, Now. I give great credit to an 81-year-old who is performing five nights a week on a tour through the U.S. and the U.K., hitting the high notes and performing as rock star, not a nostalgia act. (And his new record is not at all bad.) But it was nostalgia that carried the night. With two exceptions, however, the songs were never my favorites. In fact, one of the crowd-pleasing highlights, which also lifted my spirits in comparison, was Stephen Stills’s “Love the One You’re With,” which I hated at the time for its cynical message. One common thread of Nash’s own songs, which I had not noticed, was their narrative nature. They told a story or had a message–no “moon/June” or breakup tears. A highlight of the evening was Nash’s introductions, telling stories about how he came to write each song. As for the two numbers that count among my favorites, “Wasted on the Way,” a 1982 CSN hit, was damaged by the over-amplified or poorly mixed sound system. Instead of the clear voices and fine harmonies one expected, the first half of the concert, especially, was raucous and muddy. When called back for a second encore, Nash and his two backups did a sweet a cappella rendition of Buddy Holly’s “Every Day” and then, as I wished and predicted, ended with “Teach Your Children” from 1970.  More exactly, they let the audience end the evening by singing the final lines, “And know they love you.”
July 17, 2023

A sonic assault is how I’d describe Cat Power’s powerful indeed show at the Lobero. Singing in the dark, spotlight-free, and with two mics in hand, she scorched her songs, backed by a three-person band that sounded like ten. Touring in support of her “Covers” album, she deconstructed familiar songs by the Rolling Stones, Byrds, Jackson Browne, Frank Sinatra (“New York, New York”) and probably others I didn’t recognize, eliminating any obvious melody but building a tune just above a drone.  Liking something to hum along with, I wondered at first what I was doing there; but the mood took over and the sound reached inside me. I can’t imagine that any of this would sound good on a record, but in person the performance was hypnotic and I enjoyed myself. Maybe not as much as the dedicated fans around me, but it was another good Santa Barbara experience.  (9/9/22)

I was expecting a battle of the bands when one of my favorites, Dawes, opened for The Head and the Heart at the Santa Barbara Bowl on August 18, 2022. Both bands were formed in 2009; Dawes has released eight albums (including Misadventures of Doomscroller last month) and H&H five (including Every Shade of Blue in April). But Dawes’s hits (defined by airplay on the Spectrum channel) came early in their career, while H&H’s successes have been building, which likely accounted for their order on the bill.

In the event, it wasn’t much of a contest: Dawes came across as the kids on the block, while H&H were the real thing. For starters, Dawes’s new songs (including “Ghost in The Machine,” “Someone Else’s Cafe” and “Comes in Waves”) were a letdown. The storytelling was a bit labored and the melodies dragged. They segued into “Time Spent in Los Angeles” for their second number and pleased me with other hits, including “Things Happen,” “When My Time Comes” and”All Your Favorite Bands” (with help from H&H members), but I missed their classic, “A Little Bit of Everything,” that I had heard them perform both in Minneapolis and at the Lobero. Beyond the choice of music, Dawes’s appearance was unimpressive. There was little interaction among the five members, who stood randomly onstage; the bass player looked a stranger to the group, and lead singer Taylor Goldsmith bounced around goofily. And while I don’t expect hip rockers to emulate the uniforms of Rod Stewart, Dawes’s bland T-shirts stood in contrast to the collared shirts sported by all members of H&H.

When The Head and the Heart took the stage, after an inexplicable 50-minute intermission, the level of professionalism soared. The six members lined up in two rows of three and appeared purposefully engaged. An ever bigger difference was the sound. Somehow – was there a synthesizer or other electronic enhancement? – the Bowl was suddenly full of sound, and it never let up. I was worried that the mellow songs of H&H wouldn’t translate to an arena, but the energy and volume easily carried the day, even on my favorite, “Let’s Be Still.” I didn’t realize how much of H&H’s catalogue I knew, but everything they played in their 90-minute set had a familiar feel, and everything sounded good.

The show opened with six sequined blondes in a line, hair pulled back, each holding a white guitar. Rod Stewart then ambled onstage and began belting out Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love.” As I studied the stage with my opera glasses, I soon noticed that the gorgeous blondes were not actually playing their guitars–those were just props! The music was all coming from the three guitar players and two drummers behind, all in matching cherry red jackets and white sneakers. That’s when I knew we weren’t in for a normal Santa Barbara Bowl rock concert, but more a Las Vegas show. By evening’s end, after at least two complete costume changes and a release of hair, I recognized that Rod’s blondes weren’t just for show: one was an angelic harpist, one a virtuoso violinist and another a fiddle player (“What’s the difference between a violin and a fiddle?,” Rod asked, then answered, “Who the f— cares!”), one sang like Tina Turner, and while the other two just danced and sang backup, one was absolutely stunning.

With such a large corpus to choose from, I was happy that Rod sang songs that had all been my favorites, with the sole and expected exception of “Da Ya Think I’m Sexy.” He reached back in the catalogue, starting with “You Wear It Well” (I’ve been meaning to phone ya, from Minnesota…), moving on to “Gladbags and Handrags” and a slow-starting full-on production of “Maggie May.” I was thrilled to hear him sing “The First Cut Is the Deepest,” and I similarly wallowed in “Tonight’s the Night,” “You’re in My Heart,” “Rhythm of My Heart,” “Have I Told You Lately,” and the longest cut, “Forever Young.” In a concession to his age (one year older than me), he and the blondes sat on chairs for a not-really “acoustic” set near the end, but his voice was strong and he danced and kicked, sometimes footballs, just enough to keep things visually interesting. The show rocked on for an hour and forty minutes; there were no stops but a number of intervals where his girls or the instrumentalists, including a Black saxophonist a la Clarence Clemons, took center stage and gave Rod a break. One sincerely felt he wanted to play longer and was cut short by the Santa Barbara 10 pm curfew, which he kept alluding to as the hour drew near. It was all polished but endearing, expected but surprising.

Cheap Trick was the opening act, two-fifths original. They played so loud, or the sound mix was so bad, that you couldn’t hear a melody, let along any lyrics. We sat through it, nervous about what the sound augured for the main act. When Rod Stewart came out, we could hear every word.