Neko Case 3/31/06 @ Vic Theatre

Case shows songwriting power behind ‘Fox Confessor’

April 3, 2006

BY ANDERS SMITH LINDALL

Not so long ago, Neko Case was the new kid in town. A sassy-voiced singer, she recorded a sepia-toned collection of mostly twang and pop covers for the Bloodshot Records boots-and-piercings crowd, and often popped up onstage with Kelly Hogan.

How times have changed. In recent years Case has become a dazzling songwriter as well as a skillful interpreter, adding soul, gospel and shadowy, brooding rock to her repertoire. Her new disc, "Fox Confessor Brings the Flood," is backed by a label, Anti-, that appeals more to drinkers of soy latte than Maker's Mark. And now it's Hogan who pops up onstage with her.

The venues Case plays have changed, too, for the bigger. Her gig Friday was at the Vic -- a room that could hold several Hideouts just in its balcony -- and it sold out well in advance.

If there were jitters, though, Case didn't show them. Guitarist Paul Rigby and drummer Jason Creps have added depth and range to her band's veteran core of Tom Ray (bass) and Jon Rauhouse (banjo and steel), and together with Hogan on backing vocals the group was sharp from the start.

The early going mirrored sets Case played recently at the South by Southwest music industry conference in Austin, Texas; in front of those crowds, comprised largely of insiders who can make or break an artist, she was impressive but businesslike, focused on delivering the "Fox Confessor" material without a hitch.

Those new songs continue in the moody vein established by her 2002 album "Blacklisted," though her latest lyrics and melodies are increasingly unpredictable. Still exploring her writer's chops, Case seems to have challenged herself to work outside the usual structure of linear narrative and verse-chorus composition, and though the results are often conventionally beautiful, they're not always entirely satisfying. Pop listeners want hooks to hang their hats on, and when a song like Case's new "Hold On" only gives up its gorgeous chorus once, it leaves us wanting more.

But Friday night the new tunes shone, especially the propulsive, wailing "If You Knew" and the rippling, densely imagistic "Star Witness." In fact, it was only in comparison to the likes of "Set Out Running" and "I Wish I Was the Moon" that they paled at all. Broken in, familiar and both dripping with Rauhouse's caramel steel, the older songs sounded nothing less than timeless.

Later on, a looser Case came through. She bantered with Hogan about steroids and Paul Stanley and needled Rauhouse about his new electric omelet maker. And she played a clutch of old covers, finding smoky soul in Bob Dylan's rickety "Buckets of Rain" and Freakwater's haunted "Hex," and doing justice to Sarah Vaughan's smoldering classic "I'll Be Around."

Together, the show's two halves suggested that though Case is going places, she can still come home again.

Anders Smith Lindall is a Chicago free-lance writer.

Case shows songwriting power behind 'Fox Confessor'

Chicago Sun-Times Neko Case Review


Transcendent Case's music paves way through bad times

By Greg Kot
Tribune music critic
Published April 3, 2006

Even a bad case of feedback and a trip to the doctor's office earlier in the day couldn't get Neko Case down.

The sold-out concert Friday at the Vic Theatre nearly didn't happen, because the singer needed to make an emergency trip to the doctor a few hours before show time. For her troubles, she came armed with a bandage on her sleeveless right arm and a fistful of new jokes about steroid injections, but the voice was very much intact. Case projects like she's singing in a cathedral with light pouring through stained-glass windows, even when she's singing about darkness, dementia and death.

Case is the diva who wears gym shoes, a down-home successor to Loretta Lynn not just as a singer but as a songwriter, arranger, producer and beer-drinking buddy. She wrote most of the songs performed Friday, and though informed by centuries-deep gospel, country and soul, they are swirling, hallucinatory tales of madness and death that hold a mirror to the bad news outside.

Case doesn't preach about morality or politics, but her music paves a way through bad times. Even when things get ugly, it's possible to transcend, and the singer proved it in both word and deed over the weekend. Near the end of "Set Out Running," when amplifier feedback all but ruined her a cappella finale, Case smiled, flashed the devil's horns and made a joke about multi-instrumentalist Jon Rauhouse's omelet maker. Talk about grace in the face of disaster.

Conflict guides Case's songwriting. Cathartic tears rained in "Fox Confessor Brings the Flood," blood flowed like the dream sequences in Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining" in "Dirty Knife," and sexy wolves howled in "Star Witness."

Yet the singer's voice inevitably transcended these surreal images of horror, an instrument of beauty that Case expertly controlled. She created moments of high drama: the goose bump-building intro to "John Saw that Number"; the way she turned the word "hard" into a multioctave, multisyllable aria all by itself on "That Teenage Feeling"; the stair-step of notes she effortlessly climbed on "Furnace Room Lullaby."

But this concert was something more than a pageant for a virtuoso voice, a low-budget showcase for a countrified Whitney or Celine. Her ability to walk the octaves may be out of this world, but Case is as down-to-earth as a singer can get. Her casual camaraderie, joke-laced rapport and musical interplay with her accomplices were as crucial to setting and sustaining the mood as her singing prowess. Kelly Hogan's harmonies were a comforting shadow, and the call and response coda to "John Saw that Number" was enough to make anyone reconsider their faith, or lack of it.

Case's music defies category, because it melds so many influences into something that doesn't tidily add up to a commercial-radio format. But if there can be such a thing as secular gospel, Case and her bandmates were surely singing it.

http://www.chicagotribune.com/entertainment/chi-0604030116apr03,1,2937489.story?ctrack=1&cset=true

Chicago Tribune Neko Case Review

Bob Schneider 3/31/06 @ Double Door

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Sean Paul 3/31/06 @ Riviera Theatre

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John Mellencamp 3/31/06 @ Elliot Hall

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John Mellencamp 3/30/06 @ Roberts Stadium

Mellencamp brings sell-out crowd crumblin' down

March 31, 2006

Everyone was born in a small town. All the Jacks and Dianes danced naked during the wild night. And John Mellencamp, Indiana's patron saint of music, made Roberts Stadium hurt so, so good.

During the Evansville kick-off of his Words & Music tour, native Hoosier Mellencamp brought forth a celebration of Americana and power ballads. The nonstop, decades-wandering set proved the former Cougar still has his pounce.

It immediately became clear why, after 35 years, Mellencamp deserves to draw a sold-out crowd. He spits on stage. He curses reporters who ask him about his graying hair. (Guilty as charged, sir.) He takes off his button-down and rolls up the sleeves to his white T-shirt. At 54, Mellencamp is still The Man.

After a nod to "Scarecrow," he opened with new material, "This Is Our Country." The anthem powered forward, throbbing with patriotism. With lyrics heralding from coast to coast, the new ballad - if released on the anticipated Universal album - will be the infectious patriotic hit absent from Top 40 radio. Mellencamp, a self-described liberal who campaigned for President Bush's defeat, injected his politics into the show, but the 7,327-person audience was willing to forego "boos" in favor of more chart-defining hits.

His anti-war screed "Love & Happiness" remains relevant, much like the rest of his work. His Farm Aid material again seems foretelling, as farmers face another generation of challenges. And "Fight Authority" is still about more than frustrating parents.

Still, the favorites such as "Jack and Diane" and "R.O.C.K. In the U.S.A. (A Salute To 60's Rock)" brought the crowd, deservedly, to its feet.

Laments that contemporary country has languished to the point of bland would do well to listen to Little Big Town, which opened for the native son. As country artists seemingly aspire to crossover success, Little Big Town inspires new faith in Nashville, Tenn. With intricate harmonies and multiple melodies unfolding at once, much of the act's battery is better than most college counterpoint exercises.

The seven-musician ensemble brazenly blended good ol' fashion country with pop and even Baroque-style vocals during its finale, "Boondocks." The result: aural bliss.
From the fragile, percussion-free plea "Stay" to the "Hell hath no fury like a woman with a microphone" warning "Looking for a Reason," the set pulsed with emotion. They say they keep their hearts and souls in the boondocks, but the musicians don't do much to hide their talents there.

Courier Press Review

James Blunt 3/25/06 @ Riviera Theatre

James Blunt avoids the deep end at the Riv


By Bob Gendron
Special to the Tribune
Published March 27, 2006

He has sparkly, puppy-dog eyes, a twinkling smile, full mouth, wavy hair and a sweet tenor voice any mother would love. Saturday night at the sold-out Riviera, girls shrieked at his slightest move, sung along with his tender songs and screamed every time he leaned over, strummed his acoustic guitar and nodded in their vague direction.

Meet pop's latest heartthrob, James Blunt, a 29-year-old Englishman whose wildly successful debut last year dethroned Coldplay from the top of the British charts before the album took America by surprise.

A late bloomer, Blunt didn't become a full-time musician until 2002, after he had served in the army and Queen's Life Guard. While his military background echoes that of fellow Brit and folk-based singer-songwriter Billy Bragg, Blunt's tissue-grabbing sadness, boyish looks and adult-contemporary softness have more in common with popera sensation Josh Groban. Coincidentally, both have received Oprah Winfrey's blessings.

Supported by a four-piece band whose onstage immobility paralleled its rigid obedience to the songs' pop-by-numbers arrangements, Blunt sang of love, loneliness and dreamy romance, repeatedly referencing heartache or heartbreak throughout the 75-minute concert. He held a wounded heart in "Cry," nursed a bleeding heart on "Out of My Mind" and listened to a breaking heart on "I Really Want You," one of several unreleased tunes premiered. As the lyrics dripped tear-jerking emotion and bedroom-baiting sensitivity, his tone oozed nice-guy empathy and whitewashed soulfulness. The audience couldn't get enough, its adoration effectively rubber-stamping Blunt's passport to large arenas. Never mind that he offered little originality or depth.

A pedestrian rhythm guitarist, Blunt displayed no sound of his own. Dave Matthews was sonically copied for "Wisemen"; David Gray, for "Breathe." Yet it was Coldplay whom Blunt mimicked most with falsetto crooning and mellow vibes.

Irony abounded when he dejectedly exhaled, "I'm so hollow, baby" on the overwrought surefire future-hit "Goodbye My Lover." And unable to resist the cliche, he saved his smash "You're Beautiful" for the end.

Puzzlingly, Blunt drew just once from his experiences as a soldier. Accompanied by video footage recorded while Blunt on duty in Kosovo, the stark "No Bravery" was his most genuine attempt at introspection. But if his newest tracks are any indicator, Blunt apparently will settle for trite couplets, generalized feelings, and all the fame they can bring.

Chicago Tribune James Blunt Review

Queen + Paul Rodgers 3/23/06 @ Allstate Arena

Despite Queen's dearth of energy, crowd roared


By Bob Gendron
Special to the Tribune
Published March 25, 2006

For Queen, which last toured North America in 1982, the show must go on. Even if it means playing without original bassist John Deacon and deceased vocalist Freddie Mercury, whose respective roles are being filled by three backing musicians and ex-Free/Bad Company crooner Paul Rodgers.

Thursday night at the Allstate Arena, the patchwork sextet resurrected material from its key members' associated bands during a polite two-hour concert whose charged beginning and celebratory finale sandwiched stretches of underwhelming energy. For his part, the muscularly fit Rodgers put in an admirable effort. His slightly scratched, soulful timbre competently served on songs featuring conversational vocals. But Rodgers' limited range often prompted the band to hold its fire. Dramatic crescendos were shortened; TelePrompTers scrolled familiar lyrics. Reaching back for reserve power, Rodgers recurrently fell short, his bluesy pipes unable to consistently stretch notes above the music.

Still, the ample-size crowd that came for a Queen fix wasn't disappointed. Guitarist Brian May remains a virtuoso of control, his inimitably clean tone blending glam bombast, hard-rock crunch and pop smoothness. Drummer Roger Taylor drove a punchy rhythm section and took bittersweet vocal turns on the nostalgic "These Are the Days of Our Lives" and "Radio Ga Ga." Both men performed riveting instrumental solos that helped offset musty Bad Company hits and an emotional, albeit shaky, Mercury tribute that, as was frequently the case no matter who sang, subconsciously required the audience to fill in vocal blanks with their memories.

Four voices couldn't spell the flamboyant frontman's soaring harmonies on "Under Pressure."

Lacking funkiness, Rodgers sleepwalked through "Another One Bites the Dust." Faced with such challenges and missing over-the-top flair, the group eventually resorted to technology.

Projected on large video screens and piped in over the loudspeakers, archival footage of Mercury performing "Bohemian Rhapsody" drew the evening's biggest reaction, ironically revealing that the person many most wanted to see wasn't even really there.

Chicago Tribune Queen + Paul Rodgers Review

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Queen vets need better company
March 25, 2006

BY JIM DEROGATIS Pop Music Critic



The semi-reunion of British symphonic rockers Queen -- guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor, minus the late singer Freddie Mercury and happily retired bassist John Deacon -- could have gone two ways.

Like the Doors of the 21st Century, INXS and other recent nostalgia jaunts where groups missing their distinctive lead vocalists hired obvious ringers and offered pathetic imitations of the sounds that made them famous, it could have been a complete disaster.

Or, given that May and Taylor turned to another member of England's rock royalty who sounds nothing like Mercury -- former Free and Bad Company vocalist Paul Rodgers -- it could have been a halfway credible attempt to create something familiar but new nonetheless.

The group's 2-1/2-hour show at a packed Allstate Arena Thursday night started strong, with Rodgers' bluesy growl providing a different but no less effective take on spirited versions of the classic Queen rockers "Tie Your Mother Down" and "Fat Bottomed Girls." And then things started to go dreadfully, horribly wrong.

In the now clearly misguided moment of optimistic anticipation this Queen fan mustered before the show, I forgot the key hurdle it faced: the fact that Bad Company was one of the most vapid and cheesy bands in '70s arena rock. The Queen veterans apparently forgot this, too, because the concert continually lost whatever momentum it had built whenever Rodgers was allowed to howl his way through a Bad Company chestnut such as "Feel Like Makin' Love" or "Can't Get Enough," predictably thrusting his crotch on every downbeat.

With so many great Queen songs left untouched -- No "Bicycle Race"! No "Killer Queen"! No "Sheer Heart Attack"! -- there was simply no reason to let Rodgers flaunt his far inferior catalog, much less surface amid clouds of fog playing a grand piano, or flash a video montage of himself in his long-haired, shirtless, hippie studmuffin youth.

And how about those fashion faux pas? There were the black leather pants (rock star cliche numero uno), the nearly see-through white pants that made fans think of the infamous cucumber scene in "Spinal Tap," and the beyond-silly jacket adorned with the names of dead musical heroes -- including a misspelled "Muddy Water." Ouch.

To be sure, Mercury's high-octane, far-beyond-camp persona was often ridiculous, but he intended it to be: We laughed with him, not at him. Rodgers seems oblivious to the distinction. He wisely ceded the first third of "Bohemian Rhapsody" to a video of vintage Mercury. But when Rodgers tried to showboat his way through the final third of the song -- after the operatic midsection that had always been on tape -- his flat and joyless caterwauling made you long for Wayne and Garth.

The most disappointing aspect of all of this was that May and Taylor sounded as good as they ever did, and they stand as two of rock's most distinctive though most underrated virtuosos; even their longish spotlight solo sections were tolerable, or at least preferable to Rodgers' shenanigans. And both Queen vets seemed genuinely thrilled to be performing once again, and sincerely moved by the outpouring of love from diehard fans.

The hired help -- an extra guitarist, a bassist and a keyboardist who looked and sounded like rejects from Night Ranger or Loverboy -- were certainly nothing to get excited about. But May and Taylor would have been just fine on their own with those fellows backing them, and without making any attempt to replace their original vocalist who, in the end, has proven to be irreplaceable.

Chicago Sun-Times Queen + Paul Rodgers Review

Arctic Monkeys 3/18/06 @ Metro

Did you see the sold out show at the Metro? How did you think the show was? Do you agree with Brian Orloff's review?


Hugely hyped Arctic Monkeys deliver

March 20, 2006

BY BRIAN ORLOFF


Each year we can count on the British to export a band so big, and so hyped, there is no choice but to shut up and pay attention.

In the past, groups like the Futureheads (justifiably cool), and farther back, Oasis (though they have failed to staggeringly succeed lately) earned mountains of praise. This year brings the Arctic Monkeys, a scruffy quartet from Sheffield, comprised of guys whose average age lingers around 20. The fanfare surrounding the Monkeys reached maximal heights last month after the group broke British sales records, outselling all the chart competition combined with its debut album, "Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not."

Though the album has performed moderately here since its late February release, the lads nevertheless managed to effortlessly sell out their short North American tour, which stopped Saturday night at a packed Metro.

Because of the mania surrounding the band, Saturday's show came slathered in expectation. And the Monkeys -- who appeared to be just four regular guys -- carried through their 55-minute set with breathless verve and just enough ragtag momentum to keep the young crowd engaged.

It is easy to get swept up by hyperbole, and Saturday's show was not the transcendent experience many -- especially the eager British press -- have characterized. But it was most certainly a high-energy experience, full of swagger and promise.

Opening with the ragged "View From the Afternoon," the Monkeys, led by singer Alex Turner, immediately revealed a knack for unfussy rock 'n' roll girded by a tangle of stentorian guitar and slingshot, flinty drumbeats. Throughout the show, Turner prowled the stage, spinning and spitting out the lyrics in his fiercest snarl. Guitarist Jamie Cook offered an unsubtle, muscular guitar assault to match Turner's urgent delivery.

Technically strong -- the band sounded tight and well-rehearsed -- the Monkeys tore through all their songs in the bristling set. Some, such as the bass-driven "Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secured" and "You Probably Couldn't See for the Lights but You Were Looking Straight at Me," came off clean and crisp, rocking convincingly.

But in between their concise songs, the band members seemed to be unsure how to act. Bassist Andy Nicholson hid under his hood for much of the show, and Turner awkwardly mumbled through a few addresses to the crowd. The band's stage banter could stand to improve, though no doubt its stage presence will continue to blossom.

Still, the Monkeys unquestionably connected to the crowd, and often fans belted out the songs' refrains, occasionally even drowning out Turner.

For instance, on the infectious single "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor," attendees bopped and emoted with force and volume. Writing about suburban ennui and feelings of isolation, Turner's lyrics resonated, and a song like "Dancefloor," with its Shakespearian allusion and earnest desires ("There ain't no love, no Montagues or Capulets / Are just banging tunes and DJ sets and / Dirty dancefloors, and dreams of naughtiness!"), undoubtedly reflected kid's experiences.

With such populist intentions, on Saturday night the Arctic Monkeys displayed all the ingredients for, at least, continued hype.

Brian Orloff is a Chicago freelance writer.

Sun-Times Arctic Monkey Review