REVIEW: Same old faces on CDs and no decent concerts
This column was supposed to be an album review, but as I sorted through the new releases, all I saw were the same old faces. Let’s be honest: Incubus is good, not great, DMX is all bark and no bite, and Wacko Jacko is too much of a sideshow to be taken seriously as an artist at this point.
So with the money I usually reserve for CD’s, I bought a concert ticket. But not just any ticket mind you: General admission to Jane’s Addiction in Boise, Idaho. For those of you who missed the early ’90s music revolution, Jane’s was the ultimate alternative rock package: Articulately rebellious, as eclectic as they were eccentric.
Over the course of two albums, “Nothing’s Shocking” and “Ritual De Lo Habitual,” Jane’s Addiction helped purge the music industry of the makeup metal bands of the ’80s. Their music was raw and emotionally unguarded. There was nothing prepackaged or commercial about it. In short, Jane’s Addiction was and is the Anti-N’SYNC, a jagged contradiction of anything that saturates MTV or Top-40 radio.
Of course I was reluctant to drive through the vast nothing that is Idaho but Logan concert goers realize we have to sacrifice to see the best shows. I’ll admit Utah State University gets some good string quartets and the like, but while universities across the country see top acts, we get Tone Loc and Young MC.
Case in point: Two years ago Dave Matthews and Tim Reynolds performed at the University of Utah. This fall we got … well, Tim Reynolds. I loved the show, but that’s the wrong half of the duo wouldn’t ya say? It has become commonplace for Loganites to travel to Vegas, Boise, or at least Salt Lake to see their favorite bands. It may be that the valley is an inconvenient pit stop, trapped between mountains or that Logan doesn’t have the population to support a big show. Either way, we’re left driving.
Some concerts, like Jane’s Addiction, are worth the inconvenience. The show was amazing, a compelling combination of lights, theatrics and rock ‘n’ roll. They opened the set with Kettle Whistle, the title track to 1997’s album of leftovers.
Jane’s Addiction lead singer Perry Farrell wore wire spectacles that made his eyes look like a fly’s. His torso stuck out of cloth that looked like a carnival tent, stretching across the stage 10 feet in every direction. Limbs of women dancers would pop out of holes in the fabric, like a choreographed seduction.
At the forefront was Farrell, the iconoclastic leader who started the show in fuchsia Kashmir, changed into an outfit like an Indian, and ended up in a suit that looked like aluminum. It was as if one image wasn’t enough for the guy. He reveled in the crowd’s adoration, touching their hands, grinning constantly at their cheers.
The music was powerful. Besides a surprisingly ineffective acoustic subset (how do you mess up Classic Girl? Don’t mike the drums), the concert delivered.
But as the group faked their way through “Chip Away” in the encore, I had a realization: Jane’s Addiction, as brilliant as they were, aren’t that much different than Michael Jackson. They are a group grasping desperately to what they were, struggling to remain relevant in today’s music scene. They haven’t released an album since 1991, the year Nirvana unleashed “Nevermind” to the world. A lot has changed since then. Farrell has released two so-so albums with Porno For Pyros and Navaro was a short-lived Red Hot Chile Pepper. Jane’s has been relegated to a greatest hits group, a depressing proposition considering the group was never really about hits to begin with. They are a reminder of the way the direction could have gone, had recycled teen pop not stolen the baton back from grunge.