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The high schoolers packed into New York's Irving Plaza had little love -- or patience -- for the solid set of garage rock offered up by opening band Dangerman. Thanks in no small part to the Nineties' flood of eclecticism-hawking artists, straight-up rock & roll just doesn't cut it anymore. Take it from G. Love: when you're facing a diverse, attention span-deprived crowd like this one, you gotta mix your rock with equal dollops of hip-hop, blues, country, folk, reggae, ska and go-go.
A good two hours after the doors opened, G. Love walked out on
stage holding a guitar in one hand and waving to the crowd with the
other. He was followed by what looked like his hippie uncle and his
uncle's deadbeat friend. The crowd went nuts, and the trio quickly
went into "Yeah, It's That Easy," the title track off their third
album, and it became quite clear these weren't the "guys next door"
they appeared to be. The next few songs, all from the new album,
Philadelphonic, steered away from the fun, middle-class
white-boy blues of the first album and toward a slightly more
sincere, downbeat sound. As a result, the mellow melodies of songs
like "This Ain't Livin'," "Blues Music" and "Honor and Harmony"
were lost on a crowd that clearly wanted to party. But Love was
ready to accommodate. A barrage of sing-along favorites off the
first album ensued, with "Cold Beverage" and an encore of "Baby's
Got Sauce" bringing by far the most hand-waving and cheering.
The utterly smooth Love displayed full command of the joyous crowd.
When he wasn't slithering his lanky frame around his tiny chair, he
was up front coaxing the crowd. For just the right choruses, he'd
dip the mic into the tangle of fans and pull it back with a smooth
half-second to spare before going back into his patented
rap-mumble.
With a versatility bordering on a multiple personality disorder,
Love seemed all about dodging attempts to pigeonhole him. After a
particularly folky tune, he'd rouse the audience with a "Yo what up
New York, what up yo?" In addition to the lingo, G was equipped
with a his old-school Telecaster and a harmonica head-gear
contraption that he'd dramatically bust out of every so often like
a young Forrest Gump breaking free of his leg braces. Perhaps it
was the relief from the ear-piercing harmonica (one of the sound
guys watched the Yankees game through much of the set), perhaps it
was simply G's infectious enthusiasm, but the crowd ate up every
gangly leg thrash and mike dip that he dished out.
As impressively encompassing as G. Love's sound is, taken together
the songs tended to blend together into a nondescript globule of
routine rock maneuvering. Familiar melodies were rehashed with
candy-coated sarcasm to appeal to a crowd that had seen and heard
it all. All music genres were accounted for but none were truly
represented. As a result, fans seemed to leave the show like they
would a Will Smith summer blockbuster -- entertained but with not a
lot to think about. The old "less is more" saying seems fitting in
retrospect, but at the time, it seemed G. could do no wrong...for
the love was strong...yo.
BEN BRASHARES
(August 30, 1999)