Gregg Allman
Gregg Allman has a premier bluesman's résumé: He lost a brother and band mate to violent death. He's battled addictions and the law. He married Cher.
But long before any of the bad stuff happened, Allman already had a premier bluesman's voice. So, even though his professional life seems quite stable -- he's gigging at small venues and with musicians apart from the Allman Brothers Band not because he has to, but because he wants to -- he can call upon his natural gifts and still ooze the blues. Sunday night at an overstuffed State Theatre, Allman smiled and growled his way through a 100-minute set of bluesy tunes from his solo and ABB career.
Allman, 57, and his backing octet opened with a reworked, funky version of "Whipping Post" that, apart from the beautifully grizzled vocals, sounded more Neville Brothers than Allman Brothers. Guitarist Robben Ford, who's shared stages with legends before -- he backed Joni Mitchell and George Harrison early in his career -- came up with his own blistering solo licks rather than try to clone any of Dickey Betts's or deceased Brother Duane Allman's riffs on ABB classics including "Statesboro Blues" and "Midnight Rider." Allman, wearing a ponytail and sweating like Vegas-period Elvis all night long, covered Clarence Carter's "Slip Away" seated at his trademark Hammond organ. For "Melissa," Allman left the bench and did something he never gets to do with the Brothers: strummed an acoustic guitar.
Percussionist Floyd Miles, a regular on the Daytona Beach blues scene in the late 1960s when Gregg and Duane made their names, took the microphone to sing "Goin' Back to Daytona."
Allman ended the set with "I'm No Angel," one of his biggest solo hits. The 1987 tune features perhaps the best dirtball pickup line in rock history: "Come and let me show you my tattoo." Perhaps those are the words that landed Cher.
-- Dave McKenna
Arcade Fire
The 9:30 club stage seemed too small for the eight musicians of the Arcade Fire, whose Sunday night concert operated according to the formula that constant movement and shouting in unison create a powerful show. The group's music centered on the beats: Three simultaneous rhythm guitars drilled power chords that were accented by pounding drums and the yelping vocals of Win Butler and Regine Chassagne. Two violinists filled in the gaps, bringing out melodies in songs that were otherwise just percussive.
Most of the musicians rotated instruments like a holiday gift exchange, sometimes throwing a tambourine from person to person between songs. But not everyone played an instrument: During most songs, one or two members of the group would grab a pair of drumsticks and pound on anything in sight, even wearing motorcycle helmets for extra protection.
These energetic gimmicks won over the capacity audience more often than not: By the end of the set, the crowd was clapping along to the bouncy rhythm of "Rebellion (Lies)" and pounding fists in the air as "Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)" disintegrated into musical mayhem. Despite the energy and chaos, the songs weren't very memorable, and Butler's vocals were murky and often unintelligible.
The last song of the night, "In the Backseat," concluded with all eight members wandering through the downstairs audience, waving their instruments in the air, oooh-ing the song's final chorus in unison as they made their way upstairs and through the balcony crowd back to their dressing rooms.
The group's haphazard movements on stage were fascinating to watch, and it's a miracle there were no collisions all night. While its simplistic musical style and histrionic vocals had little substance, the Arcade Fire is certainly to be admired for its extreme and unwavering physicality.
-- Catherine P. Lewis
