PERFORMING ARTS

Monday, May 29, 2006

The Box Tops

The oddest thing about the Box Tops' performance Friday at George Mason University, really, was its lack of oddness.

The Memphis boy band broke up in 1970, but four of the original members -- guitarist Gary Talley, bassist Bill Cunningham, drummer Danny Smythe, and vocalist and frontman Alex Chilton -- still play out together a few times a year.

Chilton was introduced on this night as "the legendary Alex Chilton," but the crowd hadn't come to hear the influential material from his post-Box Tops stints with Big Star or as a solo act. They came for the old hits.

And, as this show reminded fans, there really was a time when kids by the millions sang along to Chilton's pop. The Box Tops' first recording, "The Letter," was the top-selling single of 1967, more popular even than anything put out that year by Lennon and McCartney. Chilton was 16 at the time.

From the opening bars of "Cry Like a Baby" to the end of the hour-long set, the only people having a better time than the fans were in the band. Chilton dedicated "Soul Deep" to anybody "180 years old who might remember this."

That dedication drew nods and cheers, since some portion of the crowd attended the band's last appearance in Fairfax: a gig at the W.T. Woodson High School football stadium in 1969.

The rough patches in the performance only added to the fun. On "Fields of Clover," a song about a guy longing for a girl from the 'hood who married up, Chilton sang, "Maybe someday you'll wave to me from across the tracks."

He then threw his hands up in the air and smiled wide, admitting he'd forgotten the rest of the words.

The set ended with "The Letter," which Chilton described as "the biggest hit we've had -- yet!" That's probably how he felt about the song as a 16-year-old, too.

-- Dave McKenna

Raul Malo

Raul Malo doesn't want to be taken seriously. There aren't a lot of singers whose gifts seem as obviously otherworldly as Malo's did throughout Thursday's show at the Birchmere. Yet he appeared almost unaware of his extraordinary genius.

Malo came to some level of fame in the mid-1990s as the lead singer of the Mavericks, a Miami-based combo that for a time was the funnest live act working the country-music circuit. Malo's voice, which melds Pavarotti and Presley, was the best thing about the party. Now touring with a backup trio under his own name, Malo played just one tune -- "O What a Thrill" -- from the Mavericks' stunning 1994 breakout disc, "What a Crying Shame."

He instead filled much of the 90-minute set with material he's yet to release, including several cover songs recorded with Peter Asher, the music industry legend who has managed James Taylor, Linda Ronstadt and Carole King. "The record will come out in July, one way or another," Malo said several times of the Asher sessions.

If this performance was any indication, the CD can't come out soon enough. Tops of the uniformly stellar bunch were "Welcome to My World," a much-covered tune (Dean Martin, Elvis) that Malo crooned as smoothly as Johnny Mathis could have, and "You're Only Lonely," a J.D. Souther heartbreaker that found Malo wading into Roy Orbisonian waters for the first of many times in the night.

-- Dave McKenna

The Walkmen

On their three albums, the Walkmen have produced invigorating and enigmatic indie rock using a deft combination of trebly guitars, distinctive organ, rumbling drums and crooning vocals. But at the band's show at the 9:30 club on Thursday night, one member stood out from the rest.

Wearing a white shirt, white pants and a mischievous grin, drummer Matt Barrick could have been mistaken for one of the droogs from "A Clockwork Orange." But he was as agile as a lightweight boxer behind the kit. For him, drumming is a full body activity, and as he bounced around on his stool, limbs flailing, he provided the key dynamic elements to eerie, atmospheric songs like "Don't Get Me Down" and "Wake Up."

The mellower material featured on the New York quintet's new album, "A Hundred Miles Off," provided some of the night's best moments. Vocalist Hamilton Leithauser's relatively restrained delivery on songs such as "Louisiana" and "Danny's at the Wedding" proved a better fit than his screaming on the more anthemic numbers. "The Rat," a breakout hit on 2004's "Bows + Arrows," still soared but was hurt by Leithauser's overbearing intensity. As he belted out the lyrics -- only partially into the microphone -- his eyes clenched shut and his face turned bright red as veins bulged out of his neck. Despite the spectacle, he still couldn't divert attention from the man in white behind him.

-- David Malitz