PERFORMING ARTS

Taylor Hicks

Taylor Hicks may not have the looks that are expected from an "American Idol" winner or sing a style of music that is pop-radio-friendly, but the Birchmere's sold-out crowd hardly seemed to care. In fact, Hicks himself seemed thrilled to indulge in his personal favorite genres on Sunday night, as his soulful croon massaged a snippet of Bill Withers's "Use Me" into the end of his song "Heaven Knows" (whose piano riff is itself a homage to Hicks's hero Ray Charles).

Hicks's overpowering backing band of seven musicians left very little room for subtlety, as much of the evening's music was performed at a constant high volume. To his credit, Hicks boomed over even the loudest instrumentation: his smooth, smoky voice carried the thunderous "Dream Myself Awake" and the Jackson Browne-ish "The Deal." While the merits of hearing every word could be debated (such cheesy lyrics as "I can't get enough of you, baby!" might have been better drowned out), Hicks was wholeheartedly committed to every onstage move.

And his fans loved him for it. From a killer bout on the harmonica ("The Runaround") to his trademark awkward, jerky dance moves during a cover of Traffic's "Medicated Goo," he induced squeals of delight around the room. Those moments showed his genuine flair for entertaining, but a few quieter, subtler songs could have given him the versatility of a true performer.

-- Catherine P. Lewis

New York Festival of Song

Since its inception in 1988, Steven Blier's New York Festival of Song has received repeated accolades for presenting adventurous romps through an unusual art song repertoire. Sunday's "Amores Nuevos," presented in the superb Gildenhorn Recital Hall at the Clarice Smith Performing Arts Center, was no exception.

Supported by Blier at the keyboard, sopranos Michelle Areyzaga and Jennifer Aylmer, tenor Jeffrey Picón, baritone Ricardo Herrera and percussionist James Baker, the program unfolded a ravishing array of little-known musical delights before a small but smitten audience. Blier's enduring power to charm stems from his impeccable taste in far-ranging musical styles, a knack for selecting just the right singers, his intellectual curiosity and masterly storytelling, and a willingness to wear his heart on his sleeve. He is unabashedly romantic, and so was the music.

The program ranged from the Schubertian elegance of Argentina's Carlos Guastavino to an "after hours" selection of Latin American popular song. Highlights included Herrera's smoldering "Mi vida es cantar" from a Cuban zarzuela of the 1930s, Aylmar's intense portrayal of Alberto Hemsi's sinuous Sephardic songs, Picón's achingly sad rendition of Ariel Ramírez's "Alfonsina y el mar" and Areyzaga's fragile evocation of love and loss in Narcís Bonet's "Haidé." At the evening's conclusion, one was left with a sense of deep gratitude for Blier's generous sharing of his "new loves" with the audience.

-- Sarah Hoover

Man Man

Man Man's first victory at the Rock & Roll Hotel Sunday night was simply fitting all its gear onstage. The Philly quintet is sprawling like a junkyard. Its second triumph came in whipping a chunk of the crowd into a good approximation of a frenzy using the same landfill approach: beyond its lauded mix of Tom Waits, Captain Beefheart and Frank Zappa, Man Man coughed up Eastern Bloc reels, chunks of free jazz and New Orleans strut, flecks of Carl Stalling and Danny Elfman, even a trickle of '70s boogie mavens War.

Clad in their trademark all-white getups, the Man Man men -- selected to open the Modest Mouse tour starting later this month -- attacked their songs like urban savages. Switching instruments and beating and banging (pots, pans, slide whistles, trumpet, sax, mini-bullhorn and a jangling duck were all employed), the quintet veered into dead stops that led to burly chants that dissolved into upper-register, la-la-la trilling. This is a band, after all, whose clearest vocal hook runs "When anything that's anything becomes nothing, that's everything."

Individual tunes -- springs-sprung shifters like "Banana Ghost" and "Engrish Bwudd"; the relatively straightforward "Van Helsing Boombox" -- did surface, but it eventually became clear that the surrounding frenzy was regimented: leader-pianist-singer Honus Honus kept close watch on his cohorts, signaling cues and making sure the nearly nonstop, hour-long set was of a piece. And that made deciding whether Man Man had really scored a victory tricky. Was that dull chest ache at set's end the effect of being rocked hard and swung fast or was it just a skillful art attack?

-- Patrick Foster