PERFORMING ARTS

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

'Los Hammer Kings'

The finale of the "Los Hammer Kings" show was everything you knew it would be, as three fiery veteran lead guitarists built up a thrilling three-hour head of steam that could only conclude in a seriously delirious sonic frenzy of strum and twang. Not bad for a Monday night at Jammin' Java.

The party started with guitarist Mark Gamsjager and his Lustre King bassist Todd Wulfmeyer joined by half of Los Straitjackets -- drummer Jason Smay and guitarist Eddie Angel -- for a blistering set of furious instrumentals and rockabilly vocals highlighted by Eddie "the Chief" Clearwater's "2 x 9," Ronnie Dawson's "No Dice," and "Humes High" and "Lone Wolf," both by Springfield's Tex Rubinowitz.

Guitar wizard Bill Kirchen and the Hammer of the Honky-Tonk Gods -- drummer Jack O'Dell and upright bassist Claude Arthur -- followed with a high-energy set that included tasteful and tantalizing runs on Nick Lowe's "When I Write the Book," Bob Dylan's "It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry" and Kirchen's own "Womb to the Tomb."

Then it was all hands in, with double drums, double basses, triple guitars and a proportionate amount of virtuosity in a generous third set that included extended, solo-studded versions of Dave Dudley's "Truck Drivin' Man" and Rubinowitz's "Hot Rod Man."

But wait, there was more: Austin transplant Marti Brom joined the bands for "(Now and Then There's) A Fool Such as I," followed by local vocal stalwart Martha Hull, who romped through "Feelin' Right Tonight," the fourth Rubinowitz cover of an exhausting evening.

-- Buzz McClain

B.B. King

B.B. King can play guitar and sing with as much power as ever. But after 82 years and what he says are 500 records, he'd rather talk. King's show at Strathmore on Monday was more banter than blues.

King has worked hard in this town. He did annual week-long runs at the Howard Theatre in the early and mid-1960s that had him playing five shows daily as part of touring revues that also included the Miracles, the Drifters and Flip Wilson. There isn't much he can add at this point to blues staples such as "Let the Good Times Roll," "Rock Me Baby" and John "Memphis Slim" Chatman's "Every Day I Have the Blues," the last of which King recorded in 1955.

So on this night, in between playing his standards, King talked. And talked some more. He spoke of working mules on the farm while growing up in rural Mississippi and of his trips through segregated Southern towns. He fretted, with a wink, about going through life failing to ever make a woman happy, despite using every chemical that medical science offers (he made frequent references to "Dr. Viagra" and "Dr. Cialis"). He was having such a good time telling tales, nobody tried to stop him.

The large crowd seemed just happy to be in a room with King, especially considering his age and much-discussed diabetes-related ailments. And, again, there was some music. As refined as the setting surely was -- the Strathmore concert hall is the stateliest room for pop shows in the area -- King was getting a beautifully distorted, or dirty, sound out of his guitar rig. During "When Love Comes to Town," a tune U2's Bono wrote for him, King delivered the feedback-soaked single-note leads that players in the seediest blues joints the world over have been trying to copy for decades.

But a highlight was his straightforward version of "You Are My Sunshine," delivered with a smile. Despite the Memphis Slim lyrics he's been singing for half a century, B.B. King must not really have the blues every day after all.

-- Dave McKenna

Paul Potts

Hype it and they will come. Paul Potts -- the sheepish cellphone salesman and would-be opera singer who won Simon Cowell's TV show "Britain's Got Talent" last summer and was handed a Sony recording contract -- played Lisner Auditorium on Monday, as part of an international tour. The rapturous response the capacity audience gave Potts's rendition of Puccini's "Nessun dorma" would have made one think Franco Corelli had come back from the grave to sing it.

No such luck. In fact, Potts's eager but meager tenor (a pleasant enough instrument for undemanding pop fare) was no match for all the repertoire he borrowed from Mario Lanza, Andrea Bocelli and the Three Tenors. But does it matter that his voice displays no discernible technique, support or skill at phrasing, that he's got a tin ear for sung languages (including, alas, English) or that his upper register strains into an unrelenting blare? Of course not. This guy's the Little Engine That Could, and his fans are happy to get onboard with no questions asked.

Potts is sharing his tour with a new ensemble called the Three Graces -- a trio of women with the genuine vocal chops, pop savvy and camera-loving looks that should take them far. Of course, their pedigree isn't retail, their first CD is only now being hyped, and Mr. Cowell hasn't informed the world they've "got talent." Accordingly, the audience was only grudgingly polite with its applause.

-- Joe Banno