POP MUSIC

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Kenny Loggins

The music of Kenny Loggins is lodged deep in the baby boomer psyche -- the soundtrack to every rite of passage on the road to middle age. How many seductions in the 1970s were conducted to "Danny's Song"? How many '80s weddings featured "Forever"? How many of the resulting babies were burped to the gentle strains of "House at Pooh Corner"? The numbers are incalculable.

So it's no wonder that Loggins sold out two shows at the Birchmere this week, rewarding the faithful with a mix of classic favorites and newer songs from last year's CD, "How About Now." Fronting a tight four-piece band, Loggins was in fine form on Tuesday night, looking and sounding far younger than his 60 years and still very much the boy-next-door of soft rock: upbeat, non-threatening and astoundingly gifted.

Most of the set was devoted to early songs, a few of them souped up for the 21st century. After opening acoustically with "Danny" and "Pooh," Loggins plugged in for hard-rocking anthems "Your Mama Don't Dance" and "Angry Eyes," led a falsetto-tinged singalong to "Celebrate Me Home," crooned the maudlin "The One That Got Away" and got the crowd roaring with the eternally irresistible "Footloose."

But it wasn't just a nostalgia-fest. "How About Now" never got much play (marketed exclusively through Target, it somehow failed to sell -- go figure), so Loggins is rereleasing it next month on a new label. And to judge by new tunes like "I'm a Free Man Now" and the title track, Loggins is writing as well as he did in his heyday -- still a master of the melodic hook and the diabolically catchy rhythm, but digging into the tough, painful issues of adult life.

-- Stephen Brookes

Mark Knopfler

Mark Knopfler could be the poster child for modesty, if such a thing weren't a complete contradiction. At his sold-out show Tuesday at Wolf Trap, everything about him was understated, from his vocals (a mellow murmur) to his outfit (jeans and a button-down shirt) to his stage chatter (he addressed the crowd only to introduce his six-piece backing band and to give the occasional thank you between songs). Even his guitar solos were unassuming; his deft finger-picking style is certainly impressive (especially on "Sultans of Swing"), but Knopfler didn't draw attention to it or flaunt any flashy rock-star moves. He just played the show.

That strategy made the evening even more compelling: His skill and style were apparent without the distraction of gimmicks or ostentation. It didn't hurt that he's surrounded himself with equally talented musicians. The interplay among violin, upright bass and Knopfler's guitar was the highlight of "Marbletown," as the three musicians drew out an extended decrescendo that lingered in its whispered plucking before eventually growing back to full volume.

Knopfler's voice was so deep and calm that he always sounded as if he were about to unveil a secret, particularly on the narrative "Sailing to Philadelphia" and on Dire Straits' "Romeo and Juliet." At times he was a bit too understated (his vocals should have been higher in the mix, especially in the first half of the show), but the number of standing ovations he received in the two-hour set indicated that the crowd didn't need showmanship to recognize his talent.

-- Catherine P. Lewis

The Ting Tings

As with a millionaire who wins the lottery, it appears that one way to get your song on an iPod commercial is not to care. Katie White and Jules De Martino, better known as the Ting Tings, call themselves an "unintentional band" who'd already had negative experiences in the biz when they joined forces in 2006. So they decided just to make music that their friends could party to, a punk/pop/dance blend built with the White Stripesian anchors of percussion, vocals and guitar. The unintended consequence? Silhouetted hipsters on TVs worldwide grooving to their single, "Shut Up and Let Me Go," followed by crazy buzz.

At the 9:30 club on Tuesday, the English duo blasted out a 45-minute set that proved the bulk of their still tiny repertoire is as catchy as that ubiquitous tune. With an ego-free yet electrifying stage presence that recalls Be Your Own Pet, De Martino grounded each song with deep, crisp drum work while the garage-glam White played guitar, danced and yelped like Jemina Pearl's big sis.

There was never a dull moment, but a couple of instances when the Tings' infectiousness was especially dazzling: "That's Not My Name" built to a thrilling frenzy with a titular chant that's part tribal, part cheer squad. And the pair froze during the set-closing "Shut Up and Let Me Go," waiting for cheers before going Blue Man on their instruments, with White whaling on a pedestal-perched bass drum until it toppled and then beating a cowbell furiously enough to make Christopher Walken proud.

-- Tricia Olszewski