· The trouble with Nikka Costa is no one knows what to do with her. Witness her Dec. 3 concert. Originally booked for Top Cat's (the smallish venue with the pristine sound system) Costa was bussed down Short Vine the day of her show to Bogart's (the medium-sized venue with the questionable sound system).
No matter, because when ticketholders figured out where the red-headed hussy was screamin', they came ready to partay. But they had to first weather the Rock Star quasi-Funk of Freekbass and the musical Lithium of Miranda Lee Richardson, Costa's openers. The only thing more ironic than Costa's United Nations-like audience was that Freekbass boasted a much more elaborate paraphernalia set-up than Costa. While Freekbass' booth looked like something from a travelling carnival, Costa's teeny-weeny T-shirts strewn across a folding table more resembled an afterthought of a tour that was kickin' everybody's asses.
Costa took the stage like the bar-chick/Rock Star she is. At the urging of one of her keyboard players, the crowd --bikers, preppies, black gay men, Costa look-alikes and the middle-aged curious -- put their "motherfuckin' hands in the air" and welcomed the singer/songwriter who's been compared to everyone from James Brown to Janis Joplin. Costa jumped, shimmied, flashed ass cleavage and belted out a short set on par with Chaka Khan when she was thin enough to expose her Caesarian scar and when Rufus wasn't second billed on an oldies tour.
Likewise, her band, held tightly by a drummer who looked like America's No. 1 enemy, regurgitated rhythms that ran the gamut from thrash Rap and roadside lullabies to the crisp Funk of Earth, Wind and Fire. All the players sounded like they'd been sneaking into some Famous Flames rehearsals back in the day.
The beauty of Costa is not in her reselling and repackaging her influences. It's in the fact that she's manipulating the manipulative. Before the perfect one-two punch of Sly and the Family Stone's "Thankyoufalletinmebemicelfagin" and "Everybody's Got Their Somethin'," Costa told the crowd that she could answer all the people who've ever tried to pigeonhole her music by telling them to look at the crowd gathered in Cincinnati.
We were as different as her music is unclassifiable. (Kathy Y. Wilson)
· If anyone has doubts that turntables aren't an instrument, that spinning and scratching aren't true forms of musical expression, I highly suggest you purchase a DJ Spooky album and learn to appreciate the art form. Although I am a fan of this style, I wasn't converted into a DJ Spooky disciple until his amazing performance Dec. 6th at Top Cat's. The show, which was opened by anarchist Rap group, The Coup, began at least an hour late, but was definitely worth the wait. The Coup rapped their catchy lyrics over a five-piece band. Unfortunately, it was hard to hear them -- the sound system left something to be desired, with popping speakers and bad acoustics. But their performance was high energy, and warmed up the crowd quite well.
After The Coup, DJ Spooky, aka "That Subliminal Kid," pulled out the turntables and blew the roof off Top Cat's. The highly talented MC Jamalski accompanied him onstage. Jamalski, whose name is an acronym for Joyful Altruistic Metaphysical Ageless Lover Seeking Knowledge Internally, delivered rhymes in a raga-meets-robot ultra-fast fashion. His style complimented DJ Spooky's extremely well. The crowd was beaming as Spooky scratched and mixed with pinpoint precision. Many different styles of music were presented, including Hip Hop, Ska, Reggae, Jungle, Drum & Bass, and even a bit of Rock. His fingers flew across the records, provoking a heroic reception from the audience. During a freestyle session, local artists jumped onstage and flowed alongside Spooky's turntable wizardry, including Napoleon from Iswhat?! and Ras Fugi (also known as Rising Sun of the Storm Children). The set seemed a bit short, but apparently Jamalski was suffering from a sore throat and was rapidly losing his voice. He became a bit raspy toward the end, but if he hadn't pointed out his ailment, most would not have noticed. Overall, the show was an impressive, diverse, exciting night of music. The Wild Style is still alive, and DJ Spooky carries the flame. (Heather Jones)
· What happens when a band that somewhat cheekily apes all of the over-the-top theatrics of Arena Rock actually becomes an Arena Rock band? When Pop/Rock juggernaut Weezer exploded into the music world with their self-titled debut in 1994, the subsequent tours brought them to mid-size venues, where they would drag in their stage backdrop -- a huge, glowing "W," done up in the style of Van Halen's logo (which reminds me -- why don't more bands have "logos" anymore?). Seeing the band at a club like Bogart's was an intimate and entertaining experience, with band members fronting Rock Star poses, but doing it all with a sly wink.
Now, Weezer are playing the giant venues, as they did on Dec. 5 at the Schottenstein Center in Columbus. And the irony-schtick doesn't really hold up anymore, especially when your audience's average age seems to be around 18.
Musically, the group did a good job of representing each of their three albums, drawing some of the biggest response when they played cuts from their under-performing yet cultishly beloved Pinkerton album. The group also unveiled a few new songs from their forthcoming fourth album, including the expansive "The Dawn" and "Fall Together."
The group put on a somewhat subdued performance, with singer Rivers Cuomo standing still for the majority of the night as his posturing band mates seemed miles away on the huge stage. Cuomo mumbled to the fans quietly between songs, gracious but seemingly overwhelmed. While Weezer's music has, as the rabid crowd showed, a clear ability to connect on many levels with its fans, the enormity of the venue seemed to suck any kind of chance the band had to connect with them in a live setting.
On the other hand, openers Tenacious D actually seemed to benefit from the "arena" setting. The jokey acoustic duo were immensely entertaining, with singer/guitarist/movie star Jack Black patrolling the stage at times like some twisted Vegas act, talking directly to the assembled masses on the floor of the venue. The D's stripped-down Progressive Rock skewing has moved from the coffeehouse to the big time and it couldn't be more at home. The audience also became part of the joke -- half the crowd seemed massively befuddled by their hijinks, a quarter seemed to be familiar with their music and approach, and another quarter simply giggled hysterically when they said "butt" or used the "F" word. Bonus points for the cover songs selections -- Queen's Flash Gordon theme song and the theme from the old Fat Albert kids show. (MB)
