Reviews
Smells like poor planning: Critic in closet is bad start for Weird Al gig
Del the Funkee Homosapien
Latino Comedy Fiesta | John Hiatt'
By Michael Corcoran
Sept. 2, 2004
Last week I wrote about how I answered an e-mail and phone call from Weird Al Yankovic's publicist in record speed because Weird Al is my son's favorite performer and I didn't want any bumps on the way to the show. Lotta good it did me.
When we arrived at the box office at the sold-out Paramount, we received, not tickets to the show, but a piece of paper granting us "standing room only" admission. Now, I've been reviewing concerts here for 20 years and I've never been "SRO" to a show that had reserved seating. The venue, the publicist and the artist usually want the critic, the one who will chronicle the event, to have as favorable an experience as possible.
 Sitting near the speakers isn't the best way to enjoy a Weird Al concert. Trust us. |
The usher led me and my son to a couple of folding chairs in a glorified broom closet about 15 feet from the stack of speakers at stage right. He said they were the only standing room seats in the house. We couldn't see the video screen, which would play a big part in the show.
The situation went from disappointing to intolerable when the theme from "UHF," the really bad Weird Al movie, came out over the PA to kick off the set. The bass and drums were so loud in that little alcove of pain that my pants were shaking. My son, who'd never been to a rock concert before, looked at me quizzically, as if to say, "is it supposed to sound like this?" and I started tearing up corners of a napkin to stuff in our ears. Yankovic opened with a polka medley of modern rock hits by the likes of the Hives, White Stripes and Eminem, but from our pathetic perch we could barely make out what he was singing. It was a relief when Yankovic sang the Celine Dion ballad "My Heart Will Go On" as a pizza deliveryman (all his lyrics seem to be about food or TV) because at least we wouldn't be bombarded by the kick drum for a few minutes.
Then it was back to old pounding and, after about three more songs, I went looking for Paramount management to see if we could, you know, possibly get through this thing without suffering permanent hearing damage. I found the guy who seemed to be running things. but he was little help. "We've sold every single ticket in the place," he said. What about no-shows? What about house seats? He shrugged and said that a good place to stand is in the upper level, by the exit sign, so we went up there. But an usher said we were blocking a fire exit and had to move. We stood for a while at the top of the stairway, as Weird Al did "Smells Like Nirvana" (which isn't so funny after the suicide), then we went downstairs and leaned against a wall. The crowd waved its arms in the air to "Amish Paradise," my kid's favorite Weird Al song, and I kept thinking how much fun my son would be having if he was in the middle of all that.
I can't stand when someone doesn't do their job right, but when my kid's made to suffer, well, um, (calm down) I've really gotta go now. I've got some phone calls to make.
Music
STILL FUNKEE AFTER ALL THIS TIME
It's been a rough summer for Emo's. Oh, there have been bright spots -- the Clutch show a few weeks ago was packed -- but on the whole, it's been a bit of a desert over at Sixth and Red River streets. But now, the Promised Land: The students are back. Boy, are they back.
Last weekend was the first one after colleges went back in session. I'm sure you remember the feeling: Freshmen out from under their parents for the first time, and upperclassmen macking on those freshmen. It's one of the greatest party weekends in American culture, and an absolutely jammed Emo's on Saturday night showed that the kids were ready to get down.
The mostly white audience -- one white dude was spotted wearing a T-shirt that read "Into Interracial," which really should have gotten some sort award for its balance between progressive and totally crass -- was there for Oakland rapper Del the Funkee Homosapien. Del has had an odd career. Always a critics' darling, Del has gone from underground rapper to major label wunderkind back to underground rapper since 1989, when his smart funny album "I Wish My Brother George Was Here" was released.
It was also a night to celebrate local hip-hop. The show kicked off with a duo called Earth Raiders, a white guy and gal from South Austin who, no kidding, dedicated a song to the Beastie Boys. Assassyn Dynasty followed.
Hap and Zeale 32's set might have been the most intriguing. Maybe it's Kanye West who made it safe for hip-hop to break out the nice threads, but these two guys appeared in actual suits, representing the ATX something lovely.
The California crew Chillin Villain Empire warmed up the crowd before Del -- in showbiz tradition, a far smaller man than you might think -- rolled out around 12:45 a.m. His tight set drew on older material and songs from his newer "Deltron 3030" album. He may be a little more underground than he used to be, but Del can pack the kids in.
Comedy
LAUGHTER'S A SHOE THING AT FIESTA
The unintentional theme for the sixth annual Latino Comedy Fiesta? A flexible, multipurpose piece of footwear called a chancla, or old shoe. The humble chancla -- updated here to flip-flops -- figured in numerous sketches by comedy groups from Chicago, San Antonio and Austin because of its common function as a punishment device for Mexican mothers.
Some mothers must have wielded it mercilessly, because every time a comedian swung a chancla, the audience at the State Theater on Friday went nuts. The first case was perhaps the wildest and the most apt, because the name of the group was -- what else? -- Chancla. The musical comedy duo of Gavino Barrera and Rene Rodriguez wrapped professional wrestling outfits around their ample bodies before reciting clever lyrics, but hit the night's most delirious spot with a high-pitched squealing match accompanied by flopping chanclas.
Urban poetry slammer Tommy Mendez was chancla-free, preferring to opine on personal experiences, especially of the cultural identity kind. Three full-scale sketch troupes followed and, to tell the truth, the most effective was Austin's Latino Comedy Project, whose writing is still top-notch and whose videos are remarkably polished. Covering topics from the local to the international, they were helped especially by the dead-on George W. Bush impression by "sprinkle" Nick Walker. That said, the whole cast was tight as a fist on opening night.
Also entertaining in its Austin debut was San Antonio's Comedia A Go-Go, whose appeal closely resembles LCP's. Their slightly raunchier material ranged over the cultural map, but returned often to the gap between older, more traditional Latinos and their offspring, who live in a transitional universe. Their spoof of "The Family Feud," with answers collected from "Mexicans on low-rider night" was typically funny, but overlong.
In contrast to the mostly Mexican American Texans, Chicago's Salsation counts members of Colombian, Puerto Rican and other Latino descent, so the humor and references were more diffuse. Also, many of its sketches seemed based on poorly extended improvisations rather than focused writing. Which meant there were as many low-energy misses as hits.
Salsation aside, audiences members needed no chanclas to enforce liberating laughter.
-- Michael Barnes
Music
A MAGICAL RIDE THROUGH HIATT'S TALES
From the moment John Hiatt took the Paramount stage Sunday night and began singing "Drive South," fans could sense they were in for a special night. They got two hours and 15 minutes worth, without a boring second.
Strumming an acoustic Gibson and tapping an amplified "foot stomper," Hiatt sang in a voice so commanding, so strong and true, he didn't need backing up (though he's equally engaging with a band).
One after another, he reeled off some of his finest tunes: "Memphis in the Meantime," "Buffalo River Home," "Real Fine Love," "Tennessee Plates," "Riding with the King," "Icy Blue Heart," "Cry Love" and "Thing Called Love." ("This is the part that li'l redhead left out," he said before singing a verse Bonnie Raitt skipped in her hit version.) The song he shouldn't have skipped was "My Baby Blue," one of his catchiest.
During an electric segment, Hiatt did "Feels Like Rain," his fingers running fretboard cascades that evoked the sound of drops sliding down a window -- or a face. And when he hit another of his almost endlessly sustained high notes, it seemed as if he might puncture black clouds with that gospel-soul falsetto. But on his standard piano encore, "Have a Little Faith in Me," he bypassed clouds altogether and aimed straight for heaven.
Though not every Hiatt song is drawn from personal experience, he makes us believe each one is, just by his ability to deliver them from the depths of his soul. And his storytelling ... he's a master, never faltering or rambling, even though he takes his time getting to the point -- usually a whammy punch line that cracks up listeners and endears him to them even more, if that's possible.
Opener David Lindley dazzled on several stringed instruments and offered doses of his own wry humor, later joining Hiatt for a banter-filled encore.
-- Lynn Margolis
