Star-Telegram Live Reviews

Sparks fly, fans swoon as Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony visit Dallas

by Preston Jones
pjones@star-telegram.com

DALLAS -- I'll get this much out of the way: Jennifer Lopez is, without question and unless I'm going seriously blind, pregnant.

Now that that's been dealt with, we can get to the matter at hand.

They say great couples balance each other out, adding or subtracting just what's needed to make their other half as whole as they can be. It's a line of thought that was made flesh Tuesday night at the American Airlines Center as Jennifer Lopez and her husband, Marc Anthony performed en concierto.

He cut his teeth as a Latin pop star, belting out visceral Spanish-language hits in that clear, ringing voice of his; she broke out as an actress, circling back around to singing lightweight pop songs that detoured into Spanish-language fluff, becoming a brand unto herself and helping keep the tabloids in business. They are two distinct personalities elevated by the other's presence in their lives -- Anthony's not one for gloss (although it's clear from watching him perform that he loves the spotlight) while she's not exactly known for having artistic credibility beyond MTV or the multiplex. Together, they make for one (mostly) impressive, albeit long, evening of entertainment.

While this tour is billed as a "co-headlining" gig, there was no mistaking who the majority of the not-quite-full room was there to see -- but they were made to wait for 90 minutes as painfully unfunny comedian Joey Vega took the stage for a mercifully brief set, followed by a solid hour-long showing from Anthony.

The bulk of his set were songs from his Spanish-language albums -- his obligatory English-language singles (You Sang to Me and I Need to Know) were tossed in as well -- and the charismatic vocalist worked the adoring audience for all he was worth. Seemingly electrified by his 12-piece band's astonishing sound, Anthony would egg on the musicians, all the while dancing as if he couldn't help himself. It was pure sonic showmanship that laid bare Anthony's years of experience; he posed for pictures, blew kisses into the crowd and let them sing verses of his own songs like a pro.

There was little time for introspection, as Anthony kept the vibe and the room popping -- from first song to last, the humble superstar emitted enough energy to power several small countries.

The lights dimmed for a brief moment and soon, his wife Lopez appeared to the strains of current single Do It Well. Whereas Anthony could belt with the best of 'em and hold notes until his eyes bugged out, Lopez's voice has always been her biggest liability.

She's not a vocalist so much as she's an intense physical performer that gets plenty of mileage out of her infectious smile and ceaselessly gyrating hips. The only problem when you're, from all outward appearances, in the early stages of pregnancy is that it becomes difficult to execute the moves you once so deftly did. No worries -- a small army of back-up dancers joined Lopez onstage to twist, bounce and otherwise shake it like Jenny from the block used to.

That thin, reedy voice also can't stand up to a live band, which fluctuated in size from six to nine members and frequently threatened to drown out Lopez completely. Given her well-publicized inclinations towards perfectionism, why on Earth would one of pop's most visible stars embark on her inaugural tour and not make sure that A) she could move like she needed to and B) tweak the live arrangements so that her voice wasn't lost amid a wall of instrumentation?

But if these aspects were bothering her, you'd never know. While she seemed much less ingratiating than her husband, Lopez did appear touched by the raucous reception. Her set was a few songs longer (and hotter - literally; the diva employed scads of mini skyrockets, walls of flame and other indoor incendiaries) than her husband's, but less fulfilling.

And, of course, the finale featured what everyone came to see: Husband and wife serenading each other, gamely attempting to create the illusion that they were singing to one another alone, without a few thousand eyes absorbing the scene in a weird bit of ticketed voyeurism. The two sang as one, Anthony's strong voice trying not to squash Lopez's lesser voice, making you believe that, despite all of the fevered attention and arguably unnecessary drama, they just might bring out the best in each other.

Preston Jones is the Star-Telegram pop music critic, 817-390-7713

Fall Out Boy sets the night on fire

by Preston Jones
pjones@star-telegram.com

GRAND PRAIRIE -- When you get right down to it, Fall Out Boy knows exactly what they're doing.

During a breathless 80-minute set Wednesday night at Nokia Theatre, Patrick Stump, Pete Wentz, Joe Trohman and Andy Hurley bathed in the shrieks of an adoring and (mostly) teenaged crowd that shouted back the lyrics for nearly every single song.

The quartet relied on plenty of pyrotechnics (of the physical and musical variety), video screens that scrolled inane text messages ("OMG! Katee rulez!") and a slate of like-minded pop-rock acts (Gym Class Heroes, Plain White T's and Cute Is What We Aim For). From the moment FOB (as those text-happy tweeners like to call 'em) took the stage, the room was a sea of squealing faces, outstretched arms and glowing cell phones aimed at the objects of affection.

Of course, while they were seducing the high school crowd with the multimedia razzle-dazzle, Wentz, in particular, went out of his way to scandalize the adult chaperones in the crowd, injecting plenty of profanity into his between-song banter. Oh, kids today -- they learn to swear so fast. Is he the filthy voice of the Facebook generation?

But the main attraction was the durable, reliably brief songs; on record, Fall Out Boy have nearly mastered the art of cramming a lot of words and sounds into a three-minute space. This radio-friendly approach works in heavy rotation, but tends to make concerts feel a bit repetitive. Sugar, We're Going Down slides into, say, This Ain't a Scene, It's an Arms Race with little to distinguish the two; bassist Wentz fairly bludgeons any nuance right out of the live performance, leaving the vocally acrobatic Stump (who, in concert, sounds like Rick Astley and Steven Page's love child) to work twice as hard.

With a brief acoustic interlude providing some respite from the flame cannons and rapid-fire music video backdrops, Fall Out Boy ended the night with Thnks fr the Mmrs, a current single and one of the best tracks from Infinity on High. I was glad when it came -- the palpable energy of a Fall Out Boy performance is simultaneously impressive and utterly draining; the cumulative effect was something like being bodyslammed by sound waves. Am I that old already?

Preston Jones is the Star-Telegram pop music critic, 817-390-7713

Ryan Adams: A bit aimless, but no anger

by Preston Jones
pjones@star-telegram.com

DALLAS -- If you wandered into Southern Methodist University's McFarlin Auditorium in between songs Friday night, you'd have been forgiven if you thought some sort of experimental comedy routine was underway.

The predictably unpredictable Ryan Adams and his Cardinals limned a nearly three-hour performance (split into two roughly equal halves and an encore) with absurd asides, goofy noises and an amusing disregard for the very vocal hecklers who, by turns, clamored for Adams to strip down, play certain songs or play ... well ... anything.

Most of the evening was taken up with devastatingly beautiful country-rock, the sort that would make Gram Parsons weep with joy. But for every glowing, near-perfect moment of melody and harmony, there would be another three or four minutes of aimless puttering around the stage. So obsessed was Adams with getting the onstage sound just right that'd he twist and tweak endless knobs and shout to off-stage assistants to calibrate the amps and monitors.

He seemed to forget that concerts are designed for rawness and spontaneity -- it's what makes them more fun than, y'know, sitting at home in the dark with a record turned up loud. Also, for someone who's almost pathologically prolific, Adams certainly can waste time onstage. He performed only 24 songs in almost three hours -- imagine what he would've accomplished if he'd spent less time jawing with the Cardinals and adjusting his guitar pedals.

But perhaps I shouldn't begrudge Adams his obvious good mood -- he complimented the crowd more than once on its welcoming attitude while he and the Cardinals toasted Dallas before digging into the four-song encore -- and relish an opportunity to see the musician, in fine, strong voice, tackling an array of material, dating all the way back to his 2000 solo debut Heartbreaker. There was no trace of the petulant troubadour that's reared his head elsewhere on this tour -- Adams never so much scowled during his time onstage in Dallas.

While he didn't linger for too long on any one period of his career to date, the singer/songwriter did approach familiar works in a consistent, curious fashion. Reshaping relatively up-tempo numbers like Let It Ride or Rescue Blues as sludgy epics, distended and draped with dramatic flourishes. It made for an almost glacial pace at times, the deliberative renditions sapping energy from the room.

Just when you felt the momentum slipping away entirely, Adams would gleefully rip into a track like A Kiss Before I Go and remind you all over again why he's such a vital artistic force. Better, I suppose, to have Adams a bit aimless than angry.

Preston Jones is the Star-Telegram pop music critic, 817-390-7713

Buzz-worthy trio shines at Kimbell

By Matthew Erikson

merikson@star-telegram.com

FORT WORTH — Musical configurations of all sorts were heard during Tuesday night’s concert by the Kavafian-Schub-Shifrin Trio on the Cliburn at the Kimbell season opener at the Kimbell Art Museum.

The ensemble played trios as well as duo sonatas. Ani Kavafian took turns playing the violin and viola. And a pesky stage light droned incessantly during the group’s mostly chronological tour of Mozart, Faure, Poulenc and Bartok.

“Do you hear that?” asked Kavafian at the beginning of the concert, pointing to the light with her bow. Many in the audience nodded. By the end of the evening, she quipped that Bartok’s Contrasts had become a quartet instead of a trio.

This is the second consecutive season that the Cliburn Foundation has presented concerts at this museum, after a several-year hiatus. Let’s hope that they correct this problem before the next date in December.

Fortunately, the musical values of Tuesday night’s performance outweighed the distraction.

Kavafian, 1981 Cliburn Competition gold medalist Andre-Michel Schub and clarinetist David Shifrin have played together for 25 years. Longevity is not always a virtue for chamber ensembles, but this trio has managed to stay fresh.

As violist in Mozart’s so-called KegelstattTrio (K. 498), Kavafian played with an overexcitement a bit at odds with Shifrin’s mellower tone and Schub’s alert, tasteful accompaniment. Her overplaying was most conspicuous in the work’s proto-Schubertian rondo movement, where song-like phrasing counts for more than attack.

Better was Faure’s A major Sonata for violin and piano. There, Kavafian’s rich, 19^th-century sound seemed a good match for the music’s sensual harmonies and rampant virtuosity.

After intermission, Schub returned to the stage, this time with Shifrin in Poulenc’s Sonata for Clarinet and Piano. While in the beginning, their spirited playing undermined the “tristamente” (somberness) of the first movement’s tempo marking, there was much else to love. Shifrin captured the sonata’s cool elegance with a fine sense of color and articulation. Schub’s filigree and phrases came off with elan.

With its white-hot display of virtuosity, jazzy syncopations and tight ensemble, Bartok’s Contrasts for Violin, Clarinet and Piano ended the evening right, down to the hijinks of the work’s final dance movement.

Background noise or not.

Matthew Erikson is the Star-Telegram classical music critic, 817-390-7173