Fact #177430
When:
Short story:
America play at Ritchie Coliseum, University of Maryland, College Park, Maryland, USA, supported by J.D. Souther.
Full article:
Chuck Petrowski (reviewer, Diamondback) : It's the whole mystique. Tattered jeans, ratty tennis shoes, raggedy hair and an old T-shirt worn three days straight, all covering USA, musical talent. And the whole business of slinking on stage before thousands of panting fans.
That stereotypical image has become commonplace in folk-rock music nowadays, but nowhere is it more evident than in the latest of the young-genius supergroups, America. The whole idea that, "I'm just one of you: I'm not an Air Force brat overflowing with musical talent that made a super-selling album in England about America."
Their performance at Ritchie Coliseum last Thursday was well-timed and well-planned, but on a personal level the group has a hard time filling in the blanks, making the difference between a good performance and a good show.
After a Sebastian-ish set of tunes by lead-on man John David Sounder, America sauntered up, guitars already on, dashed off a quick hello and moved right in to "Riverside," the first cut on their first album, and every concert since they started their tour about a month ago.
The songs are, of course, fine enough and were done closely enough to the recordings to preclude, an in-depth exploration here. America are (or is, or something), however, a very good continuation of the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young revival of the Buffalo Springfield that has found such a place in American music in the past two or three years.
Their acoustic set was predictable and the playing loose enough to be enoyable, but at times it seemed like America would rather be playing Frisbee somewhere else. Conversation and audience contact between the group was forced and dry - their act needs a bit of polishing. Such things as getting in tune between songs brought not a lull between numbers but an uneasy silence.
Further, their back-up men were often more animated and inexcusably hyperective - than the group. Bassist Dave Caty did a good job of jumping up and down, wincing at high riffs, smiling at the group members and obviously throwing himself into his playing. He's not a bad bass player, either. Drummer Dave Atwood did his best to shatter soft songs like "I Need You" and "Horse With No Name" with incessant and merciless banging on his miked-to- the-hilt trap set.
The whole thing came much more together during the electric set - which is probably, from the look of sheer happiness on the band's part ; the direction their further work will be going. Away from "Ventura Highway" and over to "Cornwall Blank" and "Sandman". But no loss. Both are equally well-written. Anyway, Atwood's banging and Caty's acrobatics seemed a bit more in place during the electric numbers, and America seems to have more fun playing them.
The Jamming, however, was very cautious and seldom got past the basic progressions. It seemed that while Gerry Beckley is the techncian of the group; he's also the least amenable to exploring new worlds in the middle of a song like "Sandman," so while Beckley was doing the ol' progression conventionally, Dan Peek was battling trailblazer Dewey Bunnell to keep the extended guitar work short and sweet. Too bad. If they had really let loose some quite exciting jamming could have taken place. Lord knows Atwood and Caty were up for it.
Three encores later one got the feeling that it was all much too contrived. For instance, the stage was strewn with planters, reminiscent of the back-cover photo of their first album that made them took like fugitives from an arboretum. Peek thanked everybody for the plants - not mentioning that their presence was in the group's contract. And, "We're supposed to thank Howard. president of ... well. . . you should know. . . " And so on.
But, all in all, it was a competent portrayal of the kind of music that sort of hangs together: guitar, vocals, lyrics and so forth, you should know. As for the polish, it might be well to see America again two or three years from now - when all of the members will at least be twenty-one. Maybe then they'll wear jeans without patches.
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That stereotypical image has become commonplace in folk-rock music nowadays, but nowhere is it more evident than in the latest of the young-genius supergroups, America. The whole idea that, "I'm just one of you: I'm not an Air Force brat overflowing with musical talent that made a super-selling album in England about America."
Their performance at Ritchie Coliseum last Thursday was well-timed and well-planned, but on a personal level the group has a hard time filling in the blanks, making the difference between a good performance and a good show.
After a Sebastian-ish set of tunes by lead-on man John David Sounder, America sauntered up, guitars already on, dashed off a quick hello and moved right in to "Riverside," the first cut on their first album, and every concert since they started their tour about a month ago.
The songs are, of course, fine enough and were done closely enough to the recordings to preclude, an in-depth exploration here. America are (or is, or something), however, a very good continuation of the Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young revival of the Buffalo Springfield that has found such a place in American music in the past two or three years.
Their acoustic set was predictable and the playing loose enough to be enoyable, but at times it seemed like America would rather be playing Frisbee somewhere else. Conversation and audience contact between the group was forced and dry - their act needs a bit of polishing. Such things as getting in tune between songs brought not a lull between numbers but an uneasy silence.
Further, their back-up men were often more animated and inexcusably hyperective - than the group. Bassist Dave Caty did a good job of jumping up and down, wincing at high riffs, smiling at the group members and obviously throwing himself into his playing. He's not a bad bass player, either. Drummer Dave Atwood did his best to shatter soft songs like "I Need You" and "Horse With No Name" with incessant and merciless banging on his miked-to- the-hilt trap set.
The whole thing came much more together during the electric set - which is probably, from the look of sheer happiness on the band's part ; the direction their further work will be going. Away from "Ventura Highway" and over to "Cornwall Blank" and "Sandman". But no loss. Both are equally well-written. Anyway, Atwood's banging and Caty's acrobatics seemed a bit more in place during the electric numbers, and America seems to have more fun playing them.
The Jamming, however, was very cautious and seldom got past the basic progressions. It seemed that while Gerry Beckley is the techncian of the group; he's also the least amenable to exploring new worlds in the middle of a song like "Sandman," so while Beckley was doing the ol' progression conventionally, Dan Peek was battling trailblazer Dewey Bunnell to keep the extended guitar work short and sweet. Too bad. If they had really let loose some quite exciting jamming could have taken place. Lord knows Atwood and Caty were up for it.
Three encores later one got the feeling that it was all much too contrived. For instance, the stage was strewn with planters, reminiscent of the back-cover photo of their first album that made them took like fugitives from an arboretum. Peek thanked everybody for the plants - not mentioning that their presence was in the group's contract. And, "We're supposed to thank Howard. president of ... well. . . you should know. . . " And so on.
But, all in all, it was a competent portrayal of the kind of music that sort of hangs together: guitar, vocals, lyrics and so forth, you should know. As for the polish, it might be well to see America again two or three years from now - when all of the members will at least be twenty-one. Maybe then they'll wear jeans without patches.