This week, the Arts Watch page is featuring the best and worst concerts of the year as chosen by Tribune freelancers and staff writers; today’s lists are by music writers Steve Knopper and Bill Meyer. For the all the best and worst lists by staff critics and others, go to metromix.com/go/criticsreviews.
Best concerts
– Brian Wilson at the Chicago Theatre on July 22: Everybody talks about Wilson’s 45-piece orchestra finally doing justice to the Beach Boys’ 1967 classic “Pet Sounds” for the first time on stage — and yes, “Caroline No” and “I Know There’s An Answer” were spectacular even if Wilson couldn’t hit the high notes of his younger days. But my epiphany didn’t come until after “Pet Sounds,” when the orchestra left and an enthusiastic Wilson led his rock ‘n’ roll band into “I Get Around,” “Surfin’ U.S.A.” and the rest. After decades of cynical Beach Boys driving their hits into the ground at Republican fund-raisers, among other places, hearing them close to their original innocence made my summer.
– PJ Harvey at the Vic on Dec. 15: If lines like “lick my legs, and I’m on fire!” and “I want a pistol, I want a gun” weren’t tense enough on the records, British singer Polly Jean Harvey and her four-piece band turned them into stop-and-start roars. Harvey’s recent “Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea” isn’t her best album, but clear-voiced Patti Smith updates like “The Whores Hustle and the Hustlers Whore” and the punk-rock stomp of “Big Exit” and “This Is Love” came to life during this sold-out, rescheduled show.
– No Doubt at the Riviera Theatre on March 24: As punk rockers go, Gwen Stefani may be more of a lightweight sex symbol than a ska trailblazer, but she’s a whirlwind onstage, skipping, jumping up and down, peering into the balcony and saying “Look at that girl! Can I have that shirt?” and flailing her fluorescent pink hair in every direction. She also has a rebellious streak, demanding that the boys chant “I’m just a girl in the world” and embarrassing parental chaperones with sing-along profanity. No Doubt’s “Return to Saturn” may not have shook the world, but in Stefani’s hands it’s sure fun to watch.
Worst concerts
– Britney Spears at the New World Music Theatre on July 7: If Britney Spears wants to dress like a stripper and writhe suggestively around a pole, does she have to do it in front of thousands of pre-teens and their mothers? Though MTV and Rolling Stone magazine have blown up Spears and her brethren into far more importance than the here-today-gone-tomorrow teen-pop genre deserves, she’s at least responsible for bubblegum classics like “Oops … I Did It Again.” But her concert was a soulless extravaganza of costume changes, sub-Janet Jackson choreography and not-so-subliminal advertising.
– Christina Aguilera at the Star Plaza Theatre on July 4: Teen-pop’s princess-in-waiting is “the one who can sing,” which Aguilera tried to prove by tackling Etta James’ R&B classic “At Last.” Problem is, in every second of every song, the superskinny teen siren in even-skinnier leather-bikini outfits has no “off” switch for her vocal cords. Like Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey, Aguilera fills every space with a high-pitched hum or yodel, short-circuiting the soul she almost certainly has the talent to create.
— Steve Knopper
Best concerts
– John Fahey at the Empty Bottle on Oct. 1: John Fahey’s recent shows here have been uneven. Using borrowed electric guitars, he alternated between fluent, reflective picking and aimless meandering. This time he brought both an acoustic guitar and his undivided attention. Hunched over the instrument like a gray-bearded buddha, he used his sure and subtle touch to weave a compelling stream of consciousness blues tapestry that was wrung dry of sentimentality, but teeming with remembered hope and despair.
– Oval at Danny’s on Oct. 2: The lights and guitar racket that blew out of Danny’s front door promised rock ‘n’ roll. But inside, their was no combo rocking out, just one guy with a laptop computer plugged into the tavern’s sound system, blasting the sounds of rhythmically skipping CDs and electronically treated feedback. The one man electronic band Oval solved one of modern electronic music’s problems — that its performers look like cybercafe patrons checking their e-mail — by eliminating the stage altogether and putting the focus on his vertiginous music.
– Pole at Subterranean on Oct. 17: Pole, another computer-toting one man band from Germany wedded random experimentation to dance floor discipline. Betke makes music out of the bursts of static emitted by broken equipment. But he’s also a veteran DJ who knows how to get people on their feet. He busted a few moves of his own as he bopped joyously between his computer and his mixing board, whipping dubby bass lines and echoing crackles into a propulsive whorl.
– Alexander Von Schlippenbach, Sven-Ake Johansson and Axel Dorner at the Rennaissance Society on Nov. 25: This concert celebrated the first American releases by veteran European free jazz musicians Alexander Von Schlippenbach and Sven-Ake Johannson by Chicago’s Atavistic label. Their respective solo sets confirmed each man’s skill at commanding a room; the former with his rumbling piano, the latter with poker-faced physical comedy. But a surprise appearance by their youthful protege, trumpeter Axel Dorner, stole the show. His streams of windtunnel wooshes and grainy rasps sounded more marvelously strange than any alien’s extraterrestrial transmissions.
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– Yo La Tengo at Metro on March 4: Yo La Tengo’s first show in Chicago after an extended absence was a gamble. Usually the trio gets crowds on their feet by playing dynamic, indelible melodies spiked with howling guitars. This time they paradoxically employed two post-punk guitar stars, David Kilgour (of the Clean) and Mac MacCaughan (of Superchunk), to help deliver a set of mellow, keyboard-heavy grooves. The risk paid off — this was the most gorgeous and atmospheric concert they’ve ever performed here.
– Giant Sand at the Empty Bottle on April 27: Giant Sand concerts are like old Road Runner cartoon — you never know if the players will walk on air or fall to their doom. On this night, no one’s feet touched the ground. The band mixed up punk, country, tango, and boogie-rock bases with impressive ease. But it was the way they connected with bandleader Howe Gelb’s curve balls, like playing randomly selected cassettes through his guitar’s effects pedals, that made the show a knock-out.
— Bill Meyer