10 unforgettable concerts at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver

By Steve Newton

The Commodore Ballroom used to be the place to rock in Vancouver. As a kid growing up in Chilliwack in the ’70s, some of the best moments of my life involved cruising into the big city to see acts like Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, KISS, Sammy Hagar, and Molly Hatchet rip it up at the fabled Granville Street venue.

I don’t get out to the Commodore much anymore–the last show I reviewed there was the Age of Electric in 2016–but I sure have some fine memories of the place. Here’s ten of the top ones.

The Darkness, February 24, 2012

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I’ve seen a lot of great rock concerts at the Commodore over the years, but the one that’s always stood out for me as “best ever” was Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers back in ’78, just after the release of the You’re Gonna Get It! album.

I didn’t think that I’d ever see another club gig as consistently stellar as that one–until last night’s unforgettable performance by the Darkness.

I’ve gotta admit, I was not expecting anything nearly as stunning as what the British glam-rockers delivered on the Commodore’s hallowed stage. But I’m pretty sure they were inspired to greatness by the over-the-top antics of opening act Foxy Shazam.

That Cincinnati six-piece is fronted by lead vocalist Eric Sean Nally, a shrimp of a man who comes across as the greatest rock ‘n’ roll dynamo to ever somersault across the stage and then smoke four cigarettes at once (after bumming them from the crowd). This guy is a total nutcase in concert, real looney tunes. His performing style reminds me of what Nardwuar the Human Serviette would be like if he’d grown up worshipping the Sweet instead of whoever the hell he grew up worshipping.

Nally’s nerdy wildman blandishments accompanied hyper tunes from his band’s new album, The Church of Rock and Roll, which was produced by the Darkness singer-guitarist Justin Hawkins. But it wasn’t the material so much as the delivery that made the difference for Foxy Shazam.

“The best way to be in a successful band is to pretend that you’re in a successful band,” declared Nally, shortly after leaping onto the shoulders of guitarist Loren Daniel Turner and grinding his crotch into the back of Turner’s neck for longer than you would have expected.

After Shazam’s hilariously rocking performance the bar was set awfully high, but the Darkness dismantled it in a matter of minutes, starting with “Black Shuck”, the AC/DC-ish opening track off its smash 2003 debut, Permission to Land. Right from the start Hawkins let it be known that he was in it for fun. “Gimme a ‘D’!,” he hollered, then, “gimme an ‘arkness’!”.

With two cranked Les Pauls leading the way–one handled by Hawkins, the other by his brother Dan–the Darkness tore through radio hits like “I Believe in a Thing Called Love”, “Love is Only a Feeling”, and “Growing on Me”, but made them sound way more fierce live.

“It’s terrifying trying to follow those guys,” noted Hawkins about Foxy Shazam, and he did everything but stand on his head to compete with the openers. No wait–he did stand on his head, right in front of Ed Graham’s bass drum. Talk about upside-down ear damage.

The Darkness’s rampaging guitar noise would have been enough on its own to satiate any devotee of ’70s-style hard-rock, but they just kept pulling off the neat tricks anyway. At one point Justin Hawkins flicked a guitar pick, bounced it twice off the side of his foot, and caught it. I’d like to see Tom Petty do that.

Not to be outdone by the likes of Angus Young–or Eric Nally–Hawkins hopped on a roadie’s shoulders during the encore and got carried around the Commodore dance floor while laying down all matter of nasty guitar licks. That was about the time that I decided this was probably the best concert I’d ever seen.

Next to Thin Lizzy, of course.

Jeff Beck, February 17, 2001

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Jeff Beck is my favourite rock guitarist of all time, so I didn’t think twice about doing the necessary groveling to secure a couple of backstage passes for his sold-out show at the Commodore. Because my Beck-loving buddy Bones was celebrating a birthday that night, I bestowed one of the prized vinyl patches on him, and after the gig both of us waited, starry-eyed, to shake hands with the 56-year-old rock legend and maybe score an autograph or two.

Hoping to make a personal connection with Beck, I’d brought along a copy of a recent interview I’d done with him, but when I pulled it out he seemed slightly miffed by the story’s headline: “In the Presence of God”.

I told him that I didn’t write the headline, but the damage had been done. He clearly didn’t appreciate being referred to in divine terms. But then why had he just spent the last 90 minutes proving his omnipotence on the Commodore stage?

Beck can quibble with the analogy all he wants. To me, he’s the Almighty when it comes to electric guitar. I’ve never heard anyone make the instrument come alive in so many ways, and while utilizing so few gadgets. Sure, there were plenty of prerecorded techno sounds sprinkled throughout last Saturday’s (February 17) set, but when it came to Beck’s performance, it was basically just Strat guitars and Marshall amps, used to conjure everything from honey-toned murmurs to cartoonish squawks, from low-end rumbles to high-pitched squeals.

He covered all the sonic bases while adventurously reinventing tunes by the Beatles (“A Day in the Life”), Muddy Waters (“Rollin’ and Tumblin’ ”), and Indian musician Nitin Sawhney (“Nadia”). But it was on his own material, such as the reggae-tinged “Behind the Veil” and the delicately soaring “Where Were You”, that Beck most prominently displayed his fiercely original fretwork.

Sturdy backup for his impassioned playing was provided by bassist Randy Hope-Taylor and new drummer Andy Gangadeen, who used to play with the Spice Girls and who showed up backstage wearing a dress, much to Bones’s dismay. Blond co-guitarist Jennifer Batten didn’t contribute nearly as many solos as she did when Beck played the Queen Elizabeth Theatre 17 months ago.

Apart from a couple of brief excursions to the microphone, she remained at stage left, looking sharp in a black top hat while gracefully weaving complex rhythm patterns. Beck had no mike of his own and didn’t say a word the whole time; he only nodded appreciatively and held up his arms to the ecstatic cheers of his devoted followers.

Isn’t that what gods are supposed to do?

The Tragically Hip, July 19, 1991

The first time I heard Bruce Allen’s late-night talk show on CFOX, I heard the Big A comment: “Colin James for five nights at the Commodore? Why?”

Was Allen jealous because Loverboy might never have had enough over-19 fans to accomplish the feat?

Did he fear that James might overshadow his own superstar, Bryan Adams?

Was he just looking for an argument?

Most likely the latter was true. And the fiesty manager may well have asked the same question about the Tragically Hip before their current five-show sell-out, which carries on until Saturday (July 20), at the venerable Granville Street venue.

But on both counts I’ve got an equally clever answer for the famed music mogul: Why not?

“It’s a wonderful pleasure to be here at the Commodore—finally,” announced singer Gordon Downie, whose band has played 86 Street, the Town Pump, and even the Vancouver Trade and Convention Centre during previous Vancouver visits.

The Cockeresque frontman kept the crowd entranced with his spazoid bird impressions while the Hip’s rough ’n’ tumble guitar/bass/drum noise built to a crescendo.

By the time the band had ripped through “Little Bones”, “New Orleans is Sinking”, and “Blow at High Dough”, the dynamic magic of Kingston, Ontario’s favourite sons was beyond argument.

I doubt if even Bruce Allen would have questioned their worth.

The Beat Farmers, November 23, 1990

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Before the Beat Farmers hit the stage last Friday (November 23) for the first of two weekend shows at the Commodore, a flock of young women—entrants in the La Hunt for La Goddess contest—was paraded before the assembled multitudes. But the crowd only had eyes for one big bearded mountain of a man, La Country Dick Montana.

Who needs imitation goddesses when there’s a real live Rock God in the house?

When Montana did come out to lead the San Diego band in a rowdy version of “Big Ugly Wheels”, he was sporting the trusty ski goggles that keep beer from stinging his eyes—and they came in real handy. Huge gouts of foaming brew were cheerfully heaped on the drummer/singer/MC, who stood there unflinchingly throughout the strange ritual that opens all the group’s Vancouver shows.

Montana may still be recovering from surgery for throat cancer, but the self-proclaimed “King of Sleaze” still delivered a wicked revamping of Kenny Rogers’ “Lucille” and sang a pseudo-rap tune before declaring that rap was officially dead. The Commodore crowd seconded the motion.

“I’ve got a boner for this town!” crooned the rude dude, in the closest he could get to a Frank Sinatra impression.

While Montana was the visual focus of the Beat Farmers show, the other band members certainly pulled their weight. Jerry Raney drove the band with his rugged rhythms, and fellow guitarist Joey Harris shone on a kazoo solo during “Happy Boy”. Tattooed bassist Rolle Love kept things together with his straightforward bass runs, dodging kamikaze beer bursts and stage-diving hooligans with uncommon skill.

The overall feeling in the Commodore throughout the Beat Farmers’ crazed set bordered on pandemonium; the antics of both the band and the crowd were enough to have you laughing out loud.

At one point during the proceedings it appeared that a huge fight was breaking out near the front of the bar—a mass of people tumbled into a table and wiped it out, comically dragging a string of balloons down from the balcony above. Then I noticed a pair of cowboy-booted legs dangling in the air on top of the mob and realized there was no cause for alarm. It was just Country Dick on his return trip to the stage, after being carried to the bar for a tequila.

Boy, some guys have it rough!

The Georgia Satellites, July 28, 1988

There’s nothing quite like your favourite bar band in your favourite bar to bring a tired body back to life.

After a long haul to Seattle last week to check out the Monsters of Rock show at the Kingdome, I was pretty tired, but it didn’t take much of the Georgia Satellites‘ raunchy brand of bastardized blues-rock to give me a second wind on the following night (July 28).

I felt better as soon as I walked into the Commodore and heard the band doing some serious damage with a version of “It’s All Over Now”. They would continue to do so with rowdy covers of “Memphis” and “C’mon Everybody” before eventually finishing off with (what else) “Great Balls of Fire”.

Other highlights of the show (which was moved from Expo Theatre because of poor ticket sales) included lead guitarist Rick Richards’ slide-guitar freakout on “Amazing Grace” and bassist Rick Price’s see-through guitar, which looks just like the Raven on my bedroom wall.

It was also very cool when the band played its first hit single, “Keep Your Hands to Yourself”, and tossed in bits of the Stones’ “It’s Only Rock ‘n’ Roll”.

Because that’s all it was, of course.

The Outlaws and Foghat, November 27 & 28, 1987

The raunchy guitar sounds of the ’70s were all the rage at the Commodore last weekend (November 27 and 28), with British boogiemeisters Foghat headlining over Florida-based southern rockers the Outlaws. But it was the triple-guitar attack of the openers that was the real highlight both nights.

I’d seen the Outlaws twice before, once when they played with Sad Cafe at the PNE Gardens around ’79 and then again when they backed up (believe it or not) Black Sabbath at the Coliseum in ’82. But I wasn’t so sure if the Florida Guitar Army would still have what it takes to get the old blood flowin’ this time around. When they started off with the country-rock gem “There Goes Another Love Song” on Friday night I knew for sure that they did.

The south had risen again!

With founding members Hughie Thomasson and Henry Paul leading the way, the workmanlike band won the crowd of 600-or-so over with such old faves as “Hurry Sundown”, “Freeborn Man”, and the classic “Green Grass and High Tides”. The latter tune–which builds up to a fiery crescendo of wailing guitars–can still send shivers up the spine.

The Outlaws finished things off with their revamped version of Stan Jones’ 1949 jewel “(Ghost) Riders in the Sky”, which was intersected by a superfunky solo by a big-haired bassist who looked like a reject from Platinum Blonde (but sure didn’t sound like it).

When it came their turn to shake the Commodore’s foundations, Foghat took a good shot at it with their own staple of old faves–“Fool For the City”, “My Babe”, and “Stone Blue”–but they kinda lost it with long drawn-out solos (as in “Honey Hush”) that just didn’t have the same from-the-heart feel to match the Outlaws’ guitar blasts.

Turning the volume way up didn’t help any, although the rock-till-you-drop crowd at the Commodore didn’t seem to mind, especially when the group swung into their popular version of Willie Dixon’s “I Just Want to Make Love to You”.

Before the night was over, the Outlaws came back on to join Foghat for an extended encore jam of “Riot in Cell Block Number 9”. You really can’t beat the sight of seven (count ’em) guitarists going hog wild with nasty blues licks. Long live the ’70s!

Johnny Winter, September 18, 1987

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Texas is famous for a few things. Lonestar beer. Redneck sheriffs. The Dallas Cowboys.

It’s also famous for an albino guitarist named Johnny Winter, who grew up in Beaumont, Texas, with a keyboard whiz brother named Edgar. When Johnny was just 15, the two released their first single, “Schoolboy Blues”, and the stage was set for Johnny to become one of the most prominent white blues players in the U.S.

He may not sell as many records or draw the crowds that fellow Texan Stevie Ray Vaughan does, but you gotta remember–before Stevie Ray could even copy the Ventures‘ “Pipeline”, Johnny was knocking people dead with lightning-fast blues licks and searing slide guitar.

And he was doing just that at the Commodore last Friday (September 18) too. After a well-received opening set by local party band the Fins, Winter took to the stage in his trademark black cowboy hat, jeans, and a sleeveless jean jacket that revealed arms full of fancy tattoos.

Johnny headed straight into a rockin’ 12-bar blues jam, with just a drummer and bassist-harp player providing the backdrop for his speed-demon riffs. Winter may have the fastest right thumb in rock, and when you buy a ticket to one of his shows, you get every nickel’s worth of notes.

For his second selection, Johnny went all the way back to 1945 for Bill Broonzy’s “Rock Me Baby”, a tune he also covered on the excellent Still Alive and Well album of ’73. After a few more blues-drenched numbers he pulled out his trusty Gibson Firebird and reached into his pocket to snag a slide for “Shake Your Moneymaker”.

Larry Williams’ “Bony Moronie” had the sellout crowd bellowing for more of the same, and he gave it to them with his famous rendition of “Johnny B. Goode”, the same one that made me wear out my copy of the landmark Johnny Winter And Live LP.

For his encore Johnny played another cut from Still Alive and Well, his version of the Stones’ “Let It Bleed”. “Rock and Roll Hoochie Coo” would have been a nice finisher as well, but nobody was asking for a refund.

NRBQ, January 29, 1987

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Not a lot of people showed up for NRBQ‘s Commodore Ballroom date last Thursday (January 29), but of the 500 or so who did, few went home disappointed. In fact, it’s fair to say that you’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who’s ever had a bad time at an NRBQ show, because the powerful fun that this foursome from Saugerties, New York, brews up on stage is much too addictive for that.

The New Rhythm & Blues Quartet are wild. They’re zany. They’re kooky. But most of all they’re very, very good, and when they get rolling there may not be a better live rock and roll band anywhere.

As usual, keyboardist Terry Adams was the centre of attention. With his blonde, page-boy locks flying, Adams used his elbows, forearms–and sometimes even his fingers–to beat nifty sounds from his trusty clavinet.

Mountainman guitarist Al Anderson (six-foot-four, 300 pounds) looked mean as he ripped raucous chords from his vintage Telecaster–but he also played pretty when the tune called for it.

Easygoing bassist Joey Spampinato stood calm and collected in the middle of things, casually laying down the bottom end. And drummer Tom Ardolino–who is prone to wearing black magician’s capes and lampshades on his head–skipped the antics and stayed mainly behind the skins, sluggin’ out the beat on tunes like “Michael Row the Boat Ashore” and “Get Rhythm”.

About the only thing you could complain about in NRBQ’s show was the conspicuous absence of any Cabbage Patch Kid tar-and-feathering. The last two times they played Vancouver–at the Commodore a year ago and Club Soda a few months before that–they finished their sets with such a poke at a puffy-faced CPK.

Stevie Ray Vaughan, August 29, 1985

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Since he flew onto the international music scene in 1983, people have been raving on and on about Texas guitar wizard Stevie Ray Vaughan. After his startling shows at the Commodore last week (August 29 and 31), you can bet that local blues-rock fans will be doing the same for some time to come.

It was Stevie’s third visit to Vancouver, having headlined the Commodore last year, and opened for (believe it or not) Men at Work at the Coliseum the year before that. It was also his finest show yet, due in large part to the addition of keyboardist Reese Wynans to his band, Double Trouble (now the group is getting known as “Triple” Trouble).

With the formidable backing of ex-Johnny Winter bassist Tommy Shannon and drummer Chris “Whipper” Layton, Wynans and Vaughan traded stirring, go-for-broke solos on such SRV favourites as “Love Struck Baby” and “Pride and Joy” (from Stevie’s debut LP Texas Flood), “Cold Shot” (from last year’s Couldn’t Stand the Weather), as well as material from an upcoming third LP, Soul to Soul.

Vaughan played for a solid two hours, during which time he wowed the crowd by playing behind his back, above his head, and all over the place. At one point he strolled off the front of the stage and across a few tables, where he pulled off the Hendrix trick of playing with his teeth.

His set also included “Voodoo Chile”, and an encore performance of “Angel”, which ended with a barrage of raucous noise worthy of Jimi himself. When Vaughan threw his axe to the ground and headed off stage he nodded at the crowd, tipped his wide-brimmed hat, and said “Serious trouble indeed.”

He wasn’t lying.

The Stray Cats, August 20, 1982

Talk about fun! I never thought I’d have such a bursting-out-laughing good time at the Commodore as I did in ’75 when Kiss was there, but last Friday (August 13) at the Ballroom Brian Setzer, Slim Jim Phantom, and Lee Rocker–the Stray Cats–had me grinning like a Cheshire kitty.

Not that the two bands invite much comparison. It’s just that both concerts seemed right on time. I was ready for the comic-book theatrics of Kiss back then, and I was ready for the cool-cat image and rockabilly righteousness of the Strays Friday night.

I got to the club a little late–I missed the opening act Los Popularos–but as soon as I got up the stairs and into the room the electricity of the whole affair caught me. Everywhere people were standing and shaking. A few even took to dancing on tabletops. And the front of the stage was sheer pandemonium.

All right, so I’m getting carried away. Let’s just say you had to be there. But it was quite a visual show.

Lee Rocker’s upright bass was a different sight, as was Slim Jim’s drum kit. He only uses one cymbal, one snare, and one bass drum–and a pair of sticks. Phantom and Rocker used their most basic of instruments to create a gelatinous platform for Setzer’s Cochranish boogyings and spirited lead vocals.

Songs like “Fishnet Stockings”, “Rock this Town”, and “Stray Cat Strut” kept a large number of the 1,000 or so in attendance on the dance floor throughout the show. After an energetic set and encore, the band left its fans fairly drained and satisfied from a non-stop dose of fifties rhythm ‘n’ boogie.

Only one unwanted incident occurred during the performance, when someone from the front of the stage was dragged out by a couple of burly bouncers. At that time Setzer was heard to snarl, “Nobody spits around here…this ain’t no f***ing punk concert.”

He was right. It sure wasn’t.

To read more than 300 of my other Vancouver concert reviews go here.