The 15 best rock concerts I ever saw at Vancouver’s GM Place

jeff vinnick photo

By Steve Newton

When the Vancouver Canucks moved their home rink from East Vancouver’s Pacific Coliseum to downtown’s GM Place in 1995, “the Garage” became the main place to see arena-rock shows in the city–at least until the name was changed to Rogers Arena in 2010.

During that 15-year period I saw quite a few gigs at the place. Here’s my reviews of 15 of the best ones.

AC/DC, November 28, 2008

Three seconds after I picked up my AC/DC tickets at GM Place on Friday (November 28), some dude waving a huge wad of cash offered me $400 apiece for them, then quickly upped the price to $450 when he saw where the primo seats were. Since they were reviewer comps, I stood to make a cool $900 out of the deal, which is a tad more than I bring in most nights.

Nine hundred smackers could translate to a mortgage payment and change, a nice addition to the kids’ college fund, or-better yet-a cherry Gibson SG, just like Angus Young’s!

I’d seen AC/DC in concert five times before, so how hard would it be to cobble together a fake review? Too easy, actually, since every AC/DC show is basically the same.

Before I could give in to the lure of easy money, though, something made me reject the scalper and walk away. Call it journalistic integrity. Or call it my wife standing there, looking unimpressed at the thought of not seeing the Aussie legends for the first time.

When we made it through the doors and onto the Garage concourse, the first thing that caught my eye was the blinking red devil-horns people had on their heads. They sold for 15 bucks at the AC/DC merch tables, and were everywhere. I had lots of time to gaze at them, because it took forever to wend our way through the sold-out crowd and get to our seats.

If there’s two things AC/DC fans adore, it’s T-shirts and beer, and the spillover from lineups for both resulted in serious human gridlock.

By the time we planted our butts in Section 117, Row 5, Seats 7 and 8, opening band the Answer had finished its half-hour set and people were gearing up for the headliner, gleefully high-fiving each other and hollering “AC-fucking-DC”. Before long, the lights went down and a cartoon of a speeding train flashed on the four huge video screens suspended above and beside the stage.

As it careened along the tracks, cartoon depictions of AC/DC vocalist Brian Johnson and a satanic, pointy-tailed Young were shown being serviced and stroked by various animated hotties, who eventually commandeered the choo-choo and caused it to “crash” into the back of the actual stage.

At that point a full-scale replica of the locomotive appeared on the stage, and would remain there as the centrepiece for a 20-song set that started with the recent hit “Rock N Roll Train” and ended with 1981’s “For Those About to Rock (We Salute You)”.

As is always the case at an AC/DC show, the greatest audience response came for the songs it recorded with singer Bon Scott, who fronted the band from 1974 until his booze-related death in 1980. Sure, Johnson-era gems like “Back in Black” and “You Shook Me All Night Long” never fail to rile fans up, but not to the same degree as “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”, “T.N.T.”, or “Highway to Hell”. And Young always puts on his wildest performances while recreating the sleaziest Scott-sung songs from the ’70s.

During the 1976 ode to gonorrhea “The Jack”, Young pulled off his patented striptease act, making one wonder if there’s anything more pathetic than 16,000-plus people clamouring to see the naked butt of a skinny, balding, 53-year-old man. When the moment came for his traditional mooning of the crowd, though, Young tugged his schoolboy shorts down to reveal only a flashy pair of AC/DC underpants. That’s not the type of thing you’d pay $450 for.

The show’s other props included the huge bell that Johnson swung from during “Hells Bells” and-in a tip of the hat to the Rolling Stones-an enormous inflatable ’ho that straddled the train during “Whole Lotta Rosie”. I’m guessing that hidden behind the row of Marshall cabinets that spanned the stage were several roadies who simultaneously jiggled the huge rubber skank to make it look like she was tapping her foot.

I’m also guessing that the tingling sensations emanating from the back of my skull while I took in that sight were the death throes of some brain cells I’m in dire need of.

Oh well, it’s only rock ’n’ roll.

Rush, May 29, 2008

When you’ve been around as long as Rush has, you can pretty well do as you please. If you don’t feel like doing any interviews to support your tour—even though you have a relatively new studio album, 2007’s Snakes & Arrows, to talk about—you don’t have to. And if you want to play a ton of songs off that album—even though most Rush fans could care less about them—you can do that as well.

Hell, when you’re Rush, you can cook chickens on-stage in a giant rotisserie if you feel like it!

Apparently, the rotating chickens—which a roadie in a chef’s hat would periodically baste—are devoured by the band, crew, and guests after shows. Rush singer-bassist Geddy Lee, guitarist Alex Lifeson, and drummer Neil Peart are no doubt ravenous when they get off-stage, because their current set is nearly three-and-a-half hours long—including a half-hour intermission—and there’s no screwing around between tunes.

The Canadian prog-rock veterans cranked out song after song, with no hesitation, as if aware that—no matter what Mick Jagger says—time is no longer on their side.

The show last night (May 29) kicked off with “Limelight”, from 1981’s Moving Pictures, an album Rush would return to later for “Red Barchetta” and the much-loved “Tom Sawyer”. Three large video screens were set up at the rear of the stage (one for each member) so you could clearly see how much they’d aged since the last time they were here, on the Vapor Trails tour of 2002.

The thing about Rush, though, is that it doesn’t matter what they look like; it’s always been about the music. And today that music is, incredibly, as vibrant as ever.

How can Peart, at an age when he should be enjoying the benefits of Freedom 55, still display such vitality and verve? He’s one of the only rock drummers who can play a 10-minute solo that keeps you transfixed the entire time. Lifeson is no less a guitar god than he was the first time he blasted out the metallic roar of “Working Man”, back in ’74. And Lee’s vocal cords are easily as deserving of scientific study as Keith Richards’s internal organs.

Though serious players all, Rush also has a humorous side, which was revealed when SCTV characters Bob and Doug McKenzie appeared via video to introduce a new song, “The Larger Bowl”, and when the cartoon kids from South Park were shown making up their own verse for “Tom Sawyer”, but getting sidetracked by the plot of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Right after the intermission five more new songs from Snakes & Arrows were rolled out, and though there was nothing wrong with the quality of the material, the crowd wasn’t too interested. The faithful wanted the big ’80s hits, and soon got them in the form of “Subdivisions” and “The Spirit of Radio”.

I was actually hoping for some vintage Rush material, like maybe a track or two off the band’s self-titled debut, but it never happened. Sadly, there was no “In the Mood” on this night, perhaps because Peart has spent so many years emulating Buddy Rich that the cowbell mastery of Rush’s long-forgotten first drummer, John Rutsey, has proved impossible to top.

Roger Waters, June 21, 2007

British rock had a banner year in 1973. The Who released its Mods-versus-rockers masterwork, Quadrophenia, Elton John’s career peaked with Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, and David Bowie took glam to new heights on Aladdin Sane. But the album many feel ruled in ’73 was Pink Floyd’s cosmic prog-rock powerhouse, Dark Side of the Moon, the disc that sparked a million doobies.

The promise of hearing Dark Side in its entirety is what inspired most fans to pay upward of $150 to see original Floyd bassist-vocalist and main songwriter Roger Waters at GM Place. That, and his legendary status as a performer who always brings cutting-edge technology, intelligence, art, and politics to the stage.

Qualitywise, last Thursday’s (June 21) sold-out show was right up there with the finest of Pink Floyd’s famously mind-blowing gigs.

Concertgoers may have wondered what they were seeing when they took their seats and checked out the stage. At first glance, it appeared as if a huge prop in the shape of an old radio had been constructed up there, along with other oversize items like a half-empty (half-full?) bottle of Scotch and a model of a Second World War airplane.

It was actually an amazingly lifelike, high-definition film being shown on the immense screen that ran along the back of the stage. I couldn’t tell that it was actually a film until smoke started wafting up on the screen and a man’s hand came into view, flicking a cigarette into the ashtray beside the Johnnie Walker Red.

Vera Lynn’s wartime ballad “We’ll Meet Again” came bounding over the radio, and the hand poured itself a shot of Scotch. When ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” came on, the hand, comically, switched stations, zoning in on Chet Baker’s “My Funny Valentine”. Around this time, the 54-year-old Pink Floyd freak beside me lit up his own special cigarette. He’d seen Floyd at the Montreal Forum in ’69 and this time brought along his 18-year-old son, who proudly displayed his just-bought Dark Side of the Moon T-shirt.

Waters received a standing ovation when he took the stage with his 11-piece band, looking distinguished in a black blazer, his mop of grey hair stylishly coiffed. He immediately launched into “In the Flesh?”, from Pink Floyd’s The Wall, and the marching cartoon hammers from Alan Parker’s 1982 film of the same name filled the video screen. (Shout-out to my cousin from Victoria, artist Sean Newton, who helped animate that sequence.)

When it came to the part in that song where Waters assumes the persona of a bloodthirsty fascist, selecting nonconformists who must be put “up against the wall”, he pointed at the crowd and hollered, “There’s one smoking a joint!” Chances are he was right.

Another Wall track, “Mother”, followed, and after asking, “Mother should I trust the government?” Waters emphatically shook his head. That would be the first of many well-placed shots at the political powers that be, George W. Bush and Tony Blair being the primary targets.

Later in the set, Waters would introduce a new tune, “Leaving Beirut”, which was inspired by a trip he made to Lebanon as a teen, when he got stranded and taken in by an Arab family whose kindness and generosity touched him deeply. “Are these the people we should bomb?” he pondered in the autobiographical ditty. “Are we so sure they mean us harm?”

The jabs at Anglo-American foreign policy continued during “Sheep”, when an inflatable pig sporting graffitied slogans such as Fear Builds Walls, All Religions Divide, and Impeach Bush floated over the crowd.

The anti-Bush sentiments were allowed to percolate during a 15-minute break, after which the band returned for the much-anticipated run-through of Dark Side of the Moon. Highlights of that segment included the hit single “Money”, wherein former Thin Lizzy guitarist Snowy White traded soaring licks with Dave Kilminster, who specialized in the blues-tinged fretwork of estranged Floyd picker David Gilmour.

The gorgeously hypnotic “Us and Them” was rolled out amid black-and-white footage of student protests and napalm bombs and was sung by keyboardist Jon Carin. (Waters avoids singing any Floyd songs that featured Gilmour on lead vocals.)

The Dark Side performance ended with a 3-D re-creation of the album’s famous cover art–a beam of light entering a triangular prism to create a rainbow of colours–and then Waters topped the stellar show off with an encore that included The Wall’s “Another Brick in the Wall, Part 2”, “Vera”, and “Comfortably Numb”. And no, I didn’t get in the appropriate mood for the last song by sharing a toke with the ’60s survivor the next seat over.

Nice of him to offer, though.

ZZ Top, the Pretenders, and Brian Setzer, August 23, 2007

I saw some very cool things at the big Jack FM classic-rock triple bill at GM Place last Thursday (August 23). First off, local punk-rock legend Joey “Shithead” Keithley could be seen strolling along the mezzanine, where he was accosted every 10 paces by a wide-eyed fan who wanted to shake his hand or get him to sign a T-shirt, and the towering D.O.A. leader greeted every stranger like an old friend.

Also, Stray Cats guitarist-vocalist Brian Setzer, accompanied by a positively overjoyed blond woman, turned some heads when he showed up during the Pretenders’ set, jumping around between the stage and the floor-crowd barriers, apparently trying to get a rise out of Chrissie Hynde.

But best of all was when ZZ Top’s big-bearded bad boy Billy Gibbons stepped up to the mike and announced, Dixie Chick–style, that his band was “ashamed that the president of the United States is from Texas”.

Well, all right, that would have been cool, but whatever.

Obviously, “the little old band from Texas” isn’t the most politically conscious group in America. ZZ Top’s biggest hit was titled “Tush”, and the trio first shot to fame with that boogiefied ode to whoring, “La Grange”. They’ve also glorified rowdy behaviour (“Beer Drinkers and Hell Raisers”) and drunk driving (“Arrested for Driving While Blind”).

For 35 years the chicks ‘n’ cars–loving Top has won over rednecks and rowdies worldwide, becoming one of the most successful recording acts ever. But its success mostly boils down to the fact that when Gibbons puts pick to string, he conjures one of the coolest and nastiest blues-rock tones around. Even activist types like Keithley aren’t immune to its shit-kicker charm.

Before the bearded wonders with the fuzzy guitars did their thing, the Stray Cats and the Pretenders delivered thoroughly impressive sets. I wasn’t sure whether Stray Cats standup bassist Lee Rocker would be in the lineup–along with fellow originals Setzer and standup drummer Slim Jim Phantom–because a few months back I’d seen him at the Fairview Pub on Broadway, where he was touring behind his killer solo CD, Racin’ the Devil.

I discovered then that Rocker is actually a better lead singer than Setzer, but at GM Place he was confined to backup vocals.

No biggie; Setzer ruled the roost with his amazing rockabilly guitar skills on old Cats tracks like “Rumble in Brighton”, “(She’s) Sexy + 17”, and “Stray Cat Strut”, which he introduced with a jab at MTV, “the station that used to play music”.

I kept thinking how cool it would be if he were to return later and jam with the headliner, maybe trading wicked licks with Gibbons on “Jailhouse Rock”, but Setzer’s complete lack of a Rip Van Winkle chinwarmer may have nixed that option.

The Pretenders weren’t about to be outdone by their pompadoured predecessors. Chrissie Hynde was in fine, sassy form as she led the Anglo-American band through hits from its mid-’80s heyday, like “My City Was Gone” and “Middle of the Road”. “This one’s for the ladies, if there’s any here,” she remarked in advance of “They Don’t Make ‘Em Like They Used To”.

“We won’t bore you with a bunch of ballads,” she said, “except this one,” then dedicated “I’ll Stand By You” to all the vegetarians in the crowd. As expected, “Back on the Chain Gang” was the highlight of the Pretenders’ brilliant 50-minute set. Man, that’s gotta be one of the top 10 rock tunes of all time. Still gives me chills.

ZZ Top was booked to play for an hour and a half, and the band did a fair job of using the allotted time to cover its career, although it would have been nice to hear more than two tunes from its best album, 1973’s Tres Hombres. Still, Gibbons, bassist Dusty Hill, and clean-shaven drummer Frank Beard gave the people what they wanted–including 11 of the 18 tracks from their 1992 Greatest Hits compilation–tossing in sweet surprises like “Heard It on the X” and the set’s only cover, Jimi Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady”.

A couple rows down from me, Joe Keithley could be seen happily singing along, giving his punk-rock seal of approval.

Eric Clapton and Robert Cray, March 23, 2007

A few days before attending last Friday’s (March 23) Eric Clapton/Robert Cray show, I came across a timely TV broadcast of Taylor Hackford’s 1986 concert documentary, Chuck Berry: Hail! Hail! Rock ‘N’ Roll. Both Clapton and Cray are featured in it, the former performing the smokin’ slow blues, “Wee Wee Hours”, and the latter–besides joining the likes of Keith Richards in Berry’s backup band–taking the spotlight on “Brown Eyed Handsome Man”.

Seeing that film was the perfect way to psych myself up for the gig, but it also made me determined to invest in the deluxe four-disc DVD released last June.

There goes next month’s Pilsner fund.

I’m pleased to report that the sterling performances by Clapton and Cray in Hackford’s killer doc were representative of what went down at GM Place. Cray’s six-song, 30-minute opening set was flawless, from the familiar “Phone Booth”, off his 1983 album Bad Influence (the title track of which Clapton covered three years later), to the lesser known “Twenty”, a heart-tugging tribute to young soldiers dying needlessly in a rich man’s war.

“Someone told you a lie,” sang Cray in his sweet-toned voice, “and they’re still tellin’ it.” Few electric bluesmen can surpass Cray’s playing when it comes to economy and emotion. No wonder his choice of on-stage amp is Matchless. When Clapton’s band hit the stage and launched into the 1970 Derek and the Dominos stomper, “Tell the Truth”, I was disheartened to see that guitar wunderkind Derek Trucks wasn’t in the lineup, but all concerns about his absence were defused by the time Clapton and coguitarist Doyle Bramhall II began their fourth selection, Jimi Hendrix’s “Little Wing”.

The numerous guitar freaks in the crowd got their jollies as two cameras set up in front of the stage focused mostly on the two pickers, with close-ups of their fancy fretwork transmitted to video screens. Throughout the show, Clapton, despite his Slowhand moniker, proved the speedier player; 38-year-old Bramhall displayed more of a raw, edgy feel. He was the tastier of the two, actually.

After a sit-down acoustic segment, the familiar “diddle-oodle-oodle-ooo” riff from “Layla” signalled the arrival of that 1970 guitar opus. For the encore, Clapton chose the signature song he stole from J.J. Cale, “Cocaine”, but it’s been so long since I’ve done any of that shit (got any?) that I couldn’t remember if the tune was pro- or anti-nose candy.

All I know is that I scored a serious buzz when the night ended with my fave Clapton staple, Robert Johnson’s “Crossroads”. Cray couldn’t stay backstage for that one, so he came out and sang the first verse, then took the second guitar solo.

Sweeeet.

John Fogerty and John Mellencamp, August 23, 2005

When you get two singers like John Mellencamp and John Fogerty on a double bill, you’ve gotta hope to hell that they’ll get together at some point during the show. Rock-star egos being what they are, such on-stage collaborations don’t always pan out, but the two Johns have been around long enough to know that the music’s all that matters.

So, four songs into Mellencamp’s set at GM Place last Tuesday (August 23), the artist formerly known as John Cougar invited Fogerty up for several minutes of pure, unadulterated American roots-rock. They dueted on the latter’s chooglin’ CCR gem, “Green River” and on the former’s stirring Farm Aid anthem, “Rain on the Scarecrow”, and it was pure magic. As Fogerty left the stage, all Mellencamp could say was: “Let’s face it, the guy’s a motherfucker.”

But we already knew that Fogerty was one bad mofo; he’d just been proving it for the last hour or so. He still owns the greatest voice in rock ‘n’ roll, and his twangy Telecaster licks are as bitchin’ as ever. The last time I saw the living legend, at the Orpheum a few years back, he performed a lot of solo material, but this time around it was Creedence City.

Nobody complained when he started off with the rousing “Traveling Band”; few balked when he followed it with the swampy strains of “Born on the Bayou”. I only recognized one track off his latest CD, Déja Vu All Over Again, and as he introduced the title track, he noted the similarities between America’s involvement in the Vietnam War and the current situation in Iraq.

“I can’t believe we’re doing it all over again,” he said, standing in front of a huge backdrop of an American flag, where electric-guitar necks took the place of the red stripes.

Two songs into his own set, Mellencamp echoed those antiwar sentiments, basically apologizing for his country’s actions in the Middle East. The politics were dispensed with quickly, though, and the self-described Little Bastard put all his energy into delivering one of the classiest old-school rock shows the Garage has ever hosted.

He’s obviously fully recovered from the 1994 heart attack his previous four-pack-a-day habit brought on, because he shimmied up a storm on most every tune. Like Fogerty, his vocals are as strong as ever, and when he didn’t feel like singing-as on the first verse of “Hurts So Good”-his crack eight-piece band covered for him.

Unlike Fogerty, who strove to duplicate his concise CCR hits, Mellencamp played around with the original tempos and arrangements of songs like “Paper in Fire”, letting his ace violinist and accordionist spice things up as they saw fit.

“I never wrote a song as good as John Fogerty,” proclaimed Mellencamp at one point, and he’s probably right. Popular as they are, reflective blue-collar ditties like “Pink Houses” and “Small Town” don’t match the timeless perfection of “Have You Ever Seen the Rain?”. That said, by the time Mellencamp wrapped up his extended version of “Authority Song”, it was perfectly clear that guitar boogie doesn’t get any better.

The Tragically Hip, November 14, 2004

Has the Tragically Hip finally lost its standing as Canada’s top rock band? There’s little doubt that Kingston, Ontario’s favourite sons have been on a downward slide, popularity-wise, for the last few years. Back in ’96, the group came close to selling out the Pacific Coliseum three nights in a row; last Sunday, it couldn’t even pack GM Place for a single night–and this after the promoters offered discounted tickets to any of the 55,000 football fans who’d spent the afternoon across the way at B.C. Place.

As far as album sales go, the quintet’s last couple of releases haven’t flown out of stores the way mid-’90s discs like Day for Night and Trouble at the Henhouse did. Hell, even the band’s long-time manager, Jake Gold, is out of the picture now. Apparently he found his true calling as a judge of homogenized pop singers on the vacuous talent show Canadian Idol.

But guess what? None of that shit matters. It doesn’t matter who’s handling the Hip, how many units they’re moving, or how big a crowd they can draw, because–as far as gritty, honest, compelling guitar-rock goes–there’s not a band in the land that can touch them. They proved that unequivocally Sunday night in a triumphant, two-hour show that made you feel sad for Americans and their Nickelback fixations.

The group walked on-stage and immediately tore into “Vaccination Scar”, the bracing first single off its latest CD, In Between Evolution. “So, the chemistry’s set,” crooned frontman Gordon Downie in the tune’s opening line, “and I’m not the saddest cheerleader to forget the American word”. Who knows what the eccentric wordsmith is on about with lyrics like that, but once Rob Baker starts wailing away on steel guitar, who cares?

(According to the band’s current bio, “Vaccination Scar” was inspired by the fatal bridge washout that occurred near Whistler in October of last year. The Hip was rehearsing up at the ski resort when the tragedy occurred, and soon after played two benefits there under the phony band name The Fighter Fighters, raising $100,000 for the victims’ families.)

At one point, Downie gave an on-stage plug to another worthy cause, the environmental group Waterkeeper, which had info tables set up across from the concessions where cups of draft were being sold for the jaw-dropping price of $7.75.

But few people seemed interested in learning how to keep our lakes and rivers clean. Most were intent on becoming card-carrying members of the Beerkeepers, even if it meant making multiple trips to the nearest ATM. Others were happy to lay down $125 for Tragically Hip hockey jerseys, although those nifty items actually looked like they might be worth the investment.

One guy standing in front of the stage was sporting a jersey with the name Barilko printed across the back, in reference to Bill Barilko, the Toronto Maple Leaf whose mysterious disappearance was immortalized in the Hip’s “Fifty-Mission Cap” song of ’92.

But even without that gem in the set list, you couldn’t complain about the well-balanced mix of electrified barnburners (“Nautical Disaster”, “Blow at High Dough”) and acoustic mellowers (“Bobcaygeon”, “Ahead by a Century”).

Although Downie’s unique body movements and stream-of-consciousness rants kept him the focus of attention, special mention must go to powerhouse drummer Johnny Fay. The Ayotte custom kit he used on the Hip’s fabled Day for Night tour is currently being auctioned off, with proceeds to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation.

Considering the brute force with which Fay routinely attacks his instrument, let’s hope the highest bidder doesn’t wind up with a stack of rubble.

David Bowie, January 24, 2004

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Boy, talk about goin’ through ch-ch-ch-ch-changes. Although he’s always been one of the most charismatic rock stars of all time, David Bowie hasn’t always been able–or willing–to connect with a live audience. I recall seeing him at the Pacific Coliseum on the Station to Station tour of ’75, when he was all cold and detached, fully into the Thin White Duke persona.

But at GM Place last Saturday (January 24), Bowie came off as the affable old hipster next door. Whether dedicating a tune to the bunny suit-wearing woman in the front row or acknowledging the presence of the orange-haired Ziggy Stardust clone hamming it up near the soundboard, he built a solid bond with the near-sellout crowd of 12,000.

When you factor in that friendly vibe with Bowie’s near-flawless vocals, brilliant band, and smartly executed show, you wind up with one of the finest old-school rock gigs the Canucks’ home rink has ever hosted.

Santana, October 25, 2000

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Carlos Santana has been blowing folks away with his fiery, straight-from-the-soul fret work for more than 30 years now, but at GM Place on October 26, he never let his status as a guitar god override his main goal for the night. Santana was more concerned with turning the sports rink into a percussion-driven Latin dance-music palace, so he avoided the extended guitar solos that typified his band in the early ’70s. Heck, he even left out his best-known guitar showpieces, “Black Magic Woman” and “Samba Pa Ti”.

But considering the wondrous overall effect of the two-hour show, you could hardly complain about the set list. You couldn’t even whine about the $100 it cost for primo seats.

The tone of the concert was set early on by Spanish-language groove workouts like “(Da Le) Yaleo” and “Africa Bamba”, both off the enormously popular Supernatural CD of ’99. Santana called on Everlast, who opened the show, to return to the stage and re-create his lead-vocal performance on Supernatural’s “Put Your Lights On”, then spruced up the foreboding tune with some serious shredding.

Santana was accompanied by about a dozen musicians, including two expressive lead singers, a powerful brass section, and three smashing percussionists. Benny Rietveld pulled off the most staggering bass-guitar solo I’ve heard since Stu Hamm’s Beatles medley with Joe Satriani at the Vogue last May, but most of the 13,000 fans in attendance seemed more impressed by the inclusion of Supernatural’s massive hit, “Smooth”. That cute guy from Matchbox Twenty wasn’t there to sing it, but the bouncy number still went over exceedingly well.

After Santana’s first encore, some bozo let off a massive firecracker that shot up to the arena roof and exploded while Carlos was in the midst of addressing the crowd. “This isn’t a heavy-metal concert,” chided the spiritual rock legend. “Don’t do that again, you could hurt a brother or sister. Use your head. It’s common sense.”

After that little lecture, there were no more pyrotechnics from the jackass with the Judas Priest mindset. If only all peace-loving types could have that stultifying an effect on the thoughtless morons of the world.

Red Hot Chili Peppers and Foo Fighters, May 28, 2000

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Nobody rocks like Flea. As soon as the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ hyperkinetic bassist stepped on the GM Place stage last Sunday (May 28), he started churning out monstrous hard-funk licks, and he didn’t slow down until the gig was over.

And when Flea wasn’t laying down the grooviest bottom end in rock, when his diligent fingers took a brief respite from their slap-happy party on the frets, he’d instantly turn into a leaping, head-tossing, arm-flailing hooligan, the ultimate funk-soul brother.

Even if the rest of the Peppers weren’t skilled players and awesome performers, the live-wire Flea—who introduced himself as “Bryant Reeves”—could win over a crowd with his manic intensity alone. Fortunately for the 12,000 souls in attendance, the diminutive bass player’s bandmates proved to be equally accomplished.

Currently flying high with the Rick Rubin–produced Californication CD, the L.A. quartet drew roars of approval for melodic ditties from that album (“Scar Tissue”, “Otherside”) and older, frantic funk-rap workouts (“Give It Away”, “Suck My Kiss”). The group also threw in the odd surprise, as when guitarist John Frusciante took over the lead vocals for an abridged version of Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer”.

Looking like a concentration-camp survivor who’d somehow managed to work out during his incarceration, the sinewy Frusciante half writhed, half lumbered around the stage, displaying a totally different performance style than Flea, who specialized in Olympic-level pogoing. Their distinct musical approaches—respectively jagged and buoyant—complemented each other beautifully.

With Chad Smith doing serious damage behind the drum kit, the Peppers were an arena-ready force to be reckoned with. And now that they’ve successfully branched out from their punk-funk beginnings with Californication, there’s no telling how far they’ll go. But membership in the multiplatinum club hasn’t gone to the band members’ heads.

When one riled-up fan scrambled on-stage during the encore, no security goons were dispatched from the wings to take the intruder down hard and drag him away, as is often the case. The muscular Anthony Keidis just greeted the unexpected visitor with “Hey, how’d you get up here, man?” Then a roadie calmly led the guy away.

During the Foo Fighters’ warm-up set, singer-guitarist Dave Grohl displayed similar tolerance toward those who get physically swept up in the zealous vibe of a fully rocking rink. At one point, he waded out into the crowd with his mike stand and guitar, intent on some intimate interaction. When one overenthusiastic fan started tugging madly at his shirt, Grohl gently chided the fellow with “Hold on, dude, I’m making a speech here,” before asking another “Hey, did you just pinch my nipple?”

The former Nirvana drummer responded to that ardent show of misplaced affection by leading his four-piece band through a thrashy set that included their massive radio hit “Learn to Fly” and a “love song” dedicated to Stompin’ Tom Connors.

Tina Turner, May 13, 2000

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You always know pretty well what to expect at a Tina Turner concert. First off, there’s the legendary lady herself, whom you can rely on to perform with raw passion and grace. It’s in her blood, which apparently hasn’t thinned that much in 62 years.

Then there are her dancers, that quartet of scantily clad gals whose bump ’n’ grind approach to funky soul-rock keeps the energy level—and most guys’ eyes—up on-stage.

And lastly there’s the repertoire, the collection of classic Tina tracks that includes “The Acid Queen” from The Who’s Tommy, plus her show-closing renditions of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Proud Mary” and the ’73 Ike & Tina hit, “Nutbush City Limits”.

If you don’t get all the above at a Tina show these days, it might be time to ask for your 90 bucks back.

The 14,000 or so fans who packed GM Place last Saturday (May 13) didn’t need to ask for refunds, and they got a few surprises thrown in as well. The staging was pretty wild, resembling a shipwrecked party yacht of sorts, with three levels for the vast array of musicians and dancers to strut their stuff on.

At one point during the theme from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome Turner paid tribute to the over-the-top spirit of that flick by riding a horseshoe-shaped platform down from the top of the stage. Another time the vessel-like structure split apart amidst showering sparks as Turner emerged to the strains of David Bowie’s “Putting Out Fire (With Gasoline)”, which quickly morphed into Marvin Gaye’s “I Heard It Through the Grapevine”.

After a rather confounding and ill-advised segment in which Turner turned things over to her backup singers and gyrating minions, she returned to centre stage—along with a grand piano and one of her three keyboardists—for a torch-ballad version of the Beatles’ “Help”.

But what could have been a stark and stirring showcase for her anguished vocals became a grandiose exercise when various other band members—including an overwrought saxophonist—put their two bits’ worth in. Shortly thereafter, a much lesser composition, Robert Palmer’s “Addicted to Love”, proved a great vehicle for Turner’s sassy singing style.

Most of Turner’s material was old hits recorded by herself and others, but one new tune that drew cheers was “Missing You”, which my concertgoing older sister—the same one I had to take to see Elton John a few months back—explained was featured on a recent episode of Ally McBeal.

My sis also informed me that Turner performed the tune on a recent airing of The Oprah Winfrey Show, and that Turner and Winfrey are close friends. I didn’t know that. Maybe the overachieving Opster can go on one of those crash diets she’s famous for and transform herself into gyrating-minion material in time for Tina’s next tour—if there ever is one.

Considering the rigours of the road, even legs like Turner’s must get tired sometimes.

Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, September 2, 1999

I’ve seen Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers perform in Vancouver four times now.

The first time—one of the most memorable concert experiences of my life—was at the Commodore Ballroom in ’78, just after the release of the band’s sophomore album, You’re Gonna Get It.

The second time was a year or so later at the PNE Gardens, on the Damn the Torpedoes tour.

The third time was at the Pacific Coliseum, around the time of 1989’s Full Moon Fever album.

And the fourth time was at GM Place last Thursday (September 2).

In retrospect, I’ve enjoyed the Tom Petty concerts a tad less with each successive show, so it’s kinda bizarre that I still thought Thursday’s show was impressive.

I guess that means I’m a pretty big fan.

On a baroque-looking stage furnished with red-velvet curtains, scads of candlesticks, and giant incense burners, Petty and his band played about 20 tunes yet omitted such gems as “Refugee”, “Here Comes My Girl”, and “Learning to Fly”. They did, however, keep me smiling with the likes of “You Got Lucky”, “Listen to Her Heart”, and “American Girl”. (Can you tell I like the early stuff best?)

There were also a few surprises, like an unplugged version of “Won’t Back Down”, featuring lead guitarist Mike Campbell on mandolin. As much as I like that tune’s electric version, this mellower one came off splendidly.

Sign of a great song, that.

“This is one of my favourites,” said Petty about “It’s Good to Be King” before screwing up the lyrics, admitting to it, and starting one verse over again. Perhaps Petty, who’s noted for his fondness of pot, had been dancing with Mary Jane a bit before the gig.

I do know that lots of his fans were lighting up, like the friendly guy beside me who reached over and offered me a joint right after “Breakdown”. Not just a toke, mind you, but an entire, unlit reefer. How often does that happen?

Too bad I don’t smoke weed anymore. Good thing the wife does.

After introducing his six-piece band—which included drum ace Steve Ferrone in the spot vacated by original skin-basher Stan Lynch—Petty left the stage and Campbell took over with a wonderful instro-rock medley that featured an echoey homage to the Shadows and a few licks from Neil Young’s “Like a Hurricane”.

When Petty returned, he opened up a large wooden chest near the front of the stage, pulled out a black top hat, and started into the quirky 1985 hit “Don’t Come Around Here No More”, which ended with a high-powered strobe-light show.

My pupils are still achin’ from that one.

After almost two hours, Petty and the Heartbreakers said goodbye to the crowd of 10,500, then were called back for a two-song encore that suffered from a dragged-out version of “Gloria” but ended with the exhilarating high of “American Girl”.

Apparently, that wasn’t enough for one overzealous male fan, who leapt on-stage, ran across to where the band was filing off, and bear-hugged Petty before being hurled to the ground by a roadie and dragged away in a headlock.

Now there’s somebody who could have used a big, relaxing puff on the doobie I turned down.

The BB King Blues Festival, August 7, 1998

from the newt’s collection

“Come on in!” urged B.B. King to the gaggle of well-wishers and autograph hounds gathered outside his dressing room in the bowels of GM Place. It was 12:30 a.m., about 45 minutes after King had finished his set on the first night of the 44-date B.B. King Blues Festival tour.

“I’ve got a bunch of photos here that I can sign for anybody,” he announced, holding up a stack of 8-by-10 promo shots, “and there’s a big pile of guitar picks for anybody that wants one.”

While more high-falutin’ superstars would have been sipping cognac in their hotel-room Jacuzzis by then, the 72-year-old King of the Blues was making sure that he pressed the flesh with some of his more devoted followers. My older sister Marnie—a King fanatic who recently cleaned up at a karaoke contest crooning “The Thrill Is Gone”—was beside herself at the prospect of meeting her idol, and when the time came to pay her respects, all she could manage was a choked-up “I love you.” A bewildered B.B. responded with a mile-wide smile and a fatherly bear hug, which was in keeping with his whole after-show aura.

To me, it’s that kind of attitude that separates the truly great artists from the merely famous ones.

Of course, you didn’t need a backstage pass to experience the wondrous spirit of King; any ticket to last Friday’s (August 7) gig would have sufficed. An appreciative crowd of 4,000 witnessed the living legend in the company of a razor-sharp showband that sported two dangerous drummers and a three-piece horn section.

After a couple of songs, the massive Mississippian opted for the comfort of a padded chair, but his relaxed posture didn’t diminish his roaring vocals or silky-smooth, vibrato-based guitar style. It only gave the genial entertainer cause to poke bug-eyed fun at his long-standing position as one of the elder statesmen of the blues.

Highlights of King’s set included such faves as “Rock Me Baby”, “Night Life”, and the show-closing “The Thrill Is Gone”, all of which are featured—with respective contributions by Eric Clapton, Willie Nelson, and Tracy Chapman—on King’s latest CD, Duets.

As enjoyable as King’s headlining gig was, though, it couldn’t top that by his onstage predecessors, the Neville Brothers. The New Orleans–based outfit concocted an enchanting blend of southern-flavoured soul that—when laced with the spine-tingling falsetto of Aaron Neville—was nothing short of magical.

Before them, veteran singer-keyboardist Dr. John playfully dabbed his super-funky fingers on a world-beat canvas, and newcomers Storyville kicked things off with some rough-edged Texas blues-rock.

All in all, the B.B. King Blues Festival proved to be an excellent package deal for blues-minded folks on the lookout for variety.

The Who, October 16, 1996

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If I had to choose one “desert island disc”—the all-time–favourite rock album to live out my days to while munching coconuts on some uncharted tropical atoll—it would have to be The Who’s Quadrophenia. Although its 1971 predecessor, Who’s Next, is generally regarded as the band’s tour de force, the sheer depth (not to mention length) of the Quadrophenia double album makes it my ultimate choice. A masterful portrait of ’60s mod culture and British teen angst as viewed through the unflinching eye of composer Pete Townshend, it is a vastly underrated work that towers over the group’s other, better-known concept album, the patchy and overblown Tommy.

My personal devotion to the disc has plenty to do with timing, as I was 16—and thus totally receptive to the album’s themes of alienation and rebellion—when it was first released in ’73. Although on previous tunes Roger Daltrey’s vigorous vocals or Townshend’s flailing guitar might have taken precedence, The Who’s rhythm section really came of age on Quadrophenia—every manic Keith Moon drum roll and unconventional John Entwistle bass run seemed vital and perfectly suited to the work as a whole. Its subtle orchestration, adventurous arranging, and inspired placement of recurring melodic themes helped make Quadrophenia a monument to what was best about ’70s rock.

When I learned that the world’s greatest rock band (forget the Stones) was going to perform my pet album in its entirety, I became captivated by the idea. And when I heard a report that Townshend—who has to play acoustic guitar due to a hearing condition called tinnitus—was back on electric, it seemed too good to be true.

Unfortunately, it was, and last Wednesday (October 16) at GM Place Pete was still banging on acoustic when—after the two-minute introductory montage of vintage Who footage and clips from Franc Roddam’s ’79 Quadrophenia movie—the band launched into (what else?) “The Real Me”. Entwistle’s lead bass was as stimulating as ever, and drummer Zak Starkey (Ringo’s kid) was keeping Keith Moon happy in heaven with his unfettered, rambunctious attack.

After catching a live version of “Love Reign O’er Me” from a recent Prince’s Trust concert in the U.K., during which Daltrey strains to re-create the full-bore vocal performance on Quadrophenia, it was a relief to find that his sinewy throat muscles can, for the most part, still handle an extreme workout.

But as soon as the energizing strains of “The Real Me” finished reverberating around GM Place, it was clear that this wasn’t going to be the Quadrophenia homage I had hoped for. That would have required the seamless leading of one track into the next, but in a heavy-handed effort to get the themes of Townshend’s masterwork across, footage of a young mod (Quadrophenia star Phil Daniels) angrily quoting paragraphs from the album’s liner notes was injected between the songs.

These rants may have been helpful, if not enjoyable, to Who fans unclear about the music’s message, but to this Quadrophenia junkie, they were distracting and eventually quite annoying. Thankfully, there were some well-advised theatrics to come.

Things improved considerably on Quadrophenia’s fifth track, “The Punk Meets the Godfather”, when big-haired British pop icon Gary Glitter strutted out in full black leather ’n’ studs regalia and garish facial makeup to pose grandiosely and trade off a few verses with Daltrey. Shortly thereafter another blast from the past, Billy Idol, swaggered out to wild applause, as if—in light of all the tabloid tales of drugs and debauchery—folks were cheering him for just being alive.

Strangely enough, Idol looked almost exactly as he did at the height of his Rebel Yell heyday 12 years ago. His well-practised Elvis Presley sneer is definitely intact, as are his cavortings from that old “Dancing with Myself” video. He would return to the stage a couple more times, including during “Bellboy”, when he rose up on a flashy motor scooter before shedding his green army coat to reveal a well-pressed bellboy’s uniform. He lugged suitcases around the stage until Daltrey sent him tumbling with a comical kick in the ass.

After a rousing “Dr. Jimmy” and majestic “Love Reign O’er Me”, the band encored with a set of four classic, non-Quadrophenia cuts, and it was on “Won’t Get Fooled Again” that the absence of Townshend’s electric guitar was most distressing. His younger brother Simon did a commendable job of handling the electric parts, but it just wasn’t the same without Pete himself bringing some of the noise.

After a typically enchanting version of “Behind Blue Eyes”, however, he proved the existence of a god in heaven by strapping on a red Strat, damning the doctor’s order, and rocking out with his 1966 ear-buster “Substitute”. Then he made my night by ending with “Who Are You”, and tossing in some trademark windmill chords for old times’ sake.

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