My Chemical Romance
(3 1/2 stars)
March 7, Orleans Arena
Then again, it wasn't MCR giving the Orleans Arena the full Kiss treatment last Wednesday evening; it was "The Black Parade," MCR's white-faced, black band-uniform-clad alter-egos. Between pyrotechnic explosions, strobe effects, cascading sparks, a rotating drum riser, hovering zeppelins and erupting fireballs, the "Parade" performed last year's album of the same name in its entirety for a moshing, fist-pumping, enthralled crowd that was surprisingly composed of around 50 percent teenagers. Twenty- and 30-somethings were out in force; even parental chaperones proudly represented in Cure and Queen tees.
"My Chemical Romance is up next," frontman Gerard Way announced an hour in, "if you're into that kind of shit." The curtains reopened to a bygone ring-of-handguns backdrop, but instead of the Revenge-era schoolboy uniforms, Way and Co. tore through "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)" and seven other album tracks in regular-dude streetwear (including Way's instantly familiar, ancient black leather jacket).
Keeping with the personality switch, the second set was far less bombastic than the first, and even grew downright anti-climactic as Revenge opener "Helena" closed the show. Yet unlike "Parade," the "real" MCR exhibited no sneering, overblown faux-pretension. Instead, Way espoused real gratitude and even addressed media accusations that the goth-punk revisionists and their fans manifested death-cult characteristics.
Perhaps that's why no Bullets tracks made the setlist; that album reflected the band at its darkest and most desperate. Revenge and Parade subsequently showcased an MCR rallying not only against the fear of death, but against the fear of life. "Believe in your f--king self!" Way shrieked between "The Ghost of You" and "Give 'Em Hell, Kid." Trite words on the surface, but thanks to the former Jersey addict turned world-renowned showman, the thick fog of sulfur hanging in the air was joined by a very palpable atmosphere of belief.
– Julie Seabaugh
Eric Clapton
(3 1/2 stars)
March 11, MGM Grand Garden Arena
Derek Trucks headlined the Grand Garden Arena Saturday night with Eric Clapton in his backing band. Okay, so it was the other way around, but given how frequently the 27-year-old comer drew well-deserved ovations from the sold-out crowd, one might easily have mistaken the pony-tailed Trucks for the all-time guitar legend and the professorial, 61-year-old Clapton for his seasoned sidekick.
E.C. apparently wanted it that way, carving out abundant solo stretches throughout his two-hour set not only for Trucks—the slide-playing member of the modern Allman Brothers Band—but also for the skull-capped Doyle Bramhall II, a 38-year-old longtime Clapton concert cohort. The younger men thrived within the electric-blues setting, particularly during an extended take on Robert Johnson's "Little Queen of Spades" that saw Bramhall go big and bold with his Fender Stratocaster and Trucks coax a series of sly, restrained notes from his Gibson.
Clapton sang ably and wielded his instrument efficiently, but registered surprisingly few mind-melting moments, aside from a towering reading of the Jimi Hendrix opus "Little Wing." His most salient contribution—and it was hardly a minor one—came in devising a shrewdly constructed show: mostly up-tempo blues-rock, drawing heavily from the Derek and the Dominos era, sprinkled with solo radio staples and divided by an acoustic middle section.
Though the closing hit parade—"Wonderful Tonight" and "Layla" to cap the main set, then "Cocaine" and a Robert Cray-bolstered "Crossroads" in the encore—brought the oldish, otherwise sedate audience to its feet, the real treat was the acoustic bit, which featured Clapton unassisted on "Driftin' Blues," a five-man combo on "Outside Woman Blues" and the full nine-piece ensemble on "Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out" and "Running on Faith." Seated and clad in faded jeans, a plain black shirt and sneakers, the man many consider rock's greatest living guitarist appeared entirely comfortable, with both his legacy and the next generation of players to which he'll eventually hand it over.
– Spencer Patterson