Wednesday, July 2


Because I'm such a great husband I went to see Bruno Mars with Anne tonight.

Bruno was fine, but the support act was Aloe Blacc. Milquetoast Aloe sounds like some type of pathetic herbal remedy. Appropro.

Let the record show that Aloe's real name is Egbert Nathaniel Dawkins III.

Aloe's chat between songs, and when he tediously 'broke it down' mid-song, was ... well .... tedious. When you keep mentioning the album you released 4 years ago you should not have to start your set with an audience participation "Throw your hands in the air, na na na na", type of refrain.

His intro to "I'm the Man" when he dropped Dr. Dre's name from such a great height that I'm shocked Compton didn't hear the splat was longer than the song itself.

Here's how I would have introduced it. "This is the one where I stole Elton John's chorus".

Next we had to spend 5 minutes listening to his process with Avici, before he sang his other hit.

All the while the big screen switched from PR headshot, to artist website, to an e-mail for a free song and finally the Aloe Black logo. When your logo is your most original artistic expression it's time to quit. Even his band looked like joyless guys paid by the hour who had to listen to his well-rehearsed 'ad-libs'.

At one point he asked the screaming teenagers to 'soul-clap'. They had no fucking clue.

I did, but still didn't.

I've seen James Brown, Prince and Bootsy Collins live, and none of those guys could get me to clap on cue so this talentless sack of air has no fucking chance.

Bruno was just fine. Entertaining showman-like performance ... although I could have done without the Asian teenager 3 seats down who had the bladder of a small rodent.

No comments: