Nope. I've got nothing. |
Green Day
ACL Moody Theater, Friday
It's 11:21 PM, Friday, 3/15/13. Mrs.
Armstrong, do you know where your son, Billie Joe, is? If you're
reading this Saturday morning, he's probably still onstage,
exhorting, "C'MOOONNN, TEXAAAAAS! GET YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!!!"
Green Day 2013 is a very different
band from Green Day 1993. That band pulled up to Emo's in a used
bookmobile, loaded minimal equipment onto the stage themselves, and
unleashed several short sharp shocks that suggested the
Buzzcocks or Generation X with a bratty sense of humor. Then they
encored with "My Generation" segued into "Jessie's
Girl," chasing off the punkier-than-thou Chronicle
reviewer. Dookie, American Idiot, rock stardom
and punk rock finally going Top 40 in America were in the future.
Fast-forward to 2013. Green Day is now
established as mega almost 20 years, and are still decidedly punk
rock. But since the audience would now fill several Emos, the scale
of everything gets bigger and more grandiose. Which does
not mean they suck. Quite the contrary. It just means there's
more space to fill, and farther seats to reach.
Green Day 2013 still acts like
19-year-olds who just discovered The Clash. They still stand as a
united frontline, Billie Joe still whips himself into a Strummer-like
frenzy, their songs still get arranged as a series of
dynamic explosions. But now, in a theater as opposed to
a grotty punk rock pit, things take a more Springsteenian scale. The
quartet (longtime supplemental touring guitarist Jason White now
being as official as Billie Joe, bassist Mike Dirnt, and
drummer Tre Cool) now employs supplemental keyboards and yet another
auxiliary singer/guitarist. Most songs get extended to epics of
audience handclapping, drops in volume to induce singalongs, Billie
Joe exhortations to "GET YOUR HANDS IN THE FUCKING
AAAIIIRRRR!!!"
Yet the impish spirit of 1993 is not
lost. Three times, Billie Joe drags audience members up: A young teen
on "Know Your Enemy" rewarded with a sloppy Billie Joe
mouth-kiss, then urged to stage-dive; a woman translating lyrics into
sign language; another kid handed the mic for an off-key 3rd verse on
"Longview," the first big hit (and again urged to
stagedive). Somewhere in the middle, songs devolve into brief,
Replacements-style snotty covers of "Sweet Child O' Mine,"
"Highway To Hell," the Isley Brothers' "Shout,"
even "Hey, Jude!" (I fully expected the return of "Jessie's
Girl.") Then, somewhere in the middle, a familiar blue Japanese
Stratocaster copy materializes around Billie Joe's neck: "I
wrote this song in 1993. It's called 'Burn Out!'" Thus
unleashing the hits which made them: "Basket Case,"
"Welcome To Paradise," all played (save "Longview")
in the stripped-down/revved-up arrangements the world fell in love
with.
Bite my lip and close my eyes. Take me
away to paradise. Now on a tour bus, not a bookmobile. Green Day
proves punk can be epic and fill stadiums, and still make you sneer
and pogo. Just make sure to GET YOUR HANDS IN THE AIRRRRR!!!
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