Page 33 - the NOISE October 2012

b Ugh
bb Eh
bbb Solid
bbbb Gold bbbbb Total Classic
Poor Moon; Lightining Bolt
friend led me down to the front along the side and I followed her with a little trepidation. I knew from experience that if the show started to suck, it would take that much longer to es- cape the crowd and get to the bar. The nine- person group onstage was five white, four black, and I thought uh-oh.
The trumpet player who looked like Randy Jackson introduced the man and out he came in a sweet Rasta-colored suit jacket and pants with knotted scarf and a headbanded man- dala around his bald dome. He had a big goofy smile on his face and he raised his hands in ju- bilation as the band shifted into a note-perfect
“You Can Get It If You Really Want” from The Harder They Come. The hair on my arms stood up and my butt started moving and I was damn glad to be there.
Jimmy Cliff knows how to work a crowd. His energy and enthusiasm were remarkable for a man of 64. Cliff spun around, skanked across the stage, kicked his legs up, threw his arms in the air, rolled his head, made gorilla noises, mugged at the audience, and we ate it up. As an intro to “The Harder They Come,” he did two of his mock-serious gangster poses from the movie and laughed at the absurdity. His onstage presence evened out the white/black ratio and the band definitely brought it in.
Most amazingly, Cliff ’s voice sounds near- ly unravaged by time. From the minute he opened his mouth, it was apparent he was at the top of his game. He sang his hits in the original keys, and his clear tenor danced across all of them effortlessly. There were a few well- chosen covers thrown in: Johnny Nash’s “I Can See Clearly Now,” Cat Stevens’ “Wild World,” Rancid’s “Ruby Soho.” Crowd-pleasing and just showbizzy enough.
At one point, I thought, “Wow, good concert.
But you know what would make it even bet- ter?” Just then, I felt a coolness at my left elbow. I turned to see an honest-to-Jah beer vendor peddling his wares. He hooked me up with an icy cold can of Fat Tire. When did the Orpheum start doing this? My hat is off to you guys.
Back to the show. The chorus of “Vietnam” (a song written over 40 years and several wars ago) was altered to “Afghanistan” and sadly, it fit. A hymnlike “Many Rivers To Cross” brought a tear. The evening’s highlight came when Cliff sat in a chair at the lip of the stage with a conga, his band perched in a line behind with drums and shakers, and they tore into a breathtak- ing percussion-and-voice version of the Melo- dians’ “Rivers Of Babylon” from that famous soundtrack album you own a copy of.
Unfortunately, this signaled the start of the floor show. Namely: Dumb Cunts On Parade.
Is it ever socially acceptable to call a woman a Dumb Cunt to her face? Most folks say no. I would agree in nearly every situation but one. I modestly propose a woman be alerted to her behavior when chattering loudly with her friends during the quiet parts of a concert. Such as when Jimmy Cliff and band tear into a breathtaking percussion-and-voice version of the Melodians’ “Rivers Of Babylon” from that famous soundtrack ... etc.
The phrase never escaped my lips at the Orpheum, by the way. First, I silently raised a finger to my lips and pointed at the musicians. The girl turned and looked toward the stage, like “what’s going on over there?” After this failed I said to them, thrice: “Can you please talk somewhere else?” Very nice, polite. Note the presence of the word “please” and the absence of the word “cunt.”
Throughout the years, I’ve had to do this doz- ens of times and NOT ONCE has the response
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thenoise.us • the NOISE arts & news magazine • OCTOBER 2012 • 33