It seems the ringing is finally done and my ears recovered from last night’s Black Crowes show. While I don’t have the chops to give a full review of the music, or at least to do it well, I can’t let the occasion pass without commenting on Chris Robinson, one of the weirder dudes you’ll ever lay eyes on.

Imagine the face of Jesus (The Euro version…and immediately after his 40 days in the desert–gaunt and long-haired and bearded) atop a Slinky atop a pair of stilts, all clad in the latest fashions from 1969. (The type of stuff the Fresh Prince’s mom tried to buy him at the Gallery Mall.) The pants were plenty snug, but the blouse looked like it was borrowed from a giant Carol Brady. Robinson would grab its hem and sway and shimmy, eyes to the heavens, occasionally breaking out of his flower child trance for a quick double hand-clap and some decent head rolls and gyrations.

As my friend Scott pointed out, given his bizarre looks, Robinson’s marriage to the comely Kate Hudson is an “all-time head-scratcher.” (This led me to wonder whether there are any all-time head-scratchers in which the guy is the pretty one? The best I can do right now is David and Victoria Beckham, but even she was considered good-looking when they got together.)

Another head scratcher is Robinson’s pipes. You don’t expect a dude who looks like a cross-dressing, emaciated, high-out-of-his-mind white Jesus and who plays in a Southern rock band to be able to belt it out like a vintage soul singer. But especially after last night’s show, and at the risk of sounding blasphemous, I’ll say that there’s good reason the Crowes broke through on an Otis Redding cover. Sure, he’s not nearly that good, but time and again, Robinson’s style reminded me of Redding’s. I’ve been listening to both today, trying to pinpoint what it is. I’m still not sure–maybe they share a Georgia accent; maybe it’s the phrasing or cadence (or whatever it’s called), the random bursts, the way they hit hard and short on the first syllable or two of a line, then string out the other syllables, giving each multiple notes. (Or maybe I just listen to too much Otis Redding and hear him where he’s not.) Whatever the commonality, it seems like Robinson spent a lot of time listening to Redding as a kid. A pale imitation? Sure, but a decent one.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 3rd, 2007 at 9:09 pm and is filed under Music. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.