Tom Jones LiveArtist: Tom JonesGenre: Pop Publisher: USANA Amphitheatre; West Valley City, Utah Released: 08/27/03 |
A Review by Dainon Moody
09/01/2003
It also demanded big red panties. And, from one vantage point, pink and fuchsia ones worked as well.
Keeping in the Tom Jones tradition of things, it was the first of several times throughout the evening for various colors of panties to be thrown at his feet. Some caught the end of the stage; many never made it past the evening's crosswinds. Nevertheless, the 63-year-old musician knew how to return the adoration, and did so promptly – first by posing, then flexing and, ultimately, turning around and shaking his butt.
It was immediately apparent to the gathered mass (give or take about half an amphitheatre) that Jones is no stranger to reinvention. Perhaps the goatee should have tipped them off. But with a full band – boasting a tight horn section, three singers and dancers, a couple guitarists and a funky drummer – he was in danger of swaying into R&B territory several times. It was as if he was trying to move past the vocals-over-Mexican-horns of his past. Still, even when his band intimated he was about to get his Barry White croon on, he'd rise above the slick sound behind him with his operatic wail and clobber the notion every single time.
And, rather than start off by simply churning out the more familiar ones, he was doing songs he had written himself, like “Heaven's Been a Long Time Comin”. The self-penned ones always went on a little too long, but they were thankfully few. While a master at embracing the schmaltz in literally everything else, lines like “I'm on my way/ gonna meet you at JFK” are just this side of awful. So, before milling around in those waters too long, “I Who Have Nothing” came out over a funk beat. He was even able to erase all Kenny Rogers memories from “We've Got Tonight”, simply by taking it to sexual heights it hadn't been before. Adding the appropriate number of thrusts showed he completely controlled the crowd with his hips. And, just like that, repeating “We've got tonight” to go along with his patented Shuffle Thrust, the words became more a promise of things to come when Rogers were simply full of pleases and maybes.
Yes, he's got moves. Most involve variations on what the pelvis can do, but others involve half-skipping, half-tiptoeing creations all his own. And, with each new one, when combined with the right punch from his very large band, he worked hard to win his screams, which could and did start at any given moment. It's curious how long he might be able to drag this out. The moves, for one, are amendable. If he thrusts a little too much, he just takes a break for half an hour and rests up an overworked groin. As far as his very distinctive voice is concerned, he's been doing this a long time now. So long, he did a song for 007 during the Connery Years. According to him, it's been since 1962. Now he's able to maneuver himself down any path he wants to, really, and still come out on top. He's got rock ‘n roll nailed. His cover of “High Heeled Sneakers” just flat-out ruled. And, for all the musicians he named that it was for before performing what should now be the definitive version – Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Fats Domino, among others – it's good he was able to accomplish what he did with it. He and his band channeled them all in their take, completely on fire as Jones managed to pull off sauntering ballerina twirls out front while singing. “Sex Bomb” ruled the club scene. And, if he ever gets bored, there are always the Herb Albert Tijuana Brass horns waiting in the wings. Perhaps when he does the Nostalgia Tour.
But his voice, one that defies much worthy description, is plenty more in concert than anything he's ever recorded. It's a vibrant powerhouse of a creation that, if anything, has increased in volume and quality over the years. He's not even on any sort of a downward slope. If he is indeed in his prime, perhaps he should just start recording all the songs that exist – well, not all, as that's just silly, but the good ones anyway – adding the requisite bravado and therein heightening whatever they were in their rough draft forms. It's an idea.
At an age where many might deem him having long since passed the Dirty Old Man period, he refuses to just sit back and sing karaoke hits of his yesteryear. They come around now and again, but with new energy. “Sixteen Tons” becomes a lounge number when he deems it so, for example, with swanky stripper trumpets and turned-down lights. With the ease of a man who's been able to hone his talent over forty years in the business, placing old hits in front of new ones and vice versa, like a consistently shuffled card deck, it's that sense of timelessness that will continue to bring the shrieking schoolgirls out of grown women and men alike for as long as he keeps doing it. It's the reason a group of fiftysomething sisters bring along their 71-year-old mother to worship at the feet of a performer she's admired since she raised them. It's the reason the same mother still somehow maintains a bit of dignity when she shares that Tom Jones “charged” her up so much, she ended up having 12 kids. It's forgivable because, if nothing else, he encourages it. If he can prance around stage like a waltzing tiger, wide-eyed and smirking throughout “What's New Pussycat?”, then there's no reason a couple can't stop short of their seat to kiss in embarrassingly passionate form until it's over with.
“She's A Lady” was also popular with the panty-throwers and a couple of bra-tossers. “Green, Green Grass of Home” and “You Can Leave Your Hat On” caused audible gasps of recognition as they began. He even playfully growled, baring his hands as claws. As the final song of his encore, “Kiss” came along when the pandemonium was reaching the ever infamous fever-pitch. Mars was now directly overhead. It's probably safe to say nobody mused on Tom's punching out martians, helping save the world in true Mars Attacks! form to the strains of “It's Not Unusual”, the irony of the very-visible planet notwithstanding. The closing shot of the night, instead, had Tom Jones in sparkly blue basking in a perfect night. Especially if he measures success by the amount of undergarments he receives in a couple of hours' time. In this guesstimation, there was enough fabric there to net him at least three quilts worth.
© Copyright CultureCartel.com 09/01/2003
