The opening act Johnathan Coulton or JoCo as his fans say brought levity plus whimsy to his opening set. He was a musical stand up wizard attempting to engage a middle aged audience. I think I may have been the youngest one there. Bring on the boring couples who sat through the ungodly sound disaster. I was the only one to say a word. They sat glued to their seats reveling in their cheap beer and antidepressant diet.
She attempted bass harmonized quietly he could have easily sung the songs solo as she really added no depth. She is a tall lady (lucky her) but she stood like a gawky teenager on bad drugs. Or what I found weird oddly like a love lorn little girl. MMMMM….. She left after her big two song stint. He warbled. “Aimee will be back on stage after she does the drugs she needs to do to get back on stage.
This was in opposition the headliner the one the only the pretentious, insecure Aimee Mann. God it pains me to do this but in effort to provide the truth here we go. She made her grand dame entrance to harmonize with JoCo. Basically this meant an obviously self medicated pushing 60 Aimee, stomped on stage in a very groovy mini dress, tights and Converse. Props for the ensemble. It made me want to rush out to get some kicks. She played bass. I think it was hard to discern the beats. Johnathan delivered dry, meaty acoustic guitar sounds. His style felt as if he dabbled around with a classical Spanish guitar. Very simple yet I reveled in the complexity of his arrangements. Plus he cracked humor that might go over someone’s noggin.
Thank the goodness that Johnathan was the balancing act. It made me slightly ok but absolutely not that I shelled out 57.00 to see a writer that set me in my own snarky direction. I am in the process of waging a dispute against the Newton Theater. In addition to the shoddy sound reverberating across the walls of a very quaint, well designed theater, one of the 2 toilets in the Ladies room was clogged from the get go. I mentioned it. Nothing done. Back into the rest room when Ms. Mann was stomping across the stage with her very shined up guitar, the toilet still was wadded down.
A sentiment or odd choice or word phrasing. She did roll back on stage. Guess she forgot the GOOD drugs. When she did come back with her shiny Les Paul, she front her lackluster band with the confidence of 13 year old with complex. She was lazy stomping around like a lost geek high as a kite. Might as well sing into a hair brush in your bed room. Give me my money back. She came out of the box saying in her once cool slow roll vocals. "I write for television (insert me WHO CARES). They wanted me to do a cover of Phil Collins I told them no way Phil Collins (Me Don't Diss Phil bitch) I told them (mumbled something about Boston) I know the Care (ME SHUT THE FK UP). She did a lame Cars cover. It was so lame I forget what it was. The kicker is the two worst concerts I ever saw was this one as well as the Cars. Dare date myself but in 1985 my teenage buddies and I saved our dollars to go see Ric and his pit crew play 45 minutes of again unintelligible songs. GET THE GOOD DRUGS. Never forgot that No opener No encore. I still play the air drums every time IN THE AIR TONIGHT comes on. I jump across furniture to turn off ALL MIXED UP Fk you Aimee.
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