One need not be a fan of the band who practically defined arena rock for a while in order to be at least occasionally entertained by a Journey concert nowadays.
The music? Yeah, there's going to be that, of course. It's a concert, after all. But then there's Arnel Pineda. The group's current singer may be leading an act long past their run of radio hits, yet there's no clue as to that based on the energy and graciousness he displays on stage for shows such as theirs at the BMO Harris Pavilion Wednesday night.
Most fans who have followed the band from the '70s and '80s have been pleased with Pineda's powerful way with new material. More crucially for Journey's continued ability to move the volume of tickets and albums they do, he acquaints himself with the back catalog he inherited when in the '00s the band plucked him from a run of successful rock outfits in Manilla. Steve Perry, the guy who sung on all those hits back when? He's history.
It's Pineda's extra-musical entertainment that aids in casting a long a shadow over his predecessors, though. Leaping, jumping, running across the stage, accepting the occasional bouquet of flowers from someone in the front row and giving autographs and high fives in the shadows while other members get in their solo licks, he earned his wardrobe changes (nothing outlandish, maybe just fresh pullover shirts) throughout the show, though it appeared that he wasn't breaking any discernible sweat.
In the context of all the appreciation Pineda shows his listeners, a fair amount of what he's singing now reflects upon a kind of bond between singer and audience. "Don't Stop Believin'" makes a fitting titular song for the documentary about Pineda's life and trek to helming Journey. Of course, its use in The Sopranos finale and other places that reframe the song's meaning aside, it speaks to a nigh tangible hopefulness a third of a century after it departed the pop singles chart. A similar sentiment is made simultaneously more specific and generalized in "Faith In The Heartland," one of the few numbers they performed from Pinedas's recording tenure with Journey.
|
|
On slower pieces like "Open Arms" and "Faithfully," the latter a complement for pictures of the band members' childhoods and loved ones on the screens behind them, it's not difficult to draw a connection from Journey's mid-'70s progressive rock and fusion jazz roots to a sort of sincere schmaltz that Frank Sinatra or Andy Williams could have convincingly assayed in the autumn of their careers. The anthemic sway of "Lights," as appropriate for the home of the Hoan Bridge as it is for the San Francisco home of the Golden Gate that inspired it, could make for wonderful crooner fodder as well. Sadly, the more melodically sly "Who's Crying Now" and a few memorable tunes were only rendered instrumentally in a medley by longtime keyboardist Jonathan Cain.
For his highest profile time in the evening's spotlight, founding guitarist Neal Schon bypassed his ensemble's oldies and went straight to challenging Jimi Hendix's famed show of bravado with a shredding rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner." With portraits of Hendrix, soldiers and an animated, waving U.S. flag in background, the virtuosic gesture replaced Woodstock rebellion with non-partisan mainstream patriotism. Ultimately bland though it was, any attempt toward the kind of unity for which Schon was aiming could be appreciated in this politically fractious time.
Bassist Ross Valory introduced Social Distortion alum (!) Dean Castronovo as one of the best singing drummers around today. However great a distinction that may be, he assayed "Mother, Father," a track from 1981's Escape, admirably enough, though it's easy enough to hear why the song wasn't made a single. Despite the other members' efforts, there was no taking away Pineda's glory for the night. For good reason more people stood on their seats when he was bounding about.
