August 8, 2007
 

Denver Critic:

Much Nothing about A “Do”

Absolute magic.  Last week, at Denver’s Pepsi Center, Jan and I were a part of an enraptured audience mesmerized by country music’s reigning royalty, Faith Hill and Tim McGraw.

The concert, running a Springsteen-esqe four hours (The Boss being known for dynamic shows of bladder bursting length), was, simply put, a crown jewel.  Concerts have been a mainstay in my life for over a half-century, yet this evening stood head and shoulders above anything previously experienced from Little Richard to Fleetwood Mac, Ray Charles to Garth Brooks.  I left the Denver arena ready to tell everyone professing a love of music, whether or not country’s on their I-Pod, to hop a plane and catch the show before tours end. (You’d best hustle, they wrap this weekend in Anaheim).  

Imagine my dismay the next morning stumbling across a Denver broadsheet review of the concert headlined “McGraw, Hill have pop-country schtick down pat”   

With concert ticket prices in the three-figure range, concertgoers deserve to be entertained.  Music industry insider’s guesstimate the McGraw-Hill combo spent over two million dollars on staging and lighting.  Consisting of two walkways, one running the width of the Pepsi Center floor, the other three quarters of the arena’s length, it was a unique setting carefully choreographed to allow vocalists and backup musicians closer access to their audience.  But according to our critic “these concerts don’t work without a certain amount of Nashville panache, and lemme tell you, they don’t call it Nashvegas for nothing.”  Excuse me?  One can be so demanding when the ticket is free. 

Our critic continued, “Hill’s songs—especially her hits—sound as dated and worn as they should, given the radio overexposure.”  What?  Then he accused her of having a “cardboard nervousness” stage presence.  Give me a break.  Faith Hill is country’s eye candy extraordinaire and Example A of why the state of Mississippi has long been famous for their homegrown Southern beauties, but “cardboard”?  Give me a break. 

McGraw, his rendering of Brian Wiseman’s “The Cowboy in Me” makes it country’s greatest ever, runner up just might be “Live Like You Were Dyin’”, also received a hailstorm of brickbats.  “Something about its obvious imagery and over-the-top melodies—both pop-country trademarks—possessed the crowd with McGraw Mania, and the applause that followed the garish performance was among the loudest this critic has ever heard, during a hockey game or concert.”  Sounds like his problem is he didn’t like the show and is extremely p.o.’d the other 16,000 folks in the Pepsi Center did.   

It has been opined printed criticism, wine commentaries excepted, no longer carry much weight.  Perhaps it’s true because today’s critics insist on detailing perceived faults on matters they neither know nor like.  The result is zero credibility. 

Movie fanatic Big Poolie suggests checking reviews before screening a flick.  “If the critics like it, stay away, it’s a snoozer.  The more they badmouth, the more I want to go.”