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| Rocking
on: Cantrell at the Armory. |
All
of Us in Chains
By
David King
Alice in Chains
Washington
Avenue Armory, Oct. 29
One question needed to be an swered at the Armory on Saturday
night, and it wasn’t “Is Alice in Chains’ replacement for
Layne Staley going to work?” No, the question was, “Are Alice
in Chains simply great, or are they simply played over and
over again, again, again and again?” All of my previous appreciation
for the band had been sucked away over the years by ceaseless
modern-rock-radio airplay and intermittent aping by far lesser
bands. (Yes, Godsmack, I’m talking to you. A cheap shot for
a cheap imitation.)
Things didn’t start well. The opening act, Hurt, who could
be described only as Staind fronted by Garth Brooks, had the
middle-aged guys spilling their beers and groping their wives.
Hurt’s lead singer’s overuse of cheese-grater distortion on
his vocals and vague, uninspired lyrics like “so much emotion”
left me angry at Alice in Chains for what their legacy has
wrought on modern rock.
When Alice in Chains took the stage, playing their monotonous
1996 single “Again,” things only got worse. Drunk tough guys
wearing college-football caps high-fived and phoned their
friends to taunt them with, “How fucking awesome is this dude?
Your ass should be here!” (Of course, Alice in Chains have
always appealed just as much to fans of Ratt as they did to
fans of Tad.)
After the stale opening, however, things started to come together.
First off, Staley’s replacement, William Duvall, proved early
on that he had range and swagger. Although his voice was not
as torn-up and despairing as Staley’s, Duvall powered through
classic Staley moments with bravado. But Duvall was careful
not to demand too much of the crowd too early—he left that
up to ax man Jerry Cantrell.
Cantrell elicited cheers and cries of “Jerry, you’re God!”
by simply stepping forward or moving his volume nob. So, when
he finally spoke, he sent some in the crowd into convulsions,
as though they had just been touched by the hand of God, with
the speaking of foreign tongues and that whole shtick.
The band kept things modest but tight through the first half
of the show, sticking to album cuts, and building up momentum.
But then, inexplicably, they stopped. And as though they thought
it was about time to address the giant elephant on stage,
they ran a video tribute to Layne Staley while the stage crew
set up some white pillars and mood lighting for an unplugged
session. There was no need to revisit MTV Unplugged
circa 1993.
The videos of Staley ended to thunderous applause and lighters
raised by the overwhelmed crowd. When the cheers finally came
to a halt, Cantrell demanded more in honor of Staley, and
then he quickly introduced Duvall.
What might otherwise have been an excruciatingly somber part
of the show turned into a warm look inside the reborn Alice
in Chains. Duvall and Cantrell took time between songs to
exchange leads or briefly jam on Metallica songs like “One.”
During “Got Me Wrong,” Cantrell asked, “How do you feel?”
And the crowd roared back, “I haven’t felt this way in so
long!”
Rather than being consumed by the extra- morbid, ultra-personal,
Staley-penned songs about being in tombs and rotting, Duvall
and Cantrell smiled back and forth at each other as the audience
cheered their every move. The pair then exchanged positions,
with Cantrell on vocals and Duvall pulling off some smoking
acoustic leads. Then it was time to rock again, and the hits
came fast: “Angry Chair,” “Heaven Beside You,” “Man in a Box,”
and the extremely poignant “Rooster,” which sent the audience’s
arms flailing toward the sky with metal horns, pumping fists
and clapping hands.
At that point, I wondered if their was anything left for the
band to do. No longer needing convincing that Chains were
(and are) great, I got ready to leave. . . . But they weren’t
done. They left the crowd with a question of their own: “If
I would, could you?”
Cantrell took Duvall’s mic stand and twisted its neck toward
the crowd, looking for an answer. The sound of thousands of
people roaring back a unanimous “Yes!” poured through the
microphone and over Cantrell’s flowing blond mane in loving
waves. The sound of the stomping and cheering audience looped
through the sound system and was launched back out at the
crowd twofold. And yes, I heard myself cheering too.
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