Energy, climactic ending missing at Vega concert

A&M Records Suzanne Vega crooned to a
packed house at Royce Hall on Thursday.

By Antero Garcia
Daily Bruin Senior Staff

While Suzanne Vega’s performance was solid on Thursday
night in Royce Hall, it was by no means uplifting.

Kicking off her U.S, tour, Vega and opening act Marshall
Crenshaw, gave a packed audience a heaping serving of folk songs,
as well as an occasional pop gem.

Starting off the show, Crenshaw, dressed scruffily like a
bizarre gas station attendant, did a solo set, opting to perform
without his customary back-up band.

With his eyes shut and a cap tucked up on his head, Crenshaw
rocked back and fourth in his seat, humming happily into a
microphone. His foot never stoped tapping during his entire set,
caught in the rut of his yesteryear melodies.

In one sense, Crenshaw’s guitar playing was almost
abrasive and forced. His fingers desperately slid across the
hollow-body guitar’s neck, lusting to find the song’s
next chords. All the while, that light and youthful reminiscing
voice sang so carelessly, so happily that many members of the
audience couldn’t help but giggle at the musician’s
goofiness.

Instead of a fancy light show or skanky dancers, Crenshaw just
needed to flick his wrist and lift his vocals above the twang of
reverberating strings in order to capture the audiences attention.
All the focus was on Crenshaw and his licks.

The highlight of the opening set was Crenshaw’s rendition
of “Kick Out the Jams,” originally done by the rocking
MC5. In performing the song, Crenshaw turned a “Detroit rock
anthem” into a catchy head- nodding, finger-snapping folk
song.

Near the end of his set, Crenshaw attempted to thank the
audience for their support and to give his appreciation to Suzanne
Vega for having him on her tour.

Crenshaw’s hands, however, started to strum a little bit
too early, and the crazed singer ““ abiding by the wishes of
his obsessed fingers ““ launched into another song, never
finishing his sentimental speech.

After the brief intermission, as the stage crew prepared for
Vega, the folk queen appeared on stage to a deafening roar of
applause.

Vega said that because of an accident on her bicycle she would
be unable to play guitar, and so throughout the show she would
often stand in front of the full house, bare, simply leaning into
the microphone.

Once her songs began, Vega , who is used to playing guitar on
all of her songs, dropped her hands limply to her sides and her
eyes stared vacantly, almost lonelily, into the black wisps that
hid the audience.

Vega encouraged requests and asked that they be shouted out. She
also warned the audience to please not request her hit single
“Tom’s Diner,” since she already planned to sing
it at the end of the show. One of the more quirky requests that
Vega abided to was reciting one of her many published poems,
“The Happy Gravedigger.” Though not as interesting as
the name suggests, the poem revealed an interesting side to
Vega’s talent that isn’t as widely acknowledged as her
singing.

Vega’s voice, both reciting the poem and also singing, was
full of breathy air, whispers and melancholy. Her poignant lyrics
were clearly the focus of her set, as the crowd, typically full of
chatting friends and rattling paper, was completely transfixed and
silenced by the powerful presence that Vega commanded.

Despite her haunting voice captivating the audience, the
physical energy was lacking. There was no dancing or jumping on
stage. Vega and her three accompanying musicians appeared as if
they were imprisoned in their respective positions by invisible
shackles ““ hunched over steel strings, metallic symbols, and
black mic stands.

With the dim lighting focusing the audiences attention on
stillness, even Vega’s happiest melodies seemed to contain a
hint of sadness. Between the visually catatonic numbers, Vega
seemed to come to life. She was often full of anecdotes and quirky
trivia, often hesitating a bit too long to launch into another
song. The source of these delays was sometimes not apparent, and
she would often chide her bandmates into starting tunes more
quickly.

As the show came to an end, Vega, as promised, sang her hit
“Tom’s Diner.” Despite being the obvious choice
as a show closer, the song was anti-climactic and when Vega
encouraged the audience to sing along, she killed the song’s
intimacy.

Though the show had all of the redeeming qualities of any other
live performance, Vega’s singing was haunting. With a smoking
opening performer and a band locked into a rut of drab darkness and
melancholy, Suzanne Vega left the patrons at Royce Hall with a
sense of emptiness.