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The funniest presentation of all of Gallagher's new solo songs came, unintentionally, with the vaguely disco-flavored "AKA...What A Life," which in his universe counts as dance music. Gallagher, as he puts it, "can't dance." Despite this, we were sincerely hoping he would acknowledge the pulsing beat of one of his favorite new songs with some rhythmic body motion, however slight. But no: As the ever-standing crowd swayed along, Gallagher stood stoically behind his guitar with not even a hint of horizontal movement, let alone anything resembling dancing. You can buy the Brit a drum machine, but, well.
Rivaling any of the new stuff, of course, were the versions of Oasis songs -- both classics like "Supersonic," "Wonderwall," and "Don't Look Back in Anger," and lesser-known tunes like "Talk Tonight." (Which Gallagher said was written about a night in San Francisco.) These of course made us painfully miss the glorious early period of Oasis, the heyday of Britpop, and -- more abstractly -- the days when there were still young snotty rock bands writing huge, obvious three-chord rock songs and launching into megastardom with them.
Although he played "Wonderwall" alone with an acoustic, Gallagher closed out the night with a full-band version of "Don't Look Back in Anger." Fueled by a backline of British Hiwatt amps, the song was buoyed by snarling guitars and filled with memorable hooks that had seemingly everyone singing along and grinning stupidly. It's too bad that the Gallaghers can't grapple with the stink of their respective shits and make music together. But even if that never happens, Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds are a fine substitute.
Opener the Hours is the project of Antony Genn and Martin Slattery, two veterans of the Britpop world who've played with Pulp, Elastica, and Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros, among others. The band sounded great onstage -- clearer than the headliner -- and gave its soft rock sound a good showing. Genn's voice takes some getting used to -- it's princely and operatic in a way that only British males can be. Coupled with extremely earnest, sometimes cliche-filled lyrics ("People say I'm a dreamer"; "I want to suck out all the marrow"; etc.) the whole thing can feel a bit belabored. It can also sound way too much like U2. But high-energy numbers like "Ali in the Jungle" seemed to make an indifferent crowd sit up (not stand) and pay attention.
Critic's Notebook
Freak show: Standing (staggering) next to me was a wiry middle-aged British man who stumbled, fell, and shouted reverently throughout the entire show like he'd just come from a bar where they pump whisky into your veins through an IV while making you listen to "God Save the Queen" on repeat. He shouted at me a couple times in what sounded like a British accent that'd reached psychedelic levels of intoxication, but I couldn't make out a single word. The fact that at one point he fell over onto my feet, nearly hitting his half-bald head onto a seat back, didn't stop him from continuing to sway and wave his arms madly. The man on the other side of him, another solo Brit who'd just bought a ticket off a scalper, glared at the crazy guy like he was a national embarrassment.
The crowd: My plus-one for Saturday night was my middle-aged, Britpop-loving uncle, and, well, he didn't feel out of place.
The sound: Was somehow fantastic for the opener and muddy for Gallagher. For the first three songs you nearly couldn't make out a single word he was saying.
Oh, and: Noel played a new piece of swirling, blaring psychedelia called "Freaky Teeth," which he said will be on his new record with the stoners behind Amorphous Androgynous. It was one of the best songs of the night.
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