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It’s an unlikely back-story: metal enthusiasts hone an appreciation for Spanish flamenco, head to Ireland and hit it big, relatively. But over the last several years, Rodrigo y Gabriela have toted around a pair of nylon string guitars, taken a music rooted in the past and served it to a new audience. The Mexican duo of Rodrigo Sánchez and Gabriela Quintero don’t play the music exactly as fans of the genre might imagine–and they stray from the psychedelicized version Peter Walker touts. Working in Led Zeppelin and Metallica covers isn’t the norm for most acoustic acts. Read the rest of this entry »

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If you’re between the ages of thirty and forty, you may have been conceived while your parents were listening to Canton, Ohio’s the O’Jays. Well, the O’Jays circa 1974. While the vocal troupe has recorded consistently since its inception during the waning moments of the sixties, last year releasing a Christmas-themed album, it was the disco age and efforts like the funk-cum-smoothed-out-dance-music on “Family Reunion” that marked the end of the group’s heyday. Surely, international touring helps keep up the band’s popularity. But if the O’Jays classic work is discussed, it’s the early seventies that are referenced. Read the rest of this entry »

Though never sabotaging her respectability, somewhere along the line Tori Amos became totally unbearable. Too much fairy dust, one could imagine. A poster woman for feminism in nineties alt-rock, Amos has been churning out her pop music for nearly twenty years. She’s released five records in this decade (really?), including “American Girl Posse,” in which she takes on five different personae, and this year’s “Abnormally Attracted to Sin,” a seventeen-song exploration of men and women and religion, which is terrible. Going back and listening to Amos’ earlier output, it’s clear it doesn’t age well. “Little Earthquakes,” “Under the Pink” and “Boys for Pele”—her first three records, and her best—still have their own charms, but overall lack the debilitating left-hook they once had—like much of 1990′s pop culture, it’s just so dated. Amos went wrong, as a songwriter, with 1998′s “From the Choirgirl Hotel,” which saw her almost completely ditch the piano and take on all sorts of electronics and even dance beats. No one can blame her for wanting to branch out to try something new, but this is a mistake from which she’s never quite recovered. (“Sin” boasts sounds that immediately bring to mind the lesser material from “Choirgirl,” as if Amos has been making the same record over and over for ten years.) However, rabid fans still obsess. It would be cool to see her make a really sparse record with just piano and vocals, but don’t hold your breath. (Tom Lynch)

August 3 at Chicago Theatre, 175 N. State, (312)263-1138, 7:30pm. $39.50-$59.50.

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I have an ongoing debate with a friend of mine over whose cover of “Hallelujah” is better—Jeff Buckley’s or that of John Cale. It’s a fun argument, if a little silly, as clearly it’s Buckley’s (ah-ha! Last word, I win). One of the most influential songwriters of our time, the 74-year-old Leonard Cohen tours for the first time in fifteen years, following years in seclusion, plus a high-profile civil case that was the result of him being swindled out of millions from a former manager. Needless to say, this is an essential show that should be attended (if you can score a ticket, of course, as both nights sold-out, um, really fast). The man behind classic songs like the aforementioned “Hallelujah” and the near mystical “Everybody Knows”—plus classic records like 1967′s “Songs of Leonard Cohen” and 1988′s “I’m Your Man”—simply can’t be compared to other North American artists. Dark, soul-searching, oddball—Cohen has done it all, from deep psychology to religion to painful love. Bono adores him, which is annoying, but Lou Reed adores him too, which is cool. (Funny how that works.) Progressive, experimental, genius, trailblazing, monumental—all tags that fit Cohen comfortably. Reports indicate that hearing Cohen perform “Hallelujah” is the closest you’ll get to revelation these days. I don’t doubt it one bit. (Tom Lynch)

Leonard Cohen plays May 5-6 at Chicago Theatre, 175 N. State, (312)263-1138.

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Neko Case has played a lot of roles over the years: alt-country goddess, power-pop frontwoman and, for her newest record, “Middle Cyclone,” maniacal sword-wielding badass. Not even figuratively or lyrically, either. The cover of the record depicts Case crouching on the hood of a 1968 Mercury Cougar, ready to pounce on whatever the car happens to be charging (from the look on her face, a dragon). It’s the perfect illustrated accompaniment for “Middle Cyclone,” as Case spins fifteen tracks that all lead back to the looming power of nature and the destruction it (and she) unleashes—tornadoes blowing towns apart, animals tearing open their cages, Case punching her lover in the face. The themes come naturally; anyone who’s heard her voice knows she’s a force to be reckoned with, her stunning, powerful alto demanding more accompaniment than her alt-country friends can provide (guests like The Sadies, M. Ward and members of Calexico do a fine job, but a more appropriate backing band would be an actual thunderstorm). A tour de force of pop riffs, country twang and metaphorical fun, Case has never sounded more charmingly strange, or more strangely charming. Neko, you had us at “I’m a maneater.” (Andy Seifert)

April 24th at Chicago Theatre, 175 N. State, (312)263-1138, at 7:30pm.

After thirty-two years of a world without a new LaBelle album, Patti LaBelle, Nona Hendryx and Sarah Dash decided to give it one more go, releasing a ten-track reunion album, “Back to Now.” Did the soul/funk trio—mostly known for the 1975 hit “Lady Marmalade”–muster enough moxie to bounce back into relevance? Well, of course not. “Back to Now” sounds a lot like a long lost soundtrack to some Whoopi Goldberg film, and for good reason: these women are all in their mid-sixties—not an easy age to just start belting out notes and crafting new classics (having Lenny Kravitz produce some of the tracks doesn’t help). But give LaBelle and her R&B-mates a little credit: they don’t sound half-bad. Frankly, I could be fooled into thinking they were in their late-forties—the soaring melodies are there and the back-up harmonies are just as crisp as they were in 1975—but the generic production and stale arrangement bring the album down. One note: major kudos to tacking on a 1970 live recording of the Cole Porter cover, “Miss Otis Regrets” (featuring, of all people, Keith Moon on drums), a killer track that exposes the group in its most grandiose moment. (Andy Seifert)

January 10th at Chicago Theatre, 175 N. State, (312)263-1138, at 8pm.

By Andy Seifert

How exactly do you top: an appearance on “Saturday Night Live”; performing on “The Late Show with David Letterman” with the Boston Pops; and feature time slots at Lollapalooza, Coachella and Bonnaroo, the last of which included an exhausting, nearly four-hour-long set in the middle of the night? My Morning Jacket’s answer: a two-night stint at the Chicago Theatre and a New Year’s Eve party at the king of arenas, Madison Square Garden. Aside from three straight nights at Wembley Stadium (with special guest Brian May), I’d say that’s about as epic as it gets.

Kentucky’s own My Morning Jacket has spent 2008 recording and touring on “Evil Urges,” the follow-up to the critically acclaimed “Z.” Where “Z” solidified the exponential growth of the band’s fan base, it seems “Evil Urges” was meant to divide the loyal masses. While one of the band’s charms has been its boundless eclecticism (MMJ has been no stranger to, among other genres: southern rock jams, space-rock interludes, psychedelic experimentation and old-school country melodies), the opening tracks of the record still came out of left field: Prince-inspired funk, big-ass choruses and extremely high vocals. Surely, when singer Jim James started busting out the falsetto squeal (especially for the chorus of the polarizing “Highly Suspicious”), the band could envision the mixed reviews.

“It’s about how we expected it,” drummer Patrick Hallahan says about the reception to “Evil Urges.” “We expected it to be met with skepticism. We expected it to sort of split our fan base down the middle pretty much, cause there are people that like the older stuff and want us to continue making the same album over and over again, and there are people that are supportive of any growth that we want to take on. So we knew that this one would definitely separate those two sides of the audience.”

The funkadelia of the opening tracks act as a prelude foreshadowing an album that never really settles on any genre. Disco jams, southern rock anthems, country-folk and smooth soft rock are all attempted MMJ-style, which quite literally represents the ultimate artistic goal for Jim James and company, and not just for this album, but for the entire catalogue of the band.

“Honestly, I can’t put a categorization on what our band sounds like now, and I think it’s because our roots changed over time, we always listened to a bunch of different things,” Hallahan says. “If you’re never one thing then nobody expects you to be that one thing, and you have room to grow. We really like that great creative freedom.”

If the band’s unwillingness to settle on a sound drove people from the band, then it’s not showing in ticket sales. Needless to say, you don’t play Madison Square Garden without putting a few asses in the seats (unless you’re the Knicks), and tales of the band’s live antics have something to do with it. The four-hour stint at Bonnaroo (including James Brown and Motley Crue covers), the “Under the Sea” prom in Athens, Georgia (complete with cakes, mermaid costumes and “Earth Angel”) and the Donner Party-themed show in San Francisco (where the band dressed up as hunters and Native Americans, then “killed” and “ate” bassist “Two Tone Tommy” Blankenship) all beg the question: where the hell do these guys come up with this stuff?

“We really are living our dream, this is something that we’ve always wanted to do since kids, so we’ve had plenty of time to conjure up scenarios that can now be put into motion,” Hallahan says. “Our brains are always rolling. We’ll be sitting around on the bus or backstage, and our concert themes always seem to start with, ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if…’ or ‘What if we could pull this off…’”

It’s worth noting, since a lot of these scenarios seem reminiscent of ideas that high-school musicians/aspiring rock stars concoct while dreaming of fame and stardom, that James and Hallahan have been very close friends since grade school, and that Hallahan can confirm what already was obvious: James still sort of has that childlike bounce to his step.

“You know I think that’s something I could say about all of my friends, including Jim,” he says. “Everybody’s maintained the youthful spirit that we befriended each other with. We’re 30 now, so I hope there’s a little more sensibility, but the spirit is the same.”

December 27-28 at Chicago Theatre, 175 N. State, (312)263-1138, 7:30pm.

When Harry Connick Jr. first appeared on the scene some twenty years ago trying to present himself as a serious jazz pianist, there was little interest, but then again, if the guy had a tad of lyricism—not to mention musicianship and technique—that might have helped. The shrewd folks at Columbia Records let him cut an embarrassingly banal instrumental piano album if Connick would croon his way through standards on a separate release. Soon, filmmakers took advantage of the fact that Connick could supply them with a Sinatra sound for a fraction of the price, and some started putting him in front of the camera as well. Connick’s physical and vocal similarity to the young Sinatra of the bobby-soxer era fascinated folks and my mother, for one, adored him (doesn’t everyone’s mother?). Fast-forward more than two decades with detours on Broadway, composing and, yes, even a stint as a self-styled funk performer, and Connick is right back where he started, crooning in the style of early Sinatra on his new holiday album, “What a Night!” (Columbia). (Admit it, you’ve always wondered what Frankie would sound like singing “Zat You Santa Claus.”) That album, Connick’s third holiday opus over the years (to say nothing of Christmas cartoons and movies), will form the basis of this holiday concert at one of Sinatra’s favorite performing venues, the Chicago Theatre. Connick has enough earning power that, like Sinatra, he can bring a Big Band with him and even have his kids get into the act (his daughter shares a track and has inherited her father’s sterile sense of swing). For those holiday dates who will be dragged kicking and screaming to this appearance, prepare by putting on one of Ol’ Blue Eyes’ own Christmas albums in advance so that at the very least when you are told how wonderful selection x or y was between songs, you can defiantly turn to the stage and discreetly mutter, “I have heard Sinatra: and you, sir, are no Sinatra.” (Dennis Polkow) 

December 11 at Chicago Theatre, 175 N. State, (312)263-1138, at 8pm. $40-$75

Who honestly enjoys Kenny G? In the twenty or so years that the ultra-lite jazz saxophonist has enjoyed a bewilderingly successful career, I’ve never once met someone who confessed to buying a Kenny G album—yet somewhere, some twisted soul out there is perpetually paying money to hear the same Christmas songs (his five holiday-themed albums constantly recycle the same songs), the same elevator-inspired, melodramatically titled crap (“The Moment,” “Breathless” and my favorite, “G Force”), and the same greatest hits album (Kenny now has five greatest-hits compilations, further proof that capitalism has failed the consumer), which have combined to total about forty-eight million records sold. Wanna know how to be rich? First, pick a song to cover, like “Joy to the World” or ABBA’s “Dancing Queen.” Secondly, strip it of anything that makes it memorable, like words or a distinctive personality. Third, play the melody on a really smooth instrument, like a soprano saxophone, making sure to back it with some mind-numbing, rhythmless arrangement (a good test: if you can dance to it, scrap it!). And finally, get a perm. Voila! You’re about to sell fifty million records. (Andy Seifert)

December 7 at Chicago Theatre, 175 N. State, (312)263-1138, 7:30pm. $45-$65.

RECOMMENDED

Most people have mixed feelings about The Smashing Pumpkins reconvening and, now, celebrating the band’s twenty years in alternative rock. The band only has two of its original members—Billy, of course, and virtuoso drummer Jimmy Chamberlin—and lucky for fans, those two are the only members that ever really mattered. Last year’s “Zeitgeist,” the band’s first record released after “reforming,” saw Corgan getting back to meatier rock roots, but unfortunately most of it fell flat, as if he was simply trying much too hard. (The new material, including the single “G.L.O.W.”, sounds fairly similar, sorry to say.) But to most people who came of age in the early nineties, “Gish,” “Siamese Dream” and the epic double-disc “Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness” (a monster record that made the group with biggest rock band in the world for a time) are all classic records, and it’ll be nice to watch Corgan do a retrospective on his own career. So many songs, so little time. I saw a video of the band doing “Stumbleine,” a deep cut off of “Mellon Collie” that’s always been a favorite of mine, not too long ago on YouTube, and the full-band version, all shoegazey and epic-sounding, gave me chills. Here’s hoping there’s some of that during this stretch of hometown shows. (Tom Lynch)

November 18-19 at Chicago Theatre, 175 N. State, (312)263-1138, at 7:30pm.