Celebrating the Revolution
Noise issues aside, Prince’s early-’80s band successfully brings his hits to the stage
F or most of Thursday night, the Revolution — Prince’s early-’80s electro-funk-rock band — tiptoed around the subject of Prince himself. Not his music, mind you, because the entirety of the 22-song set comprised songs written by one of the great geniuses of 20th century popular music. But banter was minimal, kept to little phrases meant to stir up a crowd that had already arrived in full froth.
Even the intro to “Let’s Go Crazy” was rejiggered, rid of its reference to the elevator trying to bring you down. One year later, I still can’t believe Prince died on an elevator. Skipping past that line, the band suggested it couldn’t believe it either.
And after 14 songs of hearty, restorative stew-like funk from the chilly confines of Minneapolis, three of the five members of the band exited the stage, leaving just Wendy Melvoin and Lisa Coleman. For the first and only time of the night, Melvoin tried to talk a little bit about the man whose music brought everybody
together. Admittedly, her mic was low all night, which mattered less on the louder songs. But every single word was inaudible. And when the two of them played one of Prince’s perfect ballads — the devastating “Sometimes it Snows in April” — on just acoustic guitar and keys, the conversational din by the drunks at the back of House of Blues devoured what should’ve been a beautiful moment.
“Lesson No. 1 for concert reviews,” a mentor once told me, “don’t review the audience.”
We all fail sometimes. An obnoxiously large portion of this crowd didn’t deserve the show they got because even the most celebratory concerts require disparity of dynamic: A little quiet only enhances the loud. And the loud can make the quiet sound trumpeted from on high.
On this night, “April”
was a flower bed that got weeded with a lawnmower. The reception infuriated me during the performance, and in the hours since, that feeling transformed into something more passive. Houston: the child that disappoints.
I’ll leave it at that and attempt to punch a higher floor, because the show before and after that song was, by design, a celebration and a transfer of energy from five people — guitarist Melvoin, keyboardist Coleman, bassist Mark Brown (aka Brown Mark), drummer Robert Rivkin (Bobby Z) and keyboardist Matt “Doctor” Fink — to fans famished to hear these songs performed live again.
And to hear them with this configuration — unlike later Prince bands, the Revolution had no horns — was thrilling for me. The set ran about two hours and mixed the canonized hits with a few deeper cuts like “Mountains” and “America.” I thought “Erotic City” and “Paisley Park” were highlights, though honestly the presentation was such that there were no lags. The group was intuitive and tight and clearly ecstatic at the opportunity to play these songs for these fans. Also, Melvoin perfectly channeled the sexy/scuzzy duality of Prince’s guitar playing.
Because the other ballad, “Purple Rain,” was a sing-along by design, it was impervious to the lawnmower.
I hadn’t given much consideration to Prince’s music as a live entity after his death. Admittedly they exploded a little bigger with the little purple-clad dynamo performing them. But that’s no longer an option, and I left this show hopeful that the Revolution might continue to turn in the future.
I’ll take five minutes of audience negligence for the shared visceral response to songs like “Baby I’m a Star.” Even after that star went dark.