The wolf wasn’t howling on the River stage
Los Lobos showing its age; Lonely Boys rock
Los Lobos, Los Lonely Boys, Alejandro Escovedo River Stage Saturday
Will the wolf survive? Well, he’s still prowling but with a limp.
California’s Los Lobos, celebrating their fourth decade of making Tex-Mex rock music, opened their headlining set with their signature tune, Will the Wolf Survive?
The vocals were rocky (lead singer David Hidalgo sounded weak for much of the show), and later in the performance there were odd pauses between some songs as though the band had left their set list backstage.
When they played, though, it was with their customary danceable groove on tunes like Down on the Riverbed and Emily.
Apparently unbothered by the crashing sound bleed from the Bell stage, the band broke into Kiko and the Lavender Moon.
No one could accuse Los Lonely Boys of musical stinginess. The sibling trio, who style their music “Texican Rock ’n’ Roll,” opened with Voodoo Child. With Henry Garza’s guitar solos, it ran 10 minutes.
Playing to a large crowd, the trio then did the funky I’m a Man, slipping a riff from Cream’s Sunshine of Your Love into it. It ran six minutes.
And so it went: Henry crunching out big solos, bassist Jojo doing a whirling dervish routine one minute and trading notes with Henry the next, Ringo not much more than a round, bearded face and a pair of flailing hands behind his drum kit.
Maybe the crowd grew weary of the trio’s superbly executed but wearingly involved songs. Maybe it was the pull of B.B. King on another stage. Whatever the reason, by halfway through the set the audience was down to half its original size.
Texas alt-rocker Alejandro Escovedo made it clear that you don’t go to his show unless you bring the same enthusiasm he does.
Sporting a red shirt and black suspenders, the apparently heat-proof Escovedo taunted his audience by asking, a bit peevishly, “C’mon people, what’s wrong: you tired?” when the crowd responded only tepidly to his dedication of the song Sensitive Boys to Los Lonely Boys.
Unintimidated, or maybe just heat-dazed, the audience responded a bit louder, but not much.
No matter: Escovedo and his outfit, with Ricky Ray Jackson’s lead guitar darn near igniting the River Stage, charged through the hardrocking Castanets, the baking, empty spaces of Arizona, and the punky Hotel Chelsea ’78.
The crowd had, so to speak, warmed up considerably by the end of the show, prompting Escovedo to close by shouting, “We love you very much! Thank you!”