Voice of the Spirit

Movie Review: “Chickenfoot Live”

I was a bit surprised and embarrassed to see that there were only six of us in the theater. As a matter of fact, the absence of advertising was strikingly apparent. There were no posters in the lobby and no lights or billboards promoting the event. I found this odd—wouldn’t they want as many people to attend as possible?

“Chickenfoot Live” was filmed in high definition with surround sound. It opened with the band in a huddle, bent inward, as Sammy Hagar said his customary blessing.

The next scene showed Joe Satriani, Chad Smith, Michael Anthony and Sammy onstage in Phoenix, AZ, and they opened with “Avenida Revolution.” I expected the sound to blow me out of my seat, the way it did when I saw them in concert, but it didn’t. Maybe the establishment needed to turn up the volume.

The theater also presented the picture with the bottom edge cut off because it overflowed the screen. This was distracting.

The close-ups were one of my favorite aspects of this movie—Chad, Joe, Sammy and Mike sweating and rocking their hearts out. There were a lot of interesting shots here, views the ordinary concert-attendee wouldn’t normally see, such as a shot looking down on Chad and his drums. Nice!

And the vocals were amazing. I don’t know if the film was tweaked to enhance range and singing in key, but the vocals were spot-on perfect. So was the music.

I would have liked to have seen performances from a few of the other shows thrown in though. I also would have liked to have seen the between-the-songs antics the band is known for. Not only are they outstanding musicians, their personal interaction with the fans is something that makes attending a Chickenfoot concert truly a memorable experience. Maybe I’m spoiled, but I felt cheated not having been let in on this important part of the show. While Joe normally just stands there smiling and blowing the walls off the place with his unparalleled guitar proficiency, Sammy and Chad usually ham it up with the audience and involve the fans. Sometimes even Mikey joins in. When Chickenfoot came to Denver this past September (see my post “The Foot Comes Down in Denver” dated Sept.15 ,2009) Chad brought a woman from the audience onstage. He stuck his drumsticks down the front of her shirt and pulled sticks out one by one, then tossed them to the crowd. 

I also didn’t think the movie showcased the incredible energy Chad has. And although it did a good job of portraying Satriani’s talent, I think it could have complimented him a bit more. The film’s portrayal of Hagar and Anthony though, was very well done. Some of the shots of Mikey were phenomenal; it made me feel like I was right there onstage with him. And there was a close-up of Sammy screaming into the mic that made me feel it all the way down my spine.

I loved every minute of “Chickenfoot Live.” And when I went online this morning and read some of the reviews from fans across the nation, I realized they too, noticed only a handful of people in the theaters. I think I know why. “Chickenfoot Live” wasn’t advertised because it was a personal gift from the band to their fans, a kind of “by-invitation-only” special screening, perhaps as a thank you to those of us who have supported them. Of course I could be mistaken, but I don’t think so.

Was the film “almost as good as being there?” Not even close. Chickenfoot explodes live. But if this is as good as it gets for you in lieu of a live performance, you won’t be disappointed.

Wish I was going to Vegas for their final concert on December 5.

Sammy Hagar's Birthday Bash 2009

Sammy Hagar recently celebrated his birthday at his Cabo Wabo Cantina in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico with five days of rock ‘n’ roll, commencing on October 7 and culminating with his birthday “party” on October 13. You’d never guess by looking at him that he’s 62; he looks at least 20 years younger and has more energy than most 30-year olds—still touring around the world with his latest band, Chickenfoot.

The final concert of the birthday bash was almost cancelled due to the rain, which fell nearly every day and flooded the streets. Luckily it held off long enough for the show to take place, resuming its incessant misting (it doesn’t really rain down there, it mists heavily) by the time all was said and done. 

I was fortunate to be able to acquire tickets to each show, a feat that’s becoming increasingly difficult to do. This is because the requirement for getting tickets is having to wait in line all night on the cobblestones of Mexico’s cockroach-ridden, dusty sidewalks, and this time there was an added bonus—it was raining.

Each year my body convinces me that I won’t do it again next year. And yet I do. Why?

Because there is something magical about Cabo. And because in Cabo Sammy lets his hair down a little more than he does while on tour. And also because you never know who might show up to jump onstage and join the party. In the past, there have been such music legends as Ted Nugent, Jerry Cantrell, Billy Duffy, Toby Keith, Kenny Chesney, Chad Kroeger, and many others. This year the bash was in full swing as Sammy and Michael Anthony (former bass player of Van Halen) repeatedly snagged other people’s drinks off the trays of passing waitresses and helped themselves to a swig. They then replaced the drinks, but not before refilling them with tequila from the bottles chilling in the buckets onstage.

Cabo's Mystical Beauty

My husband and I returned home last night after 12 days in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. I’m sitting here at my kitchen table, which is loaded with the Halloween motif our son put up while we were gone, an empty bottle of tequila given to me by Sammy Hagar at one of his concerts (it was half full when he gave it to me), my digital camera and camera cards, a bottle of cipro antibiotic (a must for a trip to Mexico), a colorful, hand-painted fish mobile I’d purchased at one of the shops in Cabo and a pile of junk mail and bills that’s still too intimidating to tackle. Oh, and the decorative candle in the centerpiece of my table has been replaced with one that looks like a bleeding skull.

I’m still trying to process everything that took place over the past few weeks. It rained most of the time we were in Mexico—rained in Cabo! So I didn’t get much of a tan. But when the sun came out, it was marvelous. On our last day, yesterday, I got up early to watch the sun rise over the Sea of Cortez and the rocks of Land’s End. My photos don’t do it justice.

The sun was hot pink as it lifted out of the water and the higher it rose, the hotter it got until it drew beads of sweat from my skin. There were two cruise ships in the bay and hundreds of fishing boats heading out to sea, something that hadn’t taken place for several days due to Tropical Storm Patricia—how ironic is that name?

But yesterday morning Cabo was back to her normal, splendid self—hot, humid and sunny. It seems so dark here in Colorado, but at least it's not snowing.

As I get back into the swing of my old life, I will tackle the task of finishing revisions of my book and keep you posted on its progress. I’m almost finished. I will also write more about Cabo and Sammy Hagar’s concerts while we were down there (my husband and I were fortunate to be able to acquire tickets to all five shows), and I’ll post a few pics.

Besides Cabo’s alluring beauty, I did have several moments during this trip that I consider somewhat mystical—interesting at least. One of those moments was when a woman sat next to me on the plane from Phoenix to Denver and the two of us hit it off as if we’d known each other before. Maybe we have—she told me that she owns a metaphysical bookstore in California. It never ceases to amaze me where the writing of my book “Wings of Rock” seems to be taking me.

For right now though, I have about 50 loads of laundry to catch up on. Stay tuned…

"The Foot" Comes Down in Denver

Concert Review—Chickenfoot at the Fillmore in Denver, Colorado

September 11, 2009

I am a writer. And when one is striving to maintain professionalism, it is one’s duty to present an unbiased account of the subject matter, is it not?

I tried. I really tried, but I just couldn’t do it. I was swept “Down the Drain” and it was so, so fine…

I first saw Chickenfoot perform at the Fillmore in San Francisco on May 17, 2009. It was their third live performance as a band; their debut CD had not yet been released. That show blew me away.

The Denver show topped it.

Chickenfoot was tighter than ever. And they delivered the kind of rock music that's timeless and unforgettable.

The thing that continually amazes me about this band is that none of them upstages the others. They are all top-notch musicians in their own rites but they complement one another beautifully and it seems so effortless.

That evening, I had a backstage tour ticket. Our group was escorted into the venue to watch Davy Knowles and Back Door Slam, the band who would be opening for Chickenfoot, do their soundcheck. Davy is only 22 years old, but he has the soul of an old blues man. His music is in the same vein as that of Jonny Lang. Rock and the blues will never die as long as there are talented people like Davy keeping the soul alive.

We were then escorted into Chickenfoot’s dressing area, a room a little larger than a closet, where all the trunks of clothes stood open and waiting for the band. I think Sammy’s trunk had more shoes than shirts! Michael Anthony’s still had the “VH” logo on it from his Van Halen days.

We were then taken to the hospitality room where the band hangs out before the show. There was a small drum set for Chad Smith, guitars, amps and equipment for Joe Satriani and Mikey, including Mikey’s signature Jack Daniel’s bass with two small shooters of JD stuck in it, a portable wine trunk stocked with about two cases of wine for Sammy, and platters of fruit, sweets and snacks. And of course, Sammy’s bottle of Cabo Wabo tequila was chilling in the refrigerator.

Writing Update

I’m honored and very excited to let you know that I now have three articles published online, one of which is a feature article.

“Chickenfoot Revives Rock ‘n’ Roll” can be found at http://www.americanchronicle.com/articles/view/106286

"Chickenfoot: Self-Titled CD Review" can be found at http://www.americanchronicle.com/articles/view/106957

and “Chickenfoot Review and Photos” can be found at http://www.fortcollinslife-times.com/DesktopDefault.aspx?tabid=2297

I’m working on sending articles to various magazines online and in print and will keep you posted as to my progress there.

As for my book, “Wings of Rock,” I continue to send queries to agents. The right one will come along when it’s meant to be. In the meantime, I am revising the text a-gain for probably the seven-hundredth time. It's a labor of love though.

Thank you for all your support. And thank you to all of you who have left comments here on my blog! Keep them coming!

Ch-Ch-Chickenfoot CD Review

 

Recently released June 5, 2009! Click on CD cover above to purchase, or go to www.chickenfoot.us/ to download the MP3 version.

Track listing:

Avenida Revolution

Soap on a Rope

Sexy Little Thing

Oh Yeah

Runnin’ Out

Get It Up

Down the Drain

My Kinda Girl

Learning to Fall

Turnin’ Left

Future in the Past

Bitten by the Wolf (bonus on vinyl version)

Produced by Chickenfoot and Andy Johns

Distributed by Redline Entertainment, Inc.

Joe Satriani: Guitar

Sammy Hagar: Lead vocals

Chad Smith: Drums

Michael Anthony: Bass

*   *   *   *   *

After seeing Chickenfoot live in San Francisco, I was truly wounded. In a good way. In a fantastic way. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it was nowhere near the caliper of what I saw that night. I wrote a review of the show, so I won’t repeat it here. Check out my post of 5-20-09 if you’re interested.

As for the album, the packaging is already hot! Available in both vinyl and CD versions, the cover is printed with heat-sensitive ink that reacts to the touch causing the picture to appear or fade.

Inside is some of the best rock music I have ever heard.

Sammy was quoted as saying that Chickenfoot sounded a lot like early Zeppelin (a comment which quickly earned him a lot of heat.) But after hearing this album, I have to agree that Chickenfoot’s music is just as powerful as Zeppelin. Besides the combined talents of Joe, Sammy, Chad and Michael, the surprising changes in these songs are but one element that makes them exciting and memorable. Just when you think you know where the song is taking you, it changes and lights up into something completely different. It’s a pleasure to listen to, an honor, really.

Chickenfoot "Owns" San Francisco's Fillmore

My body hurts all over; it’s wrung out like a wet rag. My right ear hasn’t quite come around yet either.

Chickenfoot's performance at the Fillmore in San Francisco, CA on May 17, 2009 was the concert of a lifetime.

I knew I was in trouble when the first song, “Avenida Revolution,” a balls-to-the-wall song about the perils of Mexican immigrants, pounded from the speakers like an iron fist slamming down hard on the stage. Or maybe the biggest erection known to humankind.

I was already overpowered.

Joe Satriani on guitar, Sammy Hagar on vocals, Chad Smith on drums and Michael Anthony on bass came onstage in a burst of sonic boom that felt like the world was splitting open, its internal organs shooting upward to the stratosphere like a volcano OD’ing on testosterone. It bounced off the back walls in some sort of sweet rage/euphoria and rolled like breeding thunder through the audience.

And it never let up. 

This was not Hagar fronting a band, Satriani fronting a band, or even Smith or Anthony fronting.

Chickenfoot has their own sound.They’re not a “supergroup” who will dissolve after one album. God I hope not. They have too much to offer. Their personalities and talents meld as if they  should have been a band a long time ago.

I expected to be wowed by Satch. And I was. Years ago, after having watched Eddie Van Halen perform live, I described his guitar as being his arm—an extension of him. And I was duly impressed.

But Satriani’s guitar was not an appendage. For lack of a better term, and I hate to use this because it’s cliché, he was one with it. The guitar was Joe and Joe was the guitar. The sounds he created through its body with unparalleled ease were beyond what I’d hoped to see. He added a new vision to the music—quenched a thirst for the extraordinary.

The one who really surprised me was Chad Smith. I had previously thought that the drummer’s job, along with that of the bassist, was primarily to hold the rhythm together, to keep everyone on beat. I was sorely mistaken. Chad did not politely keep time; he was not merely background noise, he was a voice demanding to be heard from the first explosive thud, an integral element. His contribution to Chickenfoot raised the bar many notches.

Sammy’s voice never sounded better. It was full of depth, and yet maintained the huskiness that makes a rock singer great. He looked amazing. He sounded amazing. He demonstrated new techniques with his voice that gave Chickenfoot a fresh and innovative sound.

And Mikey hammered his bass, never missing a chance to make his personal statement with his distinctive backing vocals, the ones that helped make Van Halen famous.

Not one of them overpowered the others, and each gave 200 percent. They were dripping with sweat before the first song ended.

From the moment they took the stage, Chickenfoot commanded the sound with the expertise of professionals who had risen above that title to the point where their art flowed naturally; it was not contrived. They had earned the right to enjoy themselves while allowing us a peek into their secret passions.

The music dumped into me with such intensity and felt so damn wonderful, it was almost agonizing. There’s a fine line between pain and pleasure anyway, isn’t there? Especially in rock ‘n’ roll.

When they played “Learning to Fall,” my body felt like it was being wrenched by some out-of-control dictator. And I couldn’t stop the tears. The music was phenomenal; the harmonies impeccable. It sounded like there was an entire symphony surrounding me.

It is both glorious and infuriating to be manipulated by an outside source like that.

Another highlight was Chickenfoot’s rendition of Deep Purple’s “Highway Star.” It transported me back to my teen years when life was filled with the joy of listening to captivating rock music with good friends. “Machinehead” was one of the first albums I’d ever purchased.

Sammy did a fantastic job singing Ian Gillan’s incomparable lead vocals.

Chickenfoot’s entire performance tore me up bad. And yet, I felt like I was the contender who’d won the match. I knew at the time that I was going to be hurting afterward; I just didn’t care. It was so worth it.

I think the critics who have dissed Chickenfoot have based their opinions on the 30-second snippets on the Internet or perhaps from the teasers on Chickenfoot’s website.  These samples do not showcase the brilliance of their material. Not even close.

If hard rock music is in your blood and you are presented the opportunity, you owe it to yourself to see Chickenfoot.

You’ll regret it if you don’t.

Setlist:

Avenida Revolution
Soap on a Rope
Sexy Little Thing
Oh Yeah
Runnin' Out
Get It Up
Bitten By The Wolf
Down the Drain
My Kinda Girl
Learning to Fall
Turnin' Left

Encore:
Future in the Past
Bad Motor Scooter
Highway Star

What a crazy name for a rock band!

Maybe their name is crazy, but their music will knock your socks off. 

Chickenfoot is the new band featuring musicians already famous for their memberships in other groups: Sammy Hagar on vocals, guitar virtuoso Joe Satriani on guitar, Michael Anthony (former bass player for Van Halen) on bass and Chad Smith, Red Hot Chili Peppers’ drummer on drums. They’ve taken a lot of heat for their name, which started out as a joke and stuck.

I first heard them play in Las Vegas in 2008. The concert was supposed to be Sammy & the Wabos.

But toward the end of the show, Sammy announced that he had special guests waiting offstage who were dying to come on and play. That’s when Mikey, Joe and Chad made their entrance.

The four of them played a three-song set that included Led Zeppelin’s “Rock ‘n’ Roll” and Traffic’s “Dear Mister Fantasy.” The audience was ecstatic.

Since then, Chickenfoot has recorded its first album, due for release on June 5, 2009.

The band is doing a “Road Test” tour which includes nine small venues around North America before they head off to Europe. They will be back mid-July to play larger venues in the US. For more information, please visit the Chickenfoot website.

True to all the synchronicities that have fallen into my lap since my mystical experience at Sammy’s show in 2003, my husband and I somehow obtained last-minute tickets to the sold-out show in San Francisco on May 17. It was obviously meant to be, for reasons presently unknown to me. But like all the other coincidences on this wonderful journey, I’m sure the reasons will be forthcoming.

Until then, I am honored to be a part of rock music history-in-the-making and will return home with more stories. Stay tuned!

Chickenfoot - Learning to Fall

I can’t remember the time I have been so moved by a song.

“Learning to Fall” speaks to every cell in my body as if it were part of me. I can almost feel its spirit rising in my soul like the smoke of sweet jasmine incense.

There is something beyond the words here, beyond the melody. It drifts just below the surface and weaves itself with Joe’s guitar and the beautiful flowing harmonies.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard Sam’s voice contain so much depth. It reveals something intimate about him that he feels compelled to share and yet wants to guard because maybe it’s just a little too personal to give away—and would they get it even if he did?

But it shines through anyhow; he can’t help it, and it glides and caresses like fine cognac slipping down your throat and warming your insides.

You can’t hang a name on that feeling; you just have to allow it to move through you and enjoy its spell.

And listen to the song again.

Rock Music Makes You Explode into the Stars

It should be illegal to feel this good.

Last weekend I had the privilege of seeing Sammy Hagar and the Wabos in concert in South Lake Tahoe. I was in the front row as Sammy came over and sat down on the stage right in front of me to play the intro to “Bad Motor Scooter.” I had to back up so he could get his red shoes over the edge of the stage.

When Sammy played his slide guitar, I watched his fingers move over the strings, his thumb encased in a clear glass slide, his hands finding the exact place on the strings and quivering to create the vibration and make the sound come alive.

The sound was bigger than Sammy, bigger than the audience, bigger than all of it put together and it spilled out of the giant speakers and bounced off the crowd in the sold-out South Shore Room at Harrah’s.

As he played, the energy of the moment was so intense, I was afraid to absorb it for fear that it would overload my senses. So to counteract it, I hid behind my camera and told myself if I didn’t get pictures, I would forever regret it. Every now and then I lowered the camera and let the energy flow into me, but I didn't let it enter me completely; it was too powerful.

And now that it’s “safe” to think about it, I realize that great rock music makes me fall to pieces like that. I love/hate this feeling.

Rock music elicits a loss of self-control that fuses pain and pleasure. It's a form of therapy that forces us to let go and allow raw feelings to surface, things that perhaps “decent” people would consider taboo and refuse to acknowledge.

That only makes it more delicious.

But because of this, we are restored.

Experiencing a live rock ‘n’ roll performance full force is also like having spontaneous, unprotected sex. It puts you in that moment where it’s do or die, on the edge where there’s no turning back. It’s so extreme that you are willing to let it take you even though you know better. You’ve found yourself in that moment—sweating, heart pounding and consumed with an ache that can’t be extinguished by any other means. And although your logical mind says you shouldn’t be doing this, your emotions are out of control.

It’s like trying to halt a galloping stallion who doesn’t feel the pain of the bit puncturing the roof of his mouth as you pull back on the reins. The drive in him is unbearable. He knows where he needs to go and all you can do is hold on and enjoy the exhilaration of the ride.

How does one harness a feeling like that? Body and spirit open wide to take it all in now, to take it in hard. And it hurts so fine as you explode into the stars.

It’s rock ‘n’ roll, Baby, you don’t control it; it controls you.

Give me more.