Droll, Rock 'n' Roll: Isaak's a Pleasure

- S.F. entertainer delivers variations on a theme - but what variations!!

The Contra Costa Times, Concert Review
Wednesday, December 16, 1998
by William Friar

We Bay Areans tend to get jaded. San Francisco? Yawn. Tahoe? Ho Hum. The Wine Country? Hey, honey, see what's on the tube.

Count Chris Isaak among the natural assets it's easy to take for granted. The Stockton boy turned San Franciscan has been around so long he's almost become part of the landscape.

And since his sound and look never deviates much from the broken-hearted retro-crooner persona he hit on years ago, it's easy to forget just how well he inhabits it.

Which is why it is a good idea to go see ol' Chris every once in a while and find out what he's up to. His Monday night show at the Warfield, the first of two back-to-back gigs in SF, was a reminder of what makes Isaak fun.

First, naturally, are the songs and the way he sings them. No one can convey that "you ripped out my heart, chopped it up, stir fried it with onions and served it back to me" feeling better than Isaak can.

He and his four-man band, Silvertone, ran throught every variation on his favorite theme, from the yearning "Somebody's Crying" to the pleading of "SF Days," which closed the show(NOT!). And Isaak's spooky side, best exemplified by the crowd favorite, "Wicked Game" is still alive on the new songs, like the absolutly creepy nursery rhyme "Black Flowers".

Then there's the sense of humor. Isaak loves poking fun at himself and his bandmates(guitarist Hershel Yatovitz's goatee was a favorite target all evening), and he has the charm and the presence to pull it off. Monday he also spun one surreal and racy tale after another, and even though they had a touch of vaudeville shtick about them, the stories were entertaining as overly-elaborate lead-ins to songs.

Finally, there is the fashion sense. Isaak's ensemble for most of the evening was a purple sequined jacket, purple sequined pants and a black sequined shirt. He came out for several encore's wearing his by-now familiar suit of mirrors. Any entertainer willing to turn himself into a disco ball has got a healthy sense of the absurdity of stardom. actually, Isaak manages to have it both ways: He mocks the flamboyant rockabilly heartthrob image that has made him something close to an icon.

But Isaak's latest offering, "SOTD", finds him treading water. It's interesting to read his press notes about the album, which focus on all the peculiar studio experiments he used to make the album a departure from his previous stuff. Yet the result is a work that mostly sounds like outtakes from his previous albums. It's as though he is locked in a groove that's difficult to break free from and which is in danger of becoming a rut.

The same tendency cropped up in the concert. Isaak and his bandmates are so comfortable with each other that they convey an ease and professionalism dangerous for a rock group.

The music smoldered all evening. Sometimes it caught fire, as it did when the band ratched up "BDABBT" into a rockin' stompin' jam. But there wasn't a single unvarnished moment all evening. On the other hand, there's a stylized refinement to Isaak's music that will always keep it from being too raw and adventurous.

Still, it would be nice to see his subject matter broaden a bit. For one thing, the lovelorn-loser thing is wearing a bit thin. I'm probably not alone in wanting to meet these armies of women who've dumped Isaak's (no doubt) dimpled butt. Or better yet, I's like to see the guys they've chosen over our version of Young Elvis. Presumably they live on Mount Olympus. An encouraging sign that change is afoot is the inclusion on the album of the devastating "Don't Get So Down...". It's familiar Isaak territory handled in a new way. The singer is torn apart at being so far apart from his lover, but he rises above his own pain to comfort her in her own insecurities, which may not even have anything to do with him. The emothions are mature and complex, and the song handles them deftly.

Isaak sang the song toward the end of the evening. It came a bit thin and strained, and drummer Kenney Dale Johnson should be excused henceforth from harmony duties. But it still packed a wallop. It suggested that one of our favorite sons still has a few more tricks up his sequined sleeve.

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