Michael Franti and Spearhead
Roseland Theater; Portland, OR

AN EXAMINATION OF MUSIC CRITICISM or I’M JUST A CYNICAL BASTARD or A MICHAEL FRANTI CONCERT REVIEW

I’m sure many of our readers ask how we decide which shows are covered on this site. I hope I’m not giving away any top secret recipes here, but reviews are rarely assigned. A writer usually covers concerts that interest him or her and that means it’s usually a band that the writer likes. Since the writer has a preexisting affinity for said band, this usually translates into positive reviews. Of course, Tiny Mix Tapes has published plenty of negative live reviews in the past, but I have more than a passing interest in most of the bands I see, and this usually results in positive coverage. It’s symbiotic that way.

I’m not going to hide behind the typical excuses for seeing a concert that does not fit snugly into the hipster handbook of cool (such as I’m going because my fiancée really wanted to see the band). Call me a glutton for punishment, but the challenge of reviewing a Michael Franti and Spearhead show, a band I really don’t like, is what drew me to cover it. Besides, this guy has millions of disciples that swear by his positive message and funky jams. Even last week, I met this woman at a party who swore to me that Franti is a prophet.

Okay, bring on the prophet.

There is something about Franti’s pan-cultural idealism that smacks me as smug. Maybe it’s the manifestation of this message through his fans rather than a direct edict from the prophet himself, but it’s a bulletproof vest that guards against any sort of criticism aimed directly at the thing that matters most: the music. I have bemoaned the band’s watered-down fusion of reggae/funk in the past, and instead of criticism leveled at my taste, his fans have hit back with retorts such as, “Well, if you don’t like it, you’re just cynical.” Since when did my worldview have anything to do with whether something sounds good or not? Undaunted, I tried to enter the concert with an open mind and a somewhat open heart.

Michael Franti took the stage soon after 10 PM and kicked off what would be a nearly two-and-a-half hour set with “Hello Bonjour” from Yell Fire (2006). The crowd went nuts. I tried to hold back a smile as Franti regaled the audience with greetings from different languages (Hello, Salaam, Shalom, etc). Crudely drawn speakers adorned with a cross, a star, and a crescent surrounded the band. Eureka! I get it! We’re all one. Gimmicky? Yes. But is it any worse than Cheap Trick’s “Hello There?” What do I know? I was the only one not dancing.

Franti also had some serious mind control over his audience. When he said ‘jump,’ they jumped. When he told them to wave around their t-shirts, t-shirts were waved. I am not completely cool; I dance at concerts that move me. Here I wasn’t moved. Sure, I bobbed a little with the beat and all, but I just couldn’t give myself wholesale to the love. Besides, if Franti’s fans are all about one love, then why did security threaten to kick out at least three people around me?

The show was strictly divided into two sections, the funky and the serious, and in case the audience didn’t realize it, Franti and friends sat on stools to connote the difference. Now, I’m as much of a dyed-in-the-wool lefty as it gets, and I do agree with a lot of Franti’s politics, but it’s the idealism that trips me up. He complained that the upcoming election shouldn’t be “stolen by cynicism.” But idealists tend to forget that there is a difference between realism and cynicism. Just because I don’t enjoy Franti’s music doesn’t mean I disagree with his politics. I think there is definitely something noble in trying to push an agenda on positivism, and, sure, “Everyone Deserves Music” has a great beat. But there is a big current that runs through all of Franti’s music: his ideas manifest themselves in lyrics that are too trite. That doesn’t mean I like only obtuse lyricism; some of the best songs have ridiculous lyrics. But it’s the earnestness attached to the simplicity that bothers me. Just look at the titles -- “One Stop Closer To You,” “All I Want Is You,” “Light Up Ya Lighter.” Let’s get real, it just felt too dumbed down.

Franti ended the first set with “Hey World (Don’t Give Up Version),” where he beseeched the audience to hold hands, and “I Got A Love For You,” a song he said he wrote for his son. But explain this to me: first he did a version of the song with an acoustic guitar, then another version with a Les Paul, and then a final one with a Fender. I’m not talking about three guitar switches during the song. I’m talking about three versions of the same tune. We still had the encore ahead of us.

Away from all the touchy-feely stuff, the bottom line is I just did not connect with the music. It felt blasé, it felt bland. All the songs sounded the same. But so do the songs of James Brown, said one Franti fan. At one point of the performance, Franti’s knit cap flew off and his dreadlocks came out in a big reveal. I hear this surprise happens nightly. But James Brown did the cape trick. That’s all calculated too. But there’s a very basic difference here that I’ve been trying to spit out during this entire review: James Brown’s music is good. Forty, fifty years later, it sounds fresh; it sounds exciting. It’s dangerous. Michael Franti’s music is none of those things. I really wish it was. I’m just being a realist and an idealist.

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