Black Crowes & Beachwood Sparks

This was not a punk show, boys and girls. Nor was it a metal, hard rock, or funk concert...this is what we like to call real rock 'n' roll. These days the Black Crowes seem to be the last piece of the sweet rock 'n' roll pie. After successfully navigating our way to San Francisco's Maritime Hall and sharing brewskies with some bums posted by my car, I entered into the building to hear the opening act, The Beachwood Sparks.
Four leisure-suit clad men and one Beck look-alike started the evening out right. Beachwood Sparks was a pleasant surprise in comparison to the usual crappy, unknown opening act. Easily comparable to The Mother Hips, the vocals were perfectly harmonized and set off by a twangy lap-steel. Most songs were slow, but powerful, and I found myself closed-eyed and drifting away to their rich, sweet indie beats.
One of the best songs started with an eerie guitar riff and moved into a long jam, complete with harmonica, that got the crowd jumping up and down and whistling for more. The Sparks were keepin' it real with lyrics like, "Don't you ask me what I think of you / Cuz I might not tell you want you want me to." The Beachwood Sparks ended their set with their version of the Everly Brother's "Wake Up, Little Suzy."
After a short smoke break, The Black Crowes strutted on stage and immediately started bustin' out the tunes. With a brand new album, Lion, two new band members, and a suitcase full of soul, the Black Crowes were ridiculously amazing. They played some of their new songs, as well as many from Amorica and Southern Harmony. The first song, "Come On," off their new album, inspired me to run to my local record store and pick up a copy. Just as I was feigning for a blast from the past, the Crowes belted out "Remedy."
There is no question that Chris Robinson is the heart and soul of the band. While his expressionless bandmates strummed and banged, he was jumping up and down like a kangaroo on crack. His energy bolted into the crowd, who happily hopped and sang along with him.
Sporting a sassy, new shag 'do, Robinson waved around a tambourine or a few maracas, and two gospel mamas swooned from the back of the stage. The audience seemed to be newer fans and when "Buttermilk Waltz Jam" turned into "Thorn in my Side," many stopped their singing, but danced along anyway. After the Crowes busted out with "She Talks To Angels," I think we had a few satisfied customers.
But, they kept on, belting out a slow, seductively heavy jam under the glowing red Chinese lanterns that framed the stage. I never realized how many borderline yuppies shared a love for the Black Crowes and they all faithfully mouthed the words to the two encore songs. Besides all the cheering, there was not a lighter in the sky to get our boys back on stage, but I guess yuppies don't carry lighters.
In the words of the large, beer breathing man standing next to me, "These guys fuckin' rocked!" Hey, it's a nice change from the much-repeated comment of the night, "Where's Kate Hudson?"
– Rachel Krampfner

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