Bryan Adams does it for you
It’s astounding that Bryan Adams hasn’t changed his shtick in almost 40 years – and can still fill hockey arenas.
He’s not in Edmonton as often as some of the others, so that helps make it special. And aside from writing more hits to fill his canon, why would he change now? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Take that cliché and stuff it.
We keep thinking, wishfully, that one day Bryan is going to go Springsteen on us, get all poetic and political – nope! His show at Rogers Place Friday night was the same sturdy nuts and bolts romantic rockin’ affair it’s always been: Raucous rockers on the subject of rockin’, balanced with lovely love ballads in which the love interest is always “you.” This may explain his largely female audience. He’s still a clean-cut Canadian boy at the age of 58. We have embraced him to our bosom.
But here’s the secret to the success of Bryan Adams (aside from his abundant gifts of singing and songwriting) – inclusion. He makes you feel part of his show. Sometimes you are part of the show. More than that, he makes you feel part of his very songs, and therefore his heart. Yes, he often writes in clichés, producing sappy love songs puffed to pop-rocking perfection, but he owns this genre, and has tapped into a deep vein of fan love to a level you rarely see, short of Garth Brooks.
Most rock stars sing at you. Bryan Adams sings to you. Yes, you! A rare song doesn’t contain the word “you.” Early in the show came Run to You, the clingy 1984 love anthem that might not fly today; later You Belong To Me (ditto), the plaintive rocker When You’re Gone, and of course the touching ballad (Everything I Do) I Do It For You. Adams is not above adding a syllable, and extra “it,” to a cliché to satisfy his meter; his poetic license also extends to Cloud #9 – when everyone knows the term isn’t “cloud number nine,” it’s fucking “cloud nine.”
All kidding aside, the mastery of performance at this show was awe-inspiring. Adams and his band have crafted these simple, commercial, mind-numbing, over-saturated, ubiquitous pop-rock anthems into fresh works of art on stage, masterpieces of tone and dynamics and the mad skills of his loyal wingman, guitarist Keith Scott. The band may have dressed like businessmen who lost their ties, but they played like gangsters. Wasting no notes, they made more with less.
On success, Bryan told the audience, “You know you’ve made it when you walk into a Mexican restaurant, and the Mexican band is playing your song,” by way of introducing the Latin-spiced waltz Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman? There’s that you again. Cut to The Only Thing That Looks Good On Me Is You. He also made a connection with the Edmonton crowd by talking about fond memories of an early gig here at the famed “Riviera Rock Room” – which he called a “proper shithole.” (Hey!) He went on, “Right here in this town you saw the beginning of it … ” It being his remarkable career. Cue the fatalistic rocker Go Down Rockin’.
How – you might ask – can they do this night after night after night? The money. Yes, the money. This show was nearly sold out. But there’s also love for one’s own music, a supreme confidence the singer (and his band) exuded with every move. Nothing fancy. Eschewing roadies, Bryan even switched out his own guitars (he only used two). Moreover, his voice was in such fine shape, and delivered with such joy, that the songs at times seemed transformed into sublime and simple little rock ‘n’ roll arias, complete with creative flourishes, grandstanding and bows at the end of almost every song. Bravo!
This crowd was dialed in from the start, standing – middle-aged people standing for two hours, imagine! – cheering their heads off, and singing along to every word of every song that wasn’t a new one. This frenzy of fan devotion, too, was awe-inspiring to witness. This guy must be doing something right. Bryan sings for them, they sing for Bryan, and before you know it we’re in the middle of Summer of ’69. Again.
