Third Eye Blind
Photo by Rene Rigau
Friday, October 2, 2009
Revolution, Fort Lauderdale
Better Than: Reading your BFF's diary. If you're of a mind to do such a thing.
The Review:
Third Eye Blind's Stephan Jenkins truly has no shame. Not that he has anything to be really shameful about, mind you; not that I know of, anyway. But the Oakland-born alt-crooner sure is qualm-free when it comes to baring his innermost thoughts and hopes and dreams, especially as they concern the women in his life. Then again, had I spent three years alongside Charlize Theron and then subsequently shacked up with Vanessa Carlton, I might be continually telling the whole world about it too.
Actually, I wouldn't be doing any such thing. See I'm from the school that believes diaries are meant for the person writing them and nobody else, unless perhaps they're unveiled posthumously, when no one is around to suffer their embarrassments. That's probably part of the reason why I wasn't an alterna-pop star in the '90s, and why scores of young women aren't gathering at my feet -- I just wasn't prepared to kiss and tell all.
Not so Jenkins, who seems pleasingly eager to turn each of his diary's
entries into some kinda lullaby for the forlorn. Of course, he does do
all this with some talent. And I suppose his sensitive boy act is not
without some charm. Still I needn't hear all about how the tears fell
on his pillow. And I suspect there are at least a million other men
just like me.
Good thing for Jenkins though that there also are
scads of chicks who still dig his schtick and are willing to come out
and listen to it, even after all these years. In fact at Revolution
Friday night, they assembled with enough mass to spell sell out.
It
was crazy. It was kooky. And -- dare I say it? -- it was fun. For
awhile anyway. I mean, you try standing in a roomful of singing women
and not find some fun in it all. And those that showed for Jenkins and
his merry band of mop tops sang along to every song as if each word was
meant just for them.
First there were the semi-hits ("Graduate"
and "Jumper" and "Never Let You Go"). And there was an intimate lull
when a couch was brought on stage and the barefoot singer took to a
stripped down drum kit while his bandmates reclined through a few
slower songs ("Deep Inside of You"?, "Anything"?, "Why Can't You Be"?).
Then the band got back to rock basics and inexplicably let loose with a
drum solo. Why they did so is anybody's guess. But a band that's best
known for penning radio-friendly pop has no business doing drum solos.
Ever.
If you read my preview
piece, you'd know that I thought "How's It Gonna Be" was one
of the more interesting moments in Third Eye Blind history. And it was
that song in particular that I'd come to hear. Unfortunately the more
the band played the more they seemed to sound the same, and after
awhile I started hearing strains of that track within nearly everything
they did.
So, no, I didn't stick around for the obligatory
encore of "Semi-Charmed Life" and "How's It Gonna Be." Nor did I get to
hear a reported reprise of "Bonfire" (off '09's Ursa Major). But that doesn't mean I didn't get to hear those songs really. I just got to hear them differently.
Best
thing about that night though is that I got to see a sentimental fool
lead a thousand-plus strong choir into some smiling sing-a-long. And
who the hell am I to doubt the vision of a sight like that?
Personal Bias: I'm just as susceptible to sentiment as anyone.
Random Detail: Jenkins apparently travels with his own square of carpet so that he can traipse around barefoot as if he were at (your) home.
By the Way: Bree
Davies at The Denver Post wasn't quite as forgiving as I was when Third Eye Blind
blew through her town.
