Ben Harper Strums To Receptive Crowd
Ben Harper, Pete Droge Tuesday, May 20, Opera House
This is a testament as to how good the Ben Harper concert was Tuesday night: I didn’t even mind it when the neo-hippies whirlydancing next to me repeatedly smacked me with their flailing arms.
Listening to Harper’s superbly executed blues-soul-rock, I couldn’t really blame the crowd of mostly college-age fans (clad in ‘60s-era flower-child garb) for dancing the herky-jerky hippie jig throughout the Opera House show.
For although this 27-year-old guitar wonder barely moves on stage, his music is stoked with a soulful exhilarance that makes it nearly impossible to hold still.
And Harper’s show was all about building upon energy, about slowly filling the audience with an impassioned fire.
Joined by his band The Innocent Criminals, he started his set with the simmering pulse of “Whipping Boy,” easing it up a notch with each number - to the stabbing power of songs like “Faded” from his latest album “The Will To Live.”
Rather than pummeling his listeners, Harper employed moments of explosive release carefully. “Homeless Child” thumped and rocked with an potency unattainable on CD. He ended the evening with a searing version of Jimi Hendrix’ “Voodoo Chile.”
Harper’s fragile, on-the-verge-ofcracking, yet remarkably tenacious voice wound beautifully through political-themed anthems like “Excuse Me Mister” and “People Lead” from his “Fight for Your Mind” album. During the first of two encores, the musician turned the crowd nearly motionless with his stunning solo performance of “Waiting on an Angel.”
Harper’s remote stage personality was a bit distracting. Seated on a tie-dye-sheeted chair throughout the show, he rarely spoke to the audience and looked at the crowd with equal infrequency. Instead, he focused on his guitars as they were placed one after the other in his lap. He painstakingly made sure each was in perfect tune before picking, strumming and slapping the hollow-neck lap slide guitars and standard acoustic guitars he switched back and forth from.
But in the end, such an honest focus on musicianship was a refreshing change from the usual rock star preening and posing.
And the audience didn’t seem to need showmanship. As the aroma of patchouli, body odor and a certain skunky herb floated over the crowd - along with the bubbles blown by a particularly enthusiastic fan - the crowd clearly felt connected to the man on stage.
Portland’s Pete Droge opened the show with a solid set of psychedelic-roots-rock-tinged music. From the Tom Pettyish “Eyes on the Ceiling” to his radio-rocker “If You Don’t Love Me (I’ll Kill Myself),” the seated audience patiently and politely listened but engaged little.
They were waiting to hear Harper.