You know what they say: there’s no accounting for good taste. And so that’s how I ended up at the Jesse McCartney concert in Toronto last week.
Continuing my McCartney-fueled love fest, I couldn’t pass up the chance to see the man-boy live in person, even if that meant hearing my friends snicker behind my back or openly laugh in my face or lose the minuscule ounce of street cred that I irrationally thought I possessed. All that mattered was that I was going to be in the vicinity of Jesse McCartney, even if that meant being trampled on by teenage girls twice my size.
Of course, even the prospect of seeing Jesse McCartney couldn’t outweigh the sad picture of me at the concert, swaying side to side by myself, so I needed a partner in crime. The opportunity arose when I got a call from my friend T., who wanted to know if I was interested in seeing Maroon 5 with him.
“No,” I said quickly, the thought of Adam Levine gyrating on stage giving me goose bumps. But then I had a better idea. “I’ll go see Maroon 5 with you if you come watch Jesse McCartney with me.” The last part was said in hushed tones, since I was at work and didn’t want more ammunition for my co-workers, who already think I’m already crazy without the Jesse McCartney factor.
“Who’s Jesse McCartney?” T. asked. Aha! The perfect candidate to drag with me to the concert.
Jesse McCartney was sharing a double bill with Jordin Sparks, winner of 2007’s “American Idol,” and was set to perform at the Sound Academy (formerly The Docks), a small, standing-room only venue in the southeast corner of the city, their only stop in Toronto. As we lined up to go inside, I was relieved to find that I was not the only cougar-like woman in attendance (as I like to stress, Jesse McCartney is twenty-one and therefore legal across all states and provinces), and my plan to grab an unsuspecting teen to masquerade as my younger sister was scrapped. Yes, all five of us were unabashed in our love for McCartney.
As we waited for the concert to start, we were chagrined to find that everyone had brought a camera except for us. Damn my instruction following! Because T.’s cell phone camera had been assembled in 1962, we couldn’t get a clear picture of anything except a black blur on stage and someone’s errant head in our way, though our line of sight to the stage was obscured by the lone 6’2” guy in the audience and the two Amazonian women who kept insisting on standing directly in front of us. But if you really want a picture, here you go!
Everything seemed relatively calm, and as I contemplated getting drunk at the bar so I could be escorted out in a blaze of glory, we heard screaming coming from the front of the venue. Indeed, Jesse McCartney had stepped out of his dressing room to sign autographs before the show. How gracious! But alas, the moment passed too soon and all we got was a semi-sighting from T., who thought he saw McCartney’s head poking out of the tween crowd.
After a long day at work, the plan was to watch McCartney and bolt out of there. But as things go, Jordin Sparks opened up the show, so the McCartney fest would have to wait. Her one-hour set was good, as is to be expected from an “American Idol” winner accustomed to singing live, albeit somewhat boring. Unfortunately, I’m not too familiar with her repertoire, but she did perform crowd-pleasers like “Tattoo” and “One Step At A Time” (her opening song), in addition to unreleased songs from her album like “Freeze,” “Permanent Monday,” “Now You Tell Me,” and “God Loves Ugly” (if you’re a fan of “America’s Next Top Model,” you’ll remember contestant Bree disagreeing, though that’s a random aside that serves no purpose to this story). Between songs, Sparks also worked in some Alicia Keys (“Fallin’”), Tracy Chapman (“Give Me One Reason,” which she also performed on “American Idol”), and Stevie Wonder (“Superstition”). The latter was a duet with her back-up singer, who uncannily sounds like a woman and should probably tour on his own.
Sparks has a habit of talking between songs to explain the meaning behind them, which, depending on your mood, may or may not be annoying (but not as annoying at the cheesy screensaver background behind her, which transported me back to “American Idol”). I didn’t find it so much annoying as I did a time zapper that only prolonged my McCartney fix, but it’s nice to know that Sparks had the final laugh when she saw her long-time crush at her concert and brushed him off because she realized that he was a prick, or that she thinks we should all be happy with ourselves. But all the asides were forgotten when she performed “No Air” as her final song (sans Chris Brown), and I was able to writhe in lovelorn agony along with her.
After a half-hour break that felt more like twenty hours, with intermittent screaming from girls chanting “Jesse! Jesse!” in a futile attempt to lure him out of his comfortable dressing room, the second act started. Never in my life have I been so close to mass hysteria as I did standing in the middle of the Sound Academy. It doesn’t help when girls will scream directly in your ear because you happen to be standing in the way between them and the stage.
In a handful of interviews, Jesse has alluded to his admiration for Justin Timberlake, and it shows. From the tailored suit to the too-cool-for-school sunglasses, McCartney is well on his way to becoming something of a Timberlake shadow. What was most amusing to watch was the deliberate way in which McCartney peeled off his sunglasses, after performing two songs back-to-back, just to incite a reaction from the crowd. Yes, it’s true: you’re not a real person until the sunglasses come off.
Poor T. was lost throughout most of the set, but I’m sure my detailed commentary, which comprised mostly of “I like this song!” (“It’s Over,” “Make Up,” How Do You Sleep?”) or “This songs sucks” (“Into Ya,” “Freaky,” “Beautiful Soul”) was helpful. I’m also sure McCartney’s back-up singers lost a little bit of their soul that night when they were forced to sing “Beautiful Soul,” though the “Jessie’s Girl” interlude comes a close second.
After several costume changes and semi-choreographed numbers that consisted of two-stepping and lots of hand signals, it was time for Jesse to pull someone on stage. I’m familiar with his gimmick because of the various concert footage popping up on YouTube, where the consensus is that McCartney is a lecherous old man for singing sexy songs to young girls. “Pick someone your own age, pick someone your own age,” I muttered under my breath. But no, after much hamming and foot dragging and eliciting more mass hysteria from the crowd, McCartney pulled up a young girl on stage. Cue the throngs of euphoric screams and living vicariously through others as he sang to star-struck girl – quite intimately, might I add – before giving her a hug.
Unlike Sparks, McCartney seemed to have enough material culled from his three-album career to fill his hour set, but he did manage to sneak in one cover. As he helpfully explained with a muffled voice (the most he’ll ever speak at the concert), he was approached by Pepsi to perform a song under their “Cover Art” series. As stipulated, the artist must cover an artist completely out of their genre, so Jesse did the natural thing by selecting…T-Pain's "Buy U A Drank (Shawty Snappin').” It would all make sense except for the fact that McCartney is, indeed, veering off into R&B and urban music. But I guess since they’ve asked him to do a cover of someone outside of his genre, instead of a genre he strives to be in, I’ll let it go. What I can’t quite let go of is the jarring image of young ten- and twelve-year-old girls singing along, even replicating the “ooh” sounds, as horrified parents looked on from the sidelines.
What watching ”Buy U A Drank” live showed me is that not only is McCartney a gifted live performer, but also that he makes too many weird faces while singing and that he’s one gene mutation away from Frankie Muniz.
At last, McCartney ended the night with “Leavin’,” which left me very happy. As soon as the last chords were played, T. and I high-tailed it out of there to beat the crowd. McCartney came on to do an encore (a cover of a Michael Jackson classic), but by that time, T. and I had had our fill of screaming pre-pubescent girls, standing-room only venues, and ringing in our ears. And much like a summer love, it was also time for me to bid McCartney good-bye, though we’ll always have our crazy summer at the Sound Academy.
Christine
Continuing my McCartney-fueled love fest, I couldn’t pass up the chance to see the man-boy live in person, even if that meant hearing my friends snicker behind my back or openly laugh in my face or lose the minuscule ounce of street cred that I irrationally thought I possessed. All that mattered was that I was going to be in the vicinity of Jesse McCartney, even if that meant being trampled on by teenage girls twice my size.
Of course, even the prospect of seeing Jesse McCartney couldn’t outweigh the sad picture of me at the concert, swaying side to side by myself, so I needed a partner in crime. The opportunity arose when I got a call from my friend T., who wanted to know if I was interested in seeing Maroon 5 with him.
“No,” I said quickly, the thought of Adam Levine gyrating on stage giving me goose bumps. But then I had a better idea. “I’ll go see Maroon 5 with you if you come watch Jesse McCartney with me.” The last part was said in hushed tones, since I was at work and didn’t want more ammunition for my co-workers, who already think I’m already crazy without the Jesse McCartney factor.
“Who’s Jesse McCartney?” T. asked. Aha! The perfect candidate to drag with me to the concert.
Jesse McCartney was sharing a double bill with Jordin Sparks, winner of 2007’s “American Idol,” and was set to perform at the Sound Academy (formerly The Docks), a small, standing-room only venue in the southeast corner of the city, their only stop in Toronto. As we lined up to go inside, I was relieved to find that I was not the only cougar-like woman in attendance (as I like to stress, Jesse McCartney is twenty-one and therefore legal across all states and provinces), and my plan to grab an unsuspecting teen to masquerade as my younger sister was scrapped. Yes, all five of us were unabashed in our love for McCartney.As we waited for the concert to start, we were chagrined to find that everyone had brought a camera except for us. Damn my instruction following! Because T.’s cell phone camera had been assembled in 1962, we couldn’t get a clear picture of anything except a black blur on stage and someone’s errant head in our way, though our line of sight to the stage was obscured by the lone 6’2” guy in the audience and the two Amazonian women who kept insisting on standing directly in front of us. But if you really want a picture, here you go!
Everything seemed relatively calm, and as I contemplated getting drunk at the bar so I could be escorted out in a blaze of glory, we heard screaming coming from the front of the venue. Indeed, Jesse McCartney had stepped out of his dressing room to sign autographs before the show. How gracious! But alas, the moment passed too soon and all we got was a semi-sighting from T., who thought he saw McCartney’s head poking out of the tween crowd.After a long day at work, the plan was to watch McCartney and bolt out of there. But as things go, Jordin Sparks opened up the show, so the McCartney fest would have to wait. Her one-hour set was good, as is to be expected from an “American Idol” winner accustomed to singing live, albeit somewhat boring. Unfortunately, I’m not too familiar with her repertoire, but she did perform crowd-pleasers like “Tattoo” and “One Step At A Time” (her opening song), in addition to unreleased songs from her album like “Freeze,” “Permanent Monday,” “Now You Tell Me,” and “God Loves Ugly” (if you’re a fan of “America’s Next Top Model,” you’ll remember contestant Bree disagreeing, though that’s a random aside that serves no purpose to this story). Between songs, Sparks also worked in some Alicia Keys (“Fallin’”), Tracy Chapman (“Give Me One Reason,” which she also performed on “American Idol”), and Stevie Wonder (“Superstition”). The latter was a duet with her back-up singer, who uncannily sounds like a woman and should probably tour on his own.
Sparks has a habit of talking between songs to explain the meaning behind them, which, depending on your mood, may or may not be annoying (but not as annoying at the cheesy screensaver background behind her, which transported me back to “American Idol”). I didn’t find it so much annoying as I did a time zapper that only prolonged my McCartney fix, but it’s nice to know that Sparks had the final laugh when she saw her long-time crush at her concert and brushed him off because she realized that he was a prick, or that she thinks we should all be happy with ourselves. But all the asides were forgotten when she performed “No Air” as her final song (sans Chris Brown), and I was able to writhe in lovelorn agony along with her.
After a half-hour break that felt more like twenty hours, with intermittent screaming from girls chanting “Jesse! Jesse!” in a futile attempt to lure him out of his comfortable dressing room, the second act started. Never in my life have I been so close to mass hysteria as I did standing in the middle of the Sound Academy. It doesn’t help when girls will scream directly in your ear because you happen to be standing in the way between them and the stage.
In a handful of interviews, Jesse has alluded to his admiration for Justin Timberlake, and it shows. From the tailored suit to the too-cool-for-school sunglasses, McCartney is well on his way to becoming something of a Timberlake shadow. What was most amusing to watch was the deliberate way in which McCartney peeled off his sunglasses, after performing two songs back-to-back, just to incite a reaction from the crowd. Yes, it’s true: you’re not a real person until the sunglasses come off.
Poor T. was lost throughout most of the set, but I’m sure my detailed commentary, which comprised mostly of “I like this song!” (“It’s Over,” “Make Up,” How Do You Sleep?”) or “This songs sucks” (“Into Ya,” “Freaky,” “Beautiful Soul”) was helpful. I’m also sure McCartney’s back-up singers lost a little bit of their soul that night when they were forced to sing “Beautiful Soul,” though the “Jessie’s Girl” interlude comes a close second.
After several costume changes and semi-choreographed numbers that consisted of two-stepping and lots of hand signals, it was time for Jesse to pull someone on stage. I’m familiar with his gimmick because of the various concert footage popping up on YouTube, where the consensus is that McCartney is a lecherous old man for singing sexy songs to young girls. “Pick someone your own age, pick someone your own age,” I muttered under my breath. But no, after much hamming and foot dragging and eliciting more mass hysteria from the crowd, McCartney pulled up a young girl on stage. Cue the throngs of euphoric screams and living vicariously through others as he sang to star-struck girl – quite intimately, might I add – before giving her a hug.
Unlike Sparks, McCartney seemed to have enough material culled from his three-album career to fill his hour set, but he did manage to sneak in one cover. As he helpfully explained with a muffled voice (the most he’ll ever speak at the concert), he was approached by Pepsi to perform a song under their “Cover Art” series. As stipulated, the artist must cover an artist completely out of their genre, so Jesse did the natural thing by selecting…T-Pain's "Buy U A Drank (Shawty Snappin').” It would all make sense except for the fact that McCartney is, indeed, veering off into R&B and urban music. But I guess since they’ve asked him to do a cover of someone outside of his genre, instead of a genre he strives to be in, I’ll let it go. What I can’t quite let go of is the jarring image of young ten- and twelve-year-old girls singing along, even replicating the “ooh” sounds, as horrified parents looked on from the sidelines.
What watching ”Buy U A Drank” live showed me is that not only is McCartney a gifted live performer, but also that he makes too many weird faces while singing and that he’s one gene mutation away from Frankie Muniz.
At last, McCartney ended the night with “Leavin’,” which left me very happy. As soon as the last chords were played, T. and I high-tailed it out of there to beat the crowd. McCartney came on to do an encore (a cover of a Michael Jackson classic), but by that time, T. and I had had our fill of screaming pre-pubescent girls, standing-room only venues, and ringing in our ears. And much like a summer love, it was also time for me to bid McCartney good-bye, though we’ll always have our crazy summer at the Sound Academy.
Christine
No comments:
Post a Comment