Waits Dazzles With Glitter

Do a quick internet search and there are more than 600 references of "Tom Waits" and the term "huckster" together. Snake oil, parodist, sly salesman, etc., a vocabulary of carnival-esque trickery have followed the man; as critic Robert Christgau quipped in the 1970's, "Waits is so full of shit…" (as he ripped the Pomona, Calif., native apart).

But whatever Tom Waits is selling, his diverse and unifyingly strange fanbase is buying. The whole Glitter & Doom tour is sold out, with many dates since opening day. With Waits' latest release almost two years behind him -- and a rarities and leftovers triple-disc collection "Orphans" at that --the songwriter wasn't on any agenda to promote new efforts, having any number of suitcases from which to pull his wares at the Fox Theatre in St. Louis.

The scene was already set for poetry, play and parody. This gorgeous, longstanding venue has lasted more than 70 years, ornate as though it were brand new.

Sheathed in gold paint and dollops of ruby, rich blues, Moorish design and accent lights, Fox Theatre is a treasure to house treasures. Suspended above the stage in topsy-turvy fashion and perched on a series of metal bars in the back, the heads of megaphones and bullhorns were suspended, pulled from their bodies like the beheaded victims of Waits' pagan rituals.

Starting out with a literal bang, the 58-year-old singer stepped to the mic and stomped his foot onto his soapbox, causing baby powder or whatever fine magical dust he had up there rise up like smoke and he tore into "Lucinda." He wagged a warning finger and threw his arms across his body like a drunken evangelist, his face taut in revealing the Good Word.

"Way Down in the Hole" was quickly stolen by Vincent Henry, who played on double sax. The song title, too, was an apt description for the sound mix. Though Waits' astonishingly tight and emotional band had the mix down, his grumbling vocals seemed to fall on either side of one's ear, but never quite in it. The nuanced performance lost some luster, on and off, as his lyrics were muddied.

Solitary and sultry, Waits sang "Falling Down" in front of a red haze and built tension where previously there was none on "Black Market Baby." As the crowd shouted their I -ove-yous to Waits in between tracks, he volleyed back "I love you too, babe," flashing the inside flap of his red satin-lined suit jacket.

Omar Torrez, who kept his utterly delightful nastiness buried previously, started "All the World is Green" with a dextrous Spanish guitar intro. Waits' son Casey on percussion kicked off the sample-based "Heigh Ho (The Dwarfs Marching Song)," playing along on an intense wood block board -- think less "Snow White" and more "Alice in Wonderland." Waits finally gathered up a working bullhorn (which had yet to be dismembered) and otherwise cupped his hand about his mouth on this impressive vocal performance.

Samples were also used later for the claps on "Get Behind the Mule," a track that went a little too long to be comfortable. It's hard to shake, but there's something a little disappointing about listening to a quality ensemble that still uses tracking and pre-recorded snippets, no matter how essential those sounds are.

Waits picked up his junior guitar, blowing off the "smoke": "I miss you so much / I can't wait to see you / the day after tomorrow," he sang on touching "The Day After Tomorrow," barely accompanied. The ballad was replaced by creepy and hilarious "Rain Dogs" track "Cemetery Polka," "inspired by relatives who came too early and left too late." The sextet was ensconced in a sick green light, and Waits finished with the punchline: "That's family for you."
Sticking with the "Rain Dogs" theme, he crept to the piano for "Hand Down Your Head" and, later, "Anywhere I Lay My Head," "Singapore" and the klezmer/Weimar influenced title track.

He slid over to organ for "Lost in the Harbor" and returned to the full band format on "I Make It Rain," during which, naturally, he was rained upon by glitter at the signal of his whistle. The gold confetti stuck to his face and filled the brim of his bowler, dumped off later and revealing his aging, downy hair. "This is about a girl who lied to me. And I told her to continue to do so," Waits recalled before starting the rockabilly "Lie to Me" from the Brawlers "Orphan" disc. Sad waltz "On the Other Side of the World" precluded sea-lovin' "Singapore," Waits' idiosyncratic hrm-chah leading it off like the engine of whatever vessel (or planet) he's on.

The band lost it a little on long-running "Dirt in the Ground" but then a single, precariously blinking lightbulb descended from the ceiling to inspire the spoken word "What's He Building"… before Waits accidentally killed the bulb. The group raced toward the end, Waits introducing all the band -- including keyboardist/pianist Patrick Warren and upright bassist Seth Ford-Young. "16 Shells" preceded a chill-inducing "Rain Dogs."

The group shined off with "Goin' Out West," "Anywhere I Lay My Head" and piano-led "You Are Innocent When You Dream" for the encore. Waits invited the theater to join him on the latter, one of the few times the songwriter encouraged such participation. For a huckster, Waits certainly is generous.
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The Cure Brings Darkness and Light to NYC

The Cure Brings Darkness and Light to NYC

As any fan will tell you, there are two faces of the Cure. One is that of a quirky, iconic pop band whose skill at composing endearingly offbeat radio hits made them the crossover darlings of the pre-grunge alt-rock scene. The other is that of a brooding post-punk archetype, whose downbeat songs of angst, sorrow and all-around misery have allowed frontman Robert Smith to reign as the unchallenged King of Goth for almost 30 years.

But one thing the Cure doesn't have is an identity crisis. Smith and co. know that their bread is sufficiently buttered on both sides, so it's no surprise that equal helpings of darkness and light were brought to New York City on June 20 and 21 for the final two dates of the band’s Cure 4 tour.

At the first show – a sold-out appearance at Madison Square Garden -- the group proved its prowess as the arena-rocking monster it became during the mid-80s. The band treated the packed house to a marathon, 35-song set of classic hits and new tunes from their forthcoming 13th studio album (due in September).

Most great frontmen – Bono, for example – are effective due to rock-god bravado and good old-fashioned showmanship. Comparatively, the mop-topped Smith seems more like alt-rock's court jester than one of its kings. During the show, he flopped around the stage (when not standing motionless behind the mic), often forgot the lyrics to his biggest hits and mumbled incoherently between songs. But these factors only seemed to increase Smith's anti-hero cachet. The more awkward he appeared onstage, the more favorably the crowd responded. And for almost three hours at the Garden, Smith had the 17,000-strong audience eating out of his eccentric hands.

After a typically moody opening, the band quickly leapt into its lighter fair, nestling the upbeat melodies of like crowd favorites like "Friday I'm in Love," and "Just Like Heaven" with jangly new singles like "The Only One." While the group occasionally dipped into darker material – the ominous "Prayers for Rain" was an early highlight – the band mostly played to a crowd that was clearly in the mood for a party.

But the group had a different game plan for its final show, at the more intimate Radio City Music Hall. While the MSG set was designed to woo even the most casual Cure listeners, much of the Radio City show seemed geared to thrill superfans. After lulling the audience with the strains of Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings," the band wandered through a somber, deliberately paced set that shied away from singles and relied largely on obscure album cuts and B-sides.

Though band intended to add an air of tension to the performance, some stress was derived from elements other than the music. Guitarist Porl Thompson – who drives much of the bands melodies now that the Cure performs without a keyboardist – was plagued with sound problems, a fact that clearly aggravated and distracted Smith at times.

But where there had been a brooding king of pain during the opening 24-song set, Smith emerged as his more jovial self for the band's first encore. After launching into the new single "Freakshow," Smith danced clumsily with bassist Simon Gallup before – in an uncharacteristically rock-star move -- climbing the famous Radio City steps up to the balcony where he serenaded fans in the "cheap" seats.

The festive mood continued with upbeat gems like "Close to Me" and "Why Can't I Be You," and a second encore that consisted of early, punky classics like "10:15 Saturday Night" and "Killing An Arab," which displayed the band's newfound power as a four-piece.

The band came full circle and concluded the three-hour concert with a sinister version of "A Forest" and the unreleased rarity "Forever," leaving the crowd on a delightfully down note. Though each of the band’s New York performances had its merits, it was simply a case of once not being enough. At the end of the day, the complete Cure experience could only be attained by attending both shows – something the band's most devoted fans intended to do all along.
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Exclusive: Miley Cyrus Grows Up On 'Breakout'

Miley Cyrus

June 27, 2008 , 11:00 AM ET

Cortney Harding, N.Y.

Miley Cyrus is a superstar to millions of teens around the world as Hannah Montana, but it's a more grown-up Cyrus that emerges on her new album, "Breakout." The set is due July 22 via Hollywood; first single "7 Thing" rockets 70-10 this week on the Billboard Hot 100.

"It's grown-up," Cyrus tells Billboard in an exclusive interview. "I wrote all the songs except two. My last one, 'Meet Miley Cyrus,' was more just meeting me, finding out who I am, and here it's more getting in depth of what's been going on in my life in the past year."

Cyrus pushed to write the songs herself this time around, saying that, "No matter how long what I'm doing here lasts, I want to be a songwriter for the rest of my life. I love it and it's my escape. I just hope this record showcases that -- more than anything -- I'm a writer."

The artist found herself in a media firestorm earlier this year when a photo of her bare shoulder, entwined in a bed sheet, appeared in Vanity Fair.

"I was embarrassed," she says in her rapid, self-assured clip, "but also it's like, every career thing that I do can't be perfect, and sometimes my decisions are wrong. I think that just makes me even more relatable. I don't think people will look at me any differently because they're like, 'You know what, I'm going to do stupid stuff too, and I'm going to make mistakes, and that's fine.' It still hurts when I think about it -- but you know what, it doesn't mean that you can't move on."

Cyrus is in the midst of filming the third season of her hit Disney show "Hannah Montana," as well as a "Hannah" movie in Tennessee. Her team is also plotting a successor to her runaway smash 2007 concert tour, which drew nearly 1 million fans.

"We're weighing the pros and cons of having her do multiple nights in one big city versus her doing one-night shows in a number of smaller markets," says Chip McLean, senior VP of Buena Vista Concerts for Disney Music Group. "Since she is someone who appeals to families, we can't just have her play the top 15 markets. Families won't be able to afford to make the trip, buy the tickets and pay for the hotel if we did that."
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Rapper Jal, living to tell about it

Rapper Jal, living to tell about it

TARZANA, Calif. — While kids his age elsewhere in the world engaged in skirmishes on baseball fields and Game Boy screens, Emmanuel Jal was wielding an AK-47 as a child soldier in Sudan's civil war.

"My childhood was destructive," says Jal, 28. "It stresses me when I share my story, but it's a responsibility now. A lot of Sudanese have the same story, and they are quiet. If I testify, I might prevent another kid from losing his childhood."

Jal is testifying on three fronts. His major-label debut, WARchild, chronicles Jal's journey in a blunt rap diary. He's the focus of the upcoming War Child documentary, winner of the Cadillac Award at New York's Tribeca Film Festival. And an autobiography, Warchild: A Boy Soldier's Story, is due in early 2009 from St. Martin's Press.

Soaking up the sun in the backyard of his publicist's hilltop home, the lanky, dreadlocked Jal could be any rising rapper, except that his vivid tales of brutality are all too real. The title track and Forced to Sin offer harrowing details of his war-torn youth, including his temptation "to eat the rotten flesh of my comrade" when fellow child soldiers resorted to cannibalism after escaping the rebel army.

"I don't take modern hip-hop as real," says Jal, whose tune 50 Cent appeals to the rap icon for a ceasefire on violent lyrics that glamorize thug life. "It's entertaining, it's fake, like James Bond. If you really kill, you don't want to talk about it."

Jal's ordeal began at age 7, when his father sent him, along with thousands of children, to the Ethiopian bush to train with the Sudan People's Liberation Army, in combat with government forces since 1983. Jal did not resist.

"A seed was planted in me," he says. "I lived in war. Our village got burned, and I thought the world was ending with these loud bombs and houses burning and people screaming. My grandmother and uncle were beaten almost to death. When I saw my mom beaten and my auntie raped, a feeling of hatred was developing inside me."

On the treacherous walk to the training ground, several children fell prey to wild animals or drowned crossing rivers. Boot-camp conditions weren't much better.

"I was beaten until I was dizzy," Jal says. "I remember thinking, 'If I finish this training, I'm going to kill the trainer.' We were made hard. But I was happy to join. My desire was to kill as many Arabs as possible."

After a year of training and five years of fighting, an exhausted Jal and about 400 "lost boys" deserted the army, fleeing across Sudan's parched landscape with a meager supply of maize.

"When the food got finished, we depended on snails, snakes and rats," he says. "Soldiers too weak to hunt were forced to eat bodies."

Most succumbed to enemy attacks, disease, starvation and suicide. Only 16 survived.

Jal was spotted dragging a machine gun through the dirt at a refugee camp by British aid worker Emma McCune, who found the 13-year-old's tale heartrending and smuggled him to Nairobi.

"I thought, 'OK, this is an opportunity to be a better soldier. I'll learn to fly, steal a plane from the air force in this white woman's country, come back and kill these Arabs,' " Jal says. "That's being a kid. Luckily, things changed."

Jal's attitude shifted as a normal routine reduced flashbacks of his life in the killing fields. When he drew graphic scenes of dismembered villagers, McCune introduced him to cartoons, "so I started drawing hippos."

McCune's death in a car crash six months after rescuing Jal was a devastating setback.

"My life was crushed," says Jal, who was aided by McCune's friends. "So I started going to church and singing in the choir. Love let me heal. Letting go of my hatred for Muslims helped the most. And music was therapy."

Jal began dabbling in rap, and one of his home demo tapes got regional airplay, leading to a record deal. In 2005, single Gua ("peace" in his native Nuer) won global attention and an invitation for Jal to perform at the Live 8 benefits. "That was the beginning of the end of poverty in my life," says Jal, who relocated to London to pursue music full time. "I started supporting myself."

He began performing widely, and his music appeared on benefit albums War Child: Help! A Day in the Life and Instant Karma, as well as in the film Blood Diamond and TV's ER.

A spokesman for Make Poverty History, Jal hopes someday to build a school in McCune's name to rehabilitate child soldiers. He sees little hope for ending the genocide in Darfur until multiple nations pressure Sudan's leaders.

"Wars are made by rich people to kill poor people," he says. "The wealthiest Sudanese don't know what war is. Their children are safe in school." He grins. "But I don't want the wealthy to hate me, because I'm going to join them soon."

Jal cracks jokes to cope. He has never seen a psychiatrist and still struggles with nightmares.

"The killing and stealing I did in war, I can justify with what happened in my home," he says. "I don't feel guilty, but I'm haunted. I used to say, 'Why didn't I die?' Now I know I'm here to tell my story."

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