Monday, November 10, 1997
If she sings it, they will come
MUSIC: Despite a lack of conventional publicity, folk rocker Ani
DiFranco attracts a huge crowd for an impressive performance.
By Vanessa VanderZanden
Daily Bruin Staff
Driven by an unknown urge to follow her primal, almost tribal
voice, they come. Flocking from their corporate jobs in the heart
of Los Angeles or the subcultural meeting grounds of tattoo
parlors, or the ramshackle broken homes of tired parents and bored
lovers, they come. They come to see the owner of that voice that
speaks of the turmoil that they cannot name but feels like a fire
welling up in the pit of their very souls.
Though she receives no radio air time and little advertisement
from her self-owned, self-created label, Righteous Babe, Ani
DiFranco has amassed a huge following in her eight-year career as
angsty folk rock singer and songwriter extraordinaire. And, having
sold out both of her Los Angeles appearances at the Mayan Theater
on Wednesday and Thursday, the feisty singer suffers no
difficulties in promoting her latest double album, "Living in
Clip." However, even though the intense singer could probably have
just sung nursery rhymes to the packed space of die-hard fans and
drawn the same vibrant response, DiFranco gave an empowering
performance Thursday night that lived up to every shred of hoopla
preceding her influential name.
As she took the iridescently-lit stage, jumping straight into
the song "Wherever," her dread-locked blue-purple streaked hair
whipped violently back and forth from the end of her loosely-drawn
bun. DiFranco’s mere presence shook the crowd into a frenzy, but
after a few angry strummings from her acoustic guitar and the
words, "You were never a good lay," it became apparent that her
cult status stems from a sound and an energy not quite capturable
on disc.
At the tune’s thumping end, DiFranco dove into a brief
half-crazed banter with herself, divulging to the star-struck
audience the ridiculous train of thought flowing through her head
only seconds before.
Soon, the lavender-periwinkle flood of color engulfing the stage
flashed to a red-yellow infusion, splashing off bassist Jason
Mercer’s shiny white top. His straight man, funk-based riffs never
failed to support DiFranco’s bouncy enthusiasm or the powerful
back-up of Andy Stochensky’s drum-work. The three lovingly fit into
a procession of entrancing rhythms which they appeared genuinely
delighted to share with the gleeful audience.
At one point, DiFranco chided the two about having had wet
dreams about KISS, as she herself admitted to having been in love
with the Partridge Family’s Sean Cassidy. Such playful banter
rolled easily off DiFranco’s tongue the entire evening, as though
she were confiding in childhood playmates as opposed to a roomful
of strangers. This innocent ability to channel her emotions even
allowed her to swoon moodily at the mention of her puffily scrawled
high school journal, remembering those days of teenage angst.
A goofy performer as well as a serious musician, DiFranco moved
gracefully from heavily emotion-strewn pieces to light conversation
with both the audience and her band. In accordance with her
personal, no-holds-barred attitude, she gripped the room for a few
moments to ramble through the beautiful lines of a love poem that
traveled in her stream of consciousness from the light to the dawn
to a lover’s presence. She then pounced into the piece "Joyful
Girl," and from the very first utterance, "I am not a pretty girl,"
the room shook.
After playing a one-hour, 20-minute set that included a Woodie
Guthrie tune, reverberating echo-happy microphones, tribal
vocalizations, harmonica work, and a stand-up bass, DiFranco left
the stage. However, as fans refused to egress the energized room,
still feeling her music pounding through their multi-pierced ears,
DiFranco reentered the stage to play two encores. The first found a
down home pace, as the opening act, a Scotch folk singer, belted
out notes on a harmonica, Mercer struck the banjo, and Stochensky
came out from behind his set up to pound on a snare. The second
work flowed with a more somber chord, bolstered by her back-up
musicians’ male voices, acting as a sort of lullaby for satisfied
fans, who would sedately leave for the evening feeling they had
graced greatness.
Photos by MICHAEL ROSS WACHT
Ani DiFranco performs for a sold-out crowd at the Mayan
Theater.
Singer Ani DiFranco in concert promoting her newest album,
"Living in Clip."