Photo by Wild Don Lewis

at Glen Helen Hyundai Pavilion, July 23
The show started off hot and humid with Lil’ Jon and the East Side Boyz, then
cooled off. With a huge self-likeness puppet behind him, Lil’ Jon really got
the skimpily clad women in the crowd dancing when he brought on Cuban rapper
Pitbull and they ripped into “Culo,” followed by “Toma,” with Lil’ Jon shouting
out “Mexicanos!” in his Deep South accent. After the crunk hits “What U Gon’
Do” and “Get Low,” Jon surprised the masses by visiting them way up on the grassy
hill to sing “Lovers and Friends.”
50 Cent, all in black, emerged from a set representing an obliterated New York:
collapsed Statue of Liberty, burned-out buildings, overturned cop car. His G-Unit
crew — including Tony Yayo (recently out of prison after a fake-passport conviction),
Young Buck (currently awaiting trial on charges of stabbing Dr. Dre’s assailant),
Lloyd Banks and Olivia — helped him along with “Candy Shop,” “Just a Little
Bit” and “Disco Inferno.” Newly signed partners Mobb Deep moved into “Got It
Twisted,” and 50 jumped onboard for their new “Outta Control.” After changing
into a white pimp suit with white fedora, 50 Cent pushed on with “P.I.M.P.,”
“In Da Club” and “Wanksta.” But take away the Dr. Dre and Scott Storch beats,
and you wouldn’t have much of a show, just 50 Cent showing off his cut torso.
In black suit with red tie, Eminem put on a performance like a multilevel video
game. Em commented on media speculation about his retirement, then mooned the
packed-in crowd. With the help of his bad-ass new DJ, Salam Wreck (producer
Fred Wreck’s younger brother), he spat “Ass Like That,” “Puke,” ”Kill You” and
“Like Toy Soldier” before introducing his friends: D12, including Big Ol’ Bizarre,
50 Cent, Obie Trice, StatQuo and Nate Dogg. Though “Stan” and “Mockingbird”
are great radio songs, they’re hard to get into live, and the set’s temperature
dropped like the thermometer.
Our photographer got thrown out for trying to get in shooting range. Yo, it’s
only a lens.

—Ben Quiñones

at the Greek Theater, July 23
Delayed by a heated velour-vs.-terrycloth debate, we got to the Greek just as
Gloria Gaynor was starting her finale — a multitiered rendition of (what else?)
“I Will Survive.” We arrived just in time: The crowd was pumping fists and thousands
of skinny fluorescent balloons. Lo, the righteous mass vocals! And, oh my, the
colorful Afro wigs! (On the ushers too!) Thanks for the props, Clear Channel
— even evil empires have a sense of humor sometimes. Up second, J.T. Taylor,
former lead singer for Kool & the Gang, turned in such a lovingly polished performance,
the Gang were not missed. Taylor looked great, and his vocals were pure 1978.
With a tight funk band (including female drummer) and snazzy dance moves, Taylor
blew through “Get Down on It,” “Fresh,” “Ladies Night,” “Joanna,” “Cherish”
(dedicated to victims of terrorism) and, of course, “Celebration.” Headliners
“KC & the Sunshine Band” (by our estimate featuring only two classic members)
paled by comparison. “It’s hot as hell up here!” KC exclaimed. “I’m tired as
shit!” He hardly sang, the endlessly jammy arrangements were boring — and did
you ever notice how “That’s the Way (I Like It),” “Shake Your Booty” and “Get
Down Tonight” are the same song? “Take a good look,” said the thick-middled
KC, “because this is what Justin Timberlake’s gonna look like in 32 years!”
Maybe so, but does the guy have to be happy about it?

—Kate Sullivan

at the Wiltern, July 22
Secret Machines have always enjoyed the critics’ caress: first in their native
Texas and now, since their move to NYC and a major label, nationally. And so,
even sans hits, they comfortably hold a sold-out Wiltern on the first of a two-nighter
with backwoods rockers Kings of Leon. Secret Machines’ sound is dependable:
tickled–Pink Floyd, retread Zeppelin and alienated Ziggy Stardust timbre, through
the keyhole of standoffish art-school cool. There’s no performance to
speak of, but as in romance, indifference inflames as much as frustrates desire.
Tonight, Secret Machines further plunder last year’s Now Here Is Nowhere
opus with minimal reworking, just a fresh lick of perkiness, thanks in part
to Josh Garza’s snare drum finally being more audible than his signature sinus-flushing
kick. They open with the relatively sprightly “Nowhere Again”: Brandon Curtis’
extra-enunciated Hannibal Lector–isms; shimmying bro Ben’s timely harmonic interventions;
and Garza pounding time in profile like some Kafkaesque industrial press, his
exaggerated back-lift of arms, quivering arch of back and thicket of Haight-Ashbury
hair all sympathetic to meter and moment.
Though Secret Machines are collectively psychedelic, they’re all about purpose,
their three-piece format dictating that each absolutely earns his keep. “Sad
and Lonely” throbs like Eraserhead gone groovy, while the train-passing
bustle of “The Road Leads Where It’s Led” rescues a rambling midset that only
the truly baked-like-Lays could navigate. And on it goes: deliberate, mesmeric
grooves, choppy ’n’ chuggy riffs, Radiophonic Workshop guitar chortles and the
Brothers Curtis’ Brit-inspired sibling revelry spawning eye-glazed melodies
that oddly evoke their Dallas contemporaries Polyphonic Spree.
Secret Machines undoubtedly have a thing. But couldn’t they occasionally
try, like, another thing?

—Paul Rogers

at the Troubadour, July 21
With another attempted bombing fresh off the news wires and fear and uncertainty
on both sides of the pond, the U.K.’s newest hot-shit sensation, the Go! Team,
seem determined not to let current events dampen their spirits. Facing perhaps
the happiest crowd the Troubadour has ever hosted, this group of three boys
and three girls — led by the lovely and charming lady Ninja — challenged L.A.’s
heat wave with one of their own making. Their deliriously energetic music, a
mixture of garage rock, punk, hip-hop and soul, came across as a youthful and
ecstatic force, and Ninja’s dance moves could put MC Hammer to shame. Although
live they feel more like a regular band than their furious collage of a debut
record suggests, the Go! Team rocked and popped the sweating room. Band members
constantly changed instruments, moving from drums to guitar to harmonica to
keys. Near the end of the set, drummer Chi Fukami Taylor took over microphone
duties to sing a sweet and tentative number. But the lulls were never long this
night, and the band quickly launched back into their urban amalgamation of street
The hype machine is in full swing right now for this young group, but they proved
their merit as a party band that’s not overtly silly or ironic. The Go! Team
is more block party than Bloc Party, and hopefully their move to the majors
will nurture, not neuter them.

—Jonah Flicker

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