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Beacon Theatre, New York April 30, 2001 By C. Bottomley What does a superstar guitarist do with his hands when his fingers aren't picking? Puts them in his pockets. At least that's how former Dire Straits strummer Mark Knopfler chose to spend the lengthy coda of "Speedway at Nazareth," from his latest solo album, Sailing to Philadelphia. Waiting for his roadie to hand him another instrument, making like an ordinary bloke in white shirt and black jeans, he looked very much like he was daydreaming at a bus stop rather than satisfying a concert hall full of fans. Showmanship is, admittedly, not really Knopfler's forte. Dire Straits' success was built around acute character sketches and the guitarist's inventive solos. Although his fast-moving fingers are adept enough to let him go neck-to-neck with heroes like Chet Atkins and Eric Clapton, on record he's become an exponent of "less is more," to the point, in fact, where Philadelphia plays like 13 tracks of shrink-wrapped oxygen. Translating that kind of perfectionism to the live arena was the problem with this New York show. Whereas on record Knopfler can expertly employ silent grace notes in the riffs on both "Money for Nothing" and Randy Newman's "It's Money That Matters," in front of a crowd he was reluctant to leave too many spaces open, perhaps in fear of the audience's yawning reaching his ears. The set opener, "Calling Elvis," established the evening's mood. Guy Fletcher played a pulsing keyboard chord, and the rest of Knopfler's six-man band of multi-instrumentalists slowly joined in. Knopfler stroked his guitar with such a feathery touch that at first he didn't even appear amped up. A little extra oomph could have benefited the entire show. An attempt to spice "Walk of Life" with some Cajun flavor got no further than the corner deli, although a few of the besuited commuters in the crowd took a stab at a creaking jig. Knopfler tried swaying from side to side as if to convince the crowd he was really interested in playing limp sketches like Philadelphia's "Junkie Doll," but enthusiasm eluded him. His vocals were mixed down into a steady groan, too. At some points it was like listening to an ailing air conditioner and its backup band. There were two moments when the singer came alive. The first was on Philadelphia's title track. Taking on the personas of Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, the English surveyors whose story is told in Thomas Pynchon's Mason & Dixon, the craggy bandleader successfully got inside his characters' naivete. And although this must have been the billionth time he's played it, "Sultans of Swing" benefited from sending the band's extraneous members backstage for a drink. A great smile cracked Knopfler's face while he turned the solo inside out, as if he was finally freed of slickness and its shackles. Those who demand that live performances sound like the music on the CD couldn't have been disappointed, even if the encore of "Money For Nothing" began with a lengthy slide intro rather than Sting pining for his MTV. Maybe the pub entertainer in Knopfler is satisfied with giving his fans what he thinks they want. Or, even more chilling, perhaps this is how he entertains himself - waiting for the next bus to go by. |
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