Straight from the horses mouth…

Widespread indolence

By DAN AQUILANTE

http://www.nypost.com/p/entertainment/music/widespread_indolence_TKxp8Z3pN8qx9updIkzdQP#ixzz0udLUlmdI

The musky odors of sweat, cannabis and spilled beer wafted through the air at Radio City Music Hall for a gathering of the vibe at the Wide spread Panic show Thursday.

That was the smell — the stink came from the band.

Celebrating Panic’s 25th anniversary was a disaster: The 22-song-long, three-hour-plus concert was mind-numbingly repetitious. The single, puny video-screen light show was inadequate, and the sound was often murky. And the ancient and decidedly unsexy sextet were immobile during the performance.

The band was so still, you’d think the guys flatlined just standing there, yet most of their fans danced in place with the goofy-footed steps you expect of a spastic monkey. The Panic-heads didn’t seem to notice the concert’s flaws, instead treating the event as if it were a house party and the headliners were just there for background music.
John Bell of Widespread Panic barely shuffled his feet during the band’s long set Thursday.
Joe Kohen/WireImage
John Bell of Widespread Panic barely shuffled his feet during the band’s long set Thursday.

While each member of Widespread Panic is a skilled musician, none seems to be a performer. Nobody expected vocalist John Bell to do a hula as he sang and strummed his acoustic guitar, but he made zero effort to entertain.

If you’re into rambling, you were in luck. In most songs, there was no experience of the music building to a climax. Instead, there was just relief when a 15-

minute tune like “Heroes” ended.

Many liken Widespread Panic to the Grateful Dead, but they pale in comparison. The Dead certainly jammed and extended songs, but every melody wasn’t given that treatment; Jerry and the boys understood the power in a concise tune with a built-in narrative, as in their signature pieces like “Truckin’ ” or “Friend of the Devil.”

Panic’s simple-minded version of narrative is found in songs like “Sewing Machine,” where bassist David Schools repeats the title, mantra-like, in the chorus.

In the end — during the encore — the band finally arose from its musical slumber with a rousing “Henry Parsons Died.” During that final song, John Hermann’s piano work was terrific, and Jimmy Herring stopped trying to fill every gap with lead-guitar noodling and managed to locate the heart of the melody in his fretwork.

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