Review: Paula Cole, Matchbox 20 go for mass appeal

If any sentimental feelings remained regarding what was once the scene known as "alternative," they were completely eradicated with Saturday night's Paula Cole/Matchbox 20 show at the Hard Rock Hotel, the second of two sold out nights.

While each artist embraces the superficial trappings of alternative music, neither hold any reservations for generating mass appeal. These bands have willingly discarded the edgy attributes of AltRock and instead go for the lowest common denominator of musical audiences, the American Top 40.

Paula Cole, one of the burgeoning breed of Strong Female Musicians, found her break in the 1996 Lilith Fair tour, wooing audiences with her Tori Amos - like piano pounding and feminine stage presence. Like Amos (and Sarah McLachlan, to whom Cole is also compared), Cole reaches a disaffected listenership with song lyrics insightful to female issues. Unlike Amos, however, Cole's live performance suggests she is uneasy with her status as role model or guiding light.

Where Amos fiercely commands the spotlight with presence and voice, Cole prefers to share it with her three-member backup band (all males, it should be noted). Where Amos relentlessly stabs home the feminist line, Cole flits it about like a prop. She prefers, it seems, to be the fairie rather than the goddess or bitch.

This night, Cole took the stage barefoot, clad in a floor length silky dress, her long, straight hair cascading over a black coat with a likely faux fur collar. The giant video screens present at every Hard Rock show were nowhere to be seen and the stage was strangely bare but for the mass of piano, instruments and cabling.

Surprisingly, Cole spent only three songs at her acoustic piano. The third, "Me" (from 1996's "This Fire") was Cole's most powerful - under a spotlight, candles blazing, with a few hints of near brilliance at the keys.

Saturday's audience, one of the few to attend a concert with equal interest in both the opening act and the main attraction, was by turns rapt or raging as Cole followed "Me" by shedding the overcoat and launching into a 15-minute rendition of her big hit, "Where Have All The Cowboys Gone?" Cole's animated Deadhead-meets-raver dance moves and gestures generated a few reactionary giggles in the audience, while some of the faithful adopted the style and made it their own.

Later, Cole attempted a cover of Bob Marley's classic human rights rally cry, "War," but the rendition fell flat. Seemingly unfazed and encouraged by the crowd's indiscriminate appreciation, Cole energetically continued. Her 52-minute set concluded two songs later, setting the stage for Matchbox20's second night of screaming female audience members.

Whereas Paula Cole was clearly disinterested in having her image displayed on the venue's video screens, Matchbox 20 - in true pop star fashion - would have none of that. At 9:35 p.m. the lights dimmed, the video screens dropped, and the audience exploded in a chorus of piercing, feminine voices which would not let up for the next 95 minutes.

For those who have never heard or seen Matchbox 20, think post-grunge pop-Pearl Jam distilled through a Casey Casem filter of equivocality. Think Bush, only more polished, more shiny, more pop - if that is possible.

With only one album to their credit (1996's "Yourself or Someone Like You"), the six-member Matchbox 20's repertoire runs extraordinarily shallow, padding their 17-song set with three covers: Sinead O'Connor's "Nothing Compares 2U," the Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want," and the Beatles' "Don't Let Me Down." The remainder consisted of 11 out of the 12 songs found on "Yourself," a B-side ("Tired"), and a couple of new efforts.

For this audience, however, the concert - carrying an unusually hefty $42.50 ticket price - could not have been better. The album's songs sounded like they came straight from the recording (pop audiences don't go much for improvisation), with the over amplification of grunge melted with a strangely flawless live production.

When the fourth song ("Real World") hit the speakers, the crowd erupted again, but one has to wonder how long the interest can be sustained. With eight of the evening's song's being ballads, the time spent in a slower melodic state far overshadowed the energy of the band's catchy hits, "3 a.m." and "Push." In fact, none of Matchbox 20's material meets the high pop standards set by "Push," and their iffy choices of cover tunes suggests a band that is not sure where it is headed.

The adoration of the band's female fans may imply a kind of playful reasoning for choosing to cover the Rolling Stones and the Beatles (the original Screaming Teen bands), but in practice the choices simply did not work. For an audience that is too mainstream to fully appreciate even Pearl Jam and thinks Bush is the epitome of grunge rock, classic rock tunes make no sense.

Still, perhaps that is the point. Pop music doesn't have to make sense. It only has to distill the essence of what is real into a formula that is accepted by the masses. In this sense, Matchbox 20 has performed extraordinarily well. Hopefully, the band members are receiving some sound investment advice to carry them through when the well runs dry.

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