Last October, I wrote a column in which I lauded the re-vamped lineup of Alice In Chains. I was effusive in my praise of the band’s most recent album, Black Gives Way to Blue, writing the following about Alice In Chains’ quest to move forward (self-reference alert!):
Choosing neither to imitate nor to abandon its former self, the band has struck the right balance between its past and its future.
Unlike most of what I write, that sentence doesn’t annoy me as I read it months later. After further listens to the album, I – for the most part – still agree with myself.
But when I wrote about Alice In Chains in October, I had not yet seen the new version of the band perform live. And, as any music lover knows, the ability to collaborate in a studio and the capacity to deliver on stage are as different as practicing a speech in front of a mirror and headlining the Democratic National Convention.
Thanks to the modern miracles that are indoor concert halls, giant tour buses, and microphones, I was finally able to introduce my ears to live Alice In Chains on a cold February evening. Several factors stood in the way of a transcendental experience: the concert was on a Sunday night, the roads were icy, and the crowd was filled with part-time concert-goers, led by the guy behind me who, when the band that was very obviously the opener took the stage said, “Where’s the three-legged dog?”
All those and one more: The death, eight years ago, of Alice In Chains’ lead singer, Layne Staley.
I was anxious to see how the matter would be handled. Would the band mention the overdosed elephant in the room? Or would they ignore the obvious question and act like the crowd at the Thanksgiving table does when Grandpa farts?
After an opening set by a band called [garbled by bad sound] from [garbled by bad accents], it was time to find out. For more, we go live to our chief live music correspondent: Me, reporting from the past, but writing in the present tense, to make you, the reader, feel like you’re more invested in the action…
Alice In Chains takes the stage behind a translucent curtain, onto which their backlit shadows are projected as they launch into the opening track from Black Gives Way to Blue.
Rotating lights force the outlines of the band members to move erratically from one section of the stage to another. Disoriented, the audience can’t tell which band member is which.
Does this mean?:
A) Identities aren’t important. What’s important is the music being created.
Or,
B) A roadie named Biff saw the Nine Inch Nails show that started similarly, had thought it “pretty fucking awesome” and had told band leader Jerry Cantrell to try it.
It’s too soon to tell.
The opening song finishes and the curtain comes down, revealing Cantrell at center stage, flanked by new lead singer William DuVall and bassist Mike Inez.
Does the band’s physical arrangement mean:
A) Jerry Cantrell was always the heart of the band, so he takes the featured position.
Or,
B) Jerry Cantrell is an egomaniac.
I need more information.
The show continues. The band bounces fluidly between radio standards (“Down In A Hole”, “No Excuses”) and recent additions (“Check My Brain”, “Your Decision”), sprinkling in some songs that I wouldn’t have expected to see live (“Sickman”, “Angry Chair”), if only because I became an Alice In Chains fan in 1998 and not in 1991.
I am enjoying myself. Mostly. In the instances when DuVall doesn’t have a guitar in front of him, I feel like a moviegoer who remembers that he’s watching a movie; when he’s carrying only a microphone and exhorting the crowd, DuVall looks childish and hackneyed. When I’ve listened to Alice In Chains in recorded form, I’ve never imagined anyone from the band shouting, “Are you ready for another long, strange trip into hell?” In fact, I believe strongly that Alice In Chains was founded with an eye toward rejecting such mookish behavior.
I look to my left to appraise the crowd that surrounds me. I am vaguely disappointed. But then I remember that, while I think of Alice In Chains as being on the heavy, edgy end of the alt/indie spectrum, there are those – and they are many – who listen to Alice In Chains like they listen to Three Days Grace. But just as I am losing hope, I notice three teenaged girls who are shouting the lyrics to “Man In The Box”. I am heartened. There’s hope for the next generation.
My eyes return to Cantrell. He sings more than I had expected. Or rather, his voice is more important to more of the songs. (In fact, on Alice In Chains’ final album with Staley, Cantrell sang lead on three of the four singles.) I’m struck with how much I like that voice. I continue to root for DuVall to stay behind his guitar, because I like the band 140% more when he does.
At the beginning of the encore, I receive my third and final hint. Jerry Cantrell returns to the stage and dons a pair of sunglasses he claims were given to him by a man who had bowled with the band the night before. The sunglasses are neon green, oversized, and ridiculous.
And they mean either:
A) Jerry Cantrell is wise, fun-loving, and just wants to play rock ‘n roll.
Or,
B) Jerry Cantrell is on drugs.
As Cantrell interacts with the crowd, the friend who has accompanied me to the show leans in and says, “I guess he’s sobered up, huh?”
I think back to an episode of MTV Cribs in which Jerry Cantrell’s house was featured. Although Cribs is, admittedly, a questionable source of information, the show gave musicians, actors and BMX riders sufficient face time to display their dickishness.
As I watched Cantrell’s episode, I was surprised at how grounded he seemed to be. His attitude was steeped in melancholia, but most of what he said was surrounded by a refreshing feeling of optimism.
I tell my friend what I remember. I say that it is my impression that we are seeing genuine, well-earned contentment, born less of newfound sobriety and more of long-standing inner peace.
It’s possible that Jerry Cantrell is a phenomenal actor and that I am being played the fool. But that’s not the sense I carry out of the Midland Theater. After the songs “Would?” and “Rooster” (the latter of which was inspired by Cantrell’s father), I am left feeling that Jerry Cantrell, as the brains behind Alice In Chains, has decided that his band has changed, just like life changes. Sometimes band members quit, sometimes they get tired, and sometimes they pass on thanks to a lethal combination of cocaine and heroin.
Obviously, I didn’t know Layne Staley. I wasn’t even a real fan of his band until sometime after he’d – for all intents and purposes – left it. But if I were the lead singer of Alice In Chains, and if I had died young, I would have wanted Jerry Cantrell to move on exactly as he did.
With dignity.
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I saw AIC in August at Epicenter in Pomona. I was blown away how good they sounded. The crowd loved them and it was obvious JC is not only the engine but the energy behind the machine. And yes, the guy can sing quite well.
Several things kept running through my mind while at the AIC concert in Atlanta last week. I kept thinking about Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew (one of the addicts is former AIC bassist, Mike Starr) and how much emotion and passion could the lead singer bring to a performance where he was not a contributor to the early music of AIC. I was pleasantly surprised at how the band sounded, but much like Paul I couldn’t help but feel like I was watching a movie about AIC, especially when playing the older songs. The actor/singer playing Layne Staley did a great job, but something was lacking. All in all I had a good time and I am glad I went, but I don’t think I will see them again.
anyone ever listened to cantrell’s solo work? “boggy depot” or “degradation trip”, the second one devoted to staley.
boggy had a much more bluesy feel to it with the odd time signatures. degradation was more classically rocking, AIC style songs, but i really liked boggy.
i don’t know, worth tossing in there. for the record, saw STP about a year and a half ago coming through town. man, i’ll take scott weiland on drugs any day of the week. he looked like a mess and the band sounded great….
I’ve seen the new AIC, and I saw Jerry Cantrell at an Axis of Justice benefit put on by Tom Morello. I was stunned at who I saw both times. Cantrell has emerged from the cauldron of whatever he went through in fine, fine form. He was absolutely sober both times.
And, for what it’s worth, I rather liked Duvall. Not trying to replace Layne, but sing the songs the best he can like him. He’s trying extra hard to own the stage and have a big giant personality so that he’s not obscured by the ghost of Layne. That’s got to be one hell of a job to try to pull off, and I think he did a decent job with it. His voice works, does it not?
I was at the Epicenter show also. They did a great job with an early set time. I think expectations were still unknown back then, because the first single had just dropped a few weeks earlier, and the new album was not even out yet. We probably expected less than Paul did, and as people who heard the new album did.
Totally agree. After I saw them live last year, I compared Duvall to a high school student in a room of college grads. He fits in pretty well for the most part but every now and then, he’ll say something or carry himself in a way that shows him to be the outsider that he is.
But yeah the band is great live and it’s always surprising to see just how much Cantrell sings on all the songs you know and love. Oh and Duvall can pull off a really good Layne impersonation too.
adelsig – I’m hoping to see STP in KC in 3 weeks. They’re one of the few “Never saw but always wanted to” bands.
Josh – Overall, I can’t complain about DuVall at all. I was just being nit-picky, I suppose.
Everyone else – Thanks for reading this.
Those were the days, my friend
We thought they’d never end
We’d sing and dance forever and a day
We’d live the life we choose
We’d fight and never lose
Those were the days
Oh, yes, those were the days
La la la la la la
La la la la la la
Just tonight I stood before the tavern
Nothing seemed the way it used to be
In the glass I saw a strange reflection
Was that lonely woman really me?
I still vividly remember when I saw ”Man in the Box” for the first time on MTV (when MTV was actually MTV).
And I still vividly remember when I read that Layne died. That was the day Alice in Chains finally died. I tried not to plan his funeral before he died, but as long as he were around, somehow, Alice in Chains – were. Now they are no more.
I know of many people who long for the 90s (me included!). How it was the best decade. With the best music. But, as painful as it is, there will never again be ”the first time” of playing Smells like Teen Spirit. There will never again be the first time of playing Siva. And there will never again be the first time of playing Would.
Just as there’s no Nirvana without Kurt, there’s no Mother Love Bone without Andy, there’s no Blind Melon without Shannon, there’s no The Doors without Jim and there’s no Alice in Chains without Layne. Even if Jerry was writing the majority of the music, Layne was the heart and soul of Alice in Chains. All this recycling of what no longer is… It’s hard to admit it no longer is, but I will always have Dirt in my Jar of Flies, even when I’ll need a Facelift.
Alice had been dying for years, and finally died in April 2002.
i don’t know, worth tossing in there. for the record, saw STP about a year and a half ago coming through town. man, i’ll take scott weiland on drugs any day of the week. he looked like a mess and the band sounded great….
Goodness gracious! If you think how many of them we’ve lost, I can’t help but think all these years we’re having the crazy Scott on borrowed time.
This topic is making me feel all melancholic. With infinite sadness. Speaking of which, at least MY Billy doesn’t even drink alco, much less does any drugs. But then again, he’s screwing Jessica Simpson.
Hmmm…
The more I think about this, and talk about it with others, it kind of dawns on me that we may see what we want to see in DuVall, and our assessment about him may say more about us than him. He’s not objectively bad enough that people can critique harshly him on his singing, so he’s a total blank canvass and unknown onto which we can project something about ourselves.
Or something.