|
WHAT a
loser, that Chris Daughtry!
After
being voted off American Idol a year ago,
ignominiously sent packing in fourth place, the bald,
brooding rocker found himself quite the formula—one that
matches his big, gravelly voice and emotive singing
style with volcanic hooks, monster riffs and
superearnest lyrics.
It’s the
same postgrunge platform on which many a successful
power-rock band has run before, from Creed and
Nickelback to Chevelle and Fuel, and it remains
appealing to a particular segment of the public: that
endangered species known as the CD consumer.
This we
know because Daughtry has become the bestselling
musician in America, circa 2007: His all-uppercase debut
CD, Daughtry, just surpassed Norah Jones’s Not
Too Late as the year’s bestselling title, according
to Nielsen SoundScan.
The
album has sold 1.4 million copies this year and 2.5
million overall since its November release. There was a
time once (not even a decade ago) when 1.4 million would
have made for a decent week at the office for ’N Sync,
but we won’t be pausing today to observe a moment of
silence for the music industry. That would be
impossible, what with my ears still ringing from a
recent show, at which the volume was cranked up to
11—though it seemed even louder whenever Daughtry
decided to sing into a bullhorn, which was often.
The
27-year-old North Carolina rocker opened the show that
way, in fact, giving extra amplification to the opening
lines of “Crashed” before unleashing a falsetto howl
over thick, sludgy riffs. He sang with incredible
intensity, his neck veins bulging, his rugged voice
straining, and he sounded anguished—even though
“Crashed” is something like a love song. (Most of his
songs are, actually. And they are his songs: Daughtry
wrote or cowrote 10 of the 12 songs on his debut.)
Another
angsty love song, “What I Want,” opened with the singer
standing on a monitor, snarling at the crowd as the
power chords and overmodulated drums roared over the PA.
After the pealing guitar solos, strobe lights and
double-time drums kicked in, Daughtry sang even more
emphatically. How the man keeps his vocal cords from
shredding during a tour might be worthy of medical
investigation.
Not that
he necessarily sounded great, suffering from periodic
pitch problems and completely losing hold of the melody
on several songs. But on the ballad “Over You,” there
was a sweetness to his voice; and on “Gone,” he showed
impressive range, opening with a warm, husky hum over an
effects-laden guitar line before sending his voice—and
the song—skyward on the combustible chorus.
Daughtry
had the look of a hard-rock star: all muscles and
mascara, a wallet chain dangling from his perfectly
fitted and faded jeans, various accessories wrapped
around his wrists, including proper leather straps.
He
occasionally picked up a guitar and was surrounded by a
four-piece band—or, rather, was part of a five-piece
band, as he takes this whole group thing seriously. It
is, after all, Daughtry, the band, not Daughtry, the
rocker dude, an obvious and admirable bid to build
rock-and-roll credibility. It’s worth noting that
Daughtry never did introduce the other musicians, though
he didn’t introduce himself, either. Not that he needed
to.
“You
guys know who we are?” he asked—a preposterous question,
and not only because there was a huge banner at the back
of the stage that said “Daughtry.” People aren’t just
marginally interested in the singer and kinda curious
about his band. They’re going ape: that particular show
sold out in three minutes, which is about as fast as one
can sell out a show at the 9:30 club.
“Honestly, I never thought this would be a job,” he
said. “And because of you guys coming out every night to
see us, it still doesn’t feel like a job.” His stage
banter is much like his lyrics: Straightforward and
drop-dead serious.
The set
was brief—barely an hour, with just 11 songs, including
a serviceable acoustic version of Pearl Jam’s “Black.”
(Does that particular song show up in “The Idiot’s Guide
to Post-Grunge” or something? The early-’90s classic, a
relic of the actual grunge era, has been covered in
concert by some of Daughtry’s forebears, including
Staind and Stone Sour.)
There
were also, of course, Daughtry’s own hits, including
“Home,” the wistful power ballad that was used as
American Idol’s sayonara song this past season.
Chris
Daughtry has emerged, in a landslide, as the actual
American idol, selling double the collective CD numbers
of the three contestants who had outlasted him on the
show.
Ah,
sweet defeat. |
