ROBERT HILBURN
GENESIS: AN EMPTY PROMISE

Whew! Remember two weeks ago when I broke the critic's oath by leaving the tedious Mahogany Rush concert early? Well, I stuck around until the end of Genesis' show Saturday night at the Long Beach Arena. But I almost committed another faux pas: I came perilously close to dozing off.

I'm not saying that the British rock group's performance was dull for everyone, but the only way the band could have slowed the momentum more for me during "Say It's Alright Joe," a molasses-paced barroom lament, was to have called an intermission. In fact, a break would have been better. At least that way, I could have gotten up and stretched without blocking the view of the people seated behind me.

Notice: this is a minority report. Genesis has been worshipped for years by that segment of the rock audience that appreciates the instrumental dazzle and cosmic aspirations of Yes, Emerson, Lake & Palmer and other members of the British-spawned "progressive rock" movement.

And the audience Saturday was delighted to see the band, which also performed Sunday night at the Roxy, Monday night at the San Diego Sports Arena and will be at the sold-out Greek Theater tonight. Scalpers asked upwards of $100 a ticket Sunday for the rare opportunity to see Genesis in the intimacy of the Roxy.

The reason for this popularity is obvious. The trio, which is augmented on this tour by drummer Chester Thompson and guitarist Daryl Stuermer, includes some of rock's most accomplished musicians. The problem is the band's frequently dazzling instrumental textures are seldom carried to satisfactory conclusions. Dynamic song introductions, built mostly around Tony Banks' striking keyboard contributions, repeatedly promise more than the complete songs deliver.

Phil Collins' voice may sound almost exactly like that of Peter Gabriel, the band's original lead singer who left the group in 1975 for a solo career. Collins, however, isn't as expressive a singer. In fairness, it's hard to be evocative given some of the routine lyrics he's forced to work with.

The gap between the instrumental promise and the thematic emptiness makes one thing clear: Genesis suffers from too little revelation. Listening to its music is akin to closing your eyes for a kiss that never comes.

Staging classical and rock concerts in adjacent buildings usually provides an amusing contrast. Imagine sarcastic Sex Pistols fans mingling on the sidewalk with Los Angeles Philharmonic regulars. The culture shock, however, wasn't all that extreme Saturday in Long Beach when Genesis fans, heading into the Arena, moved past the audience going into the Terrace Theater to see Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra. That's not, of course, because Ormandy's crowd has taken to leather jackets and spiked haircuts. The relative compatibility was because portions of Genesis' music hint at classical underpinnings. Elegance, not rebellion, is the goal of Genesis' style.

In the beginning, Genesis was one of the most promising progressive-rock entries, its overblown statements offset by an admirable ambition and Peter Gabriel's captivating showmanship. The early campaign climaxed with "The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway," a gallant, but hopelessly unwieldy jigsaw puzzle of an album that spoke vaguely about search for self-identity, but which left too many pieces missing for anyone to be quite sure.

Since Gabriel left, Genesis has set aside much of its old flamboyance in favor of a more straightforward pop-rock style: the songs are shorter and the themes more concrete. "Duke," the band's new album, includes some of the crispest music of the band's career. "Misunderstanding," one of several songs from the album featured Saturday, is one of the most commercial things the band has recorded, and the tautly designed statement of romantic betrayal sounded even better live than on the LP.

Mostly, however, the band's lyrics and themes continue to lag behind the instrumental sheen. We know the writer (or singer) is lonely here or insecure there, but we aren't given insights or depth. We are left, with Genesis operating from an extremely conservative format, one that neither reaches for the bravado of the progressive rock era nor the relevancy and bite of the new-wave contingent.

The band's followers, however, still respond to the idea that Genesis' musical abilities add up to a noble sophistication. Several members of the audience Saturday suggested the reason Genesis doesn't have more hit singles is that its music is too complex for ordinary tastes.

Maybe. But there certainly was little sophistication in the band's presentation. The best thing you can say about Phil Collins' manner between songs is that it is unpretentious. More accurately, it's silly. The audience whooped it up with grade-school enthusiasm when Collins dragged out a cutout of a nude woman during one song introduction and laughed mightily when he suggested movie titles that a fictional pal, Albert, was working on: "Albert - A Space Odyssey" and "The Empire Strikes Albert." So much for sophistication.

Transcribed for The Path by Joe Harden

Joe's story:

The Duke Tour 1980

During the time that passed between the Genesis shows of '78 and the Duke Tour of '80 a lot had changed in the world of music. Reigning the pop charts was Donna Summer, queen of the disco divas, who beckoned the dancing multitudes to join in that one last but seemingly endless dance. At the same time, punk rockers loudly and openly declared war on existing pop culture, spewing their emesis as well as their hatred for the once-honored prog rock gods, who now increasingly were denounced as pretentious, obsolete dinosaurs. The universal message from pop music critics to fans seemed to be: "Out with the old and in with the new ... new wave that is."

As a Genesis fan, I was lost. Where did Genesis fit in? Where did I fit in?

Actually, not fitting in was nothing new to me. Growing up gay in a straight world had prepared me for being a misfit. Come to think of it, I was a misfit in the gay world, too. Hated disco. Had no flair for fashion. Liked sports,sorta. Had no idea what Judy Garland had done besides "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."

In spite of this, I found a boyfriend, a "someone special" with whom I thought I could share my passion for all things Genesis, even if we were all misfits of sorts. Unfortunately, I later realized, after the blinders had been removed, that my boyfriend Phil was resistant to any music that wasn't sung by a diva, a drag queen, or the brothers Gibb. Not one to force my musical tastes, I instead endured two long years of being physically forced onto the dance floors of every bloody gay disco in Southern California, kicking and screaming "I Can't Dance!" every step of the way. A true martyr, if ever there was one.

In 1980 I finally struck back. For Genesis' first concert tour in two years, and my first Genesis concert since finding a significant other, I decided that we both were definitely going.

Surprisingly, Phil wanted to go. Turns out, he actually had listened when I slyly had slipped the occasional Genesis record onto the turntable in between his Streisand, Sylvester, and Saturday Night Fever albums. And not only had he listened, but he had also learned the lyrics and the piano chords for "One For The Vine." He surprised me one day by singing and playing the song in its entirity. So it really made for quite the special moment when, at the concert, Genesis unexpectedly performed that song halfway through their set. As I exchanged a starry-eyed look with Phil (my Phil; not the short bald one on stage), suddenly even all that disco music didn't seem so bad any more. I think Phil actually liked the rest of the show a lot, too. At least he liked it more than Robert Hilburn of the Los Angeles Times.

Joe Harden

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