Chickenfoot: Two parts ham-fisted douchebaggery, two parts cooped-up talent.
From beneath an unruly blond mop, wants to make sure everyone has “plenty of drinks in ya” and is “good and high.” Because, the Red Rocker explains to a surprisingly full , “you do not want to see ‘The Foot’ sober.”
And a thousand fists pump above a sea of thinning mullets.
show at the Fillmore last Friday had everything you would expect from a supergroup with one-half of Van Hagar, Red Hot Chili Peppers’ drummer Chad Smith and guitar virtuoso Joe Satriani.
There was the ham-fisted douchebaggery of Hagar, whose cringe-worthy lyrics could not eclipse his unbridled energy and unflappable dedication to the party. There was the clumsily elementary work of ex-Van Halen bassist Michael Anthony, who, despite decades in the deep end, can barely tread water. (There’s a reason why he was replaced after nearly 20 years with Van Halen by a teenager.)
And then there was Chad and Joe. Letap just call Chickenfoot the Chad-and-Joe Show. Even though they were hamstrung by the tiny coop built by Hagar and Anthony, the two musicians were able to deliver some depth to a show lousy with flamboyant cock-rock. The achingly daft “Oh Yeah,” — heavy with crowd participation on the “yeah!” — saw Satriani reach screaming apexes only to be followed by an utterly painful ballad by Hagar, “Learning to Fall Down.” The latter included this gem: “When I fall, I fall down deep. When I crawl, I’ll come running to you. Running to you, baby.”
But the rooster rock was what everyone wanted. When Hagar busted out his best calisthenics for “Get It Up,” the crowd exploded. Despite possibly the most inane words ever put to music, “Get It Up” saw one of the sickest Satriani jams of the night.
The crowd gobbled up Anthony’s comical pick flicking, climbing all over each other for a chance to touch one of 1,000 plastic picks the ever-mulleted rocker tossed into the crowd. When a fan handed Anthony an airplane-serving of Jack Daniels, he nipped the little bottle in his teeth and stared at the ceiling, his Adam’s apple chugging in rhythm to the thunder from his Jack Daniels bass guitar.
Woo! Party!
And indeed it was a party. Across the room, the vibe was revved to 11. Arms pumped above clench-jawed dancers. Coyote howls erupted every minute. Hagar and Anthony’s high-pitched, wailing “harmonies” conjured undeniable memories of the Van Hagar decade. The duo hasn’t eased off the gas in the 13 years since they were flanked by the Van Halen brothers.
The Van Halen years still heavily influence the Chickenfoot sound, with particular emphasis on forced flourishes to end each tune. But sadly, there was no hint of any Van Halen song. Nor was there any glimmer of Smith’s “Uplift the Mofo Party Plan,” from back when the Red Hots actually were funky punk and not dentist-office rockers. And every time Satriani unveiled any tonal semblance of the Silver Surfer, his glorious guitar instrumental work was beaten back with a coarse howl.
Apparently that is the Chickenfoot plan. So bent on establishing their own songs — mired in an entirely old sound — that they will not explore any of the member’s dynamic work from their past. Even the setlist remains largely unmoved from the band’s first-ever show a year ago. An order that roughly follows the organization of the band’s self-titled album, which, Smith breathlessly announced last Friday, has just gone gold.
There were two moments the band ventured beyond the chicken coop, with 30-second demos of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song,” and Jimi Hendrix’s “Manic Depression.” Sadly both glimpses of potential were smothered in the bafflingly weak “Turnin’ Left” and “Future in the Past.”
The Chickenfoot encore came with tequila shots for Hagar and Anthony and Hagar’s first-ever song, from his days with seminal rock band Montrose, “Bad Motor Scooter.” It was actually delivered with aplomb, with sunshade-wrapped Hagar focusing on his lap steel instead of stalking the stage and growling. The Who’s “My Generation” arrived next with inspired guitar work by Satriani and 61-year-old Hagar twisting the lyrics into “Hope I live to be old.”
And just in case you didn’t know the fellas were raging partiers, Smith made sure to destroy his drumset during the extended finale and finished tossing a forestap worth of drumsticks into the crowd. That finale stretched well into a rowdy 10-minute, music-free ovation of bowing and boozing as Denver devoured “The Foot.”
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Jason Blevins is a strange dancer, but that has never stopped him.
