Irish Times writers review Crosby and Nash at Vicar Street and Doves at the Olympia Theatre.
Crosby and Nash, Vicar Street, Dublin
Some of us ambled along to David Crosby and Graham Nash's sold-out concert expecting a lot of fuzzy edges and a little nostalgia. Few of us anticipated the verve and appetite of these two stalwarts of one of the first real supergroups, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. Crosby's walrus-like demeanour, initially suggestive of a musician whose priorities have long departed matters musical is the big surprise of the night. Focused, urbane and witty, the only hint of his past dalliances with narcotics comes by way of his own sideways swipes at how "busy" he was when buddies like Jackson Browne came calling.
Memories seldom come as perfectly gift-wrapped as this: Long Time Gone, Immigration Man, Marrakesh Express and Southbound Train ricocheted off their formidable four-piece band with the agility and freshness of music being aired for the first time.
Graham Nash's Mancunian roots have grounded both musicians, his richly developed taste for irony puncturing any suggestion of preciousness about a repertoire that has evidently seeped into the veins of more than two generations, if Tuesday's lip-synching crowd are anything to go by.
Of course it was the past glories that truly ignited the evening: Our House, Wasted On The Way and Wind On The Water were magical moments in time that Crosby and Nash recycled with childlike brio, revelling in the close harmonies and basking in the glorious guitar lines of the legendary Dean Parks, and fluid keyboards of Crosby's son, James Raymond.
But the real surprise was in the new material: Jesus Of Rio whispered of an old lefty sensibility that has been polished and honed, rather than left to wilt in the LA sunshine; They Want It All lambasted the culture of deceit that epitomised the Enron debacle, and Puppeteer flung brickbats at the dumbed-down world of politics back home.
Old hippies never die, they just fade away. Crosby and Nash are intent on playing that good ol' rock 'n' roll for as long as their vocal cords will vibrate, and judging by this first night of their European tour, that's going to be for quite a long time to come. Siobhán Long
Doves, Olympia Theatre, Dublin
It's not all lad-rock, nihilism and fey, bequiffed bards round Manchester way, you know. There's also room there for heartfelt, soul-tinged rock anthems, courtesy of three chaps who look as though they'd rather spend all day in the pool hall than in the studio crafting boldly beautiful and spiritually uplifting stompers.
With their third album, Some Cities, Doves have scored a heartwarming hat-trick, but whether it can build on the massive goodwill they've gained from 2002's superb The Last Broadcast is unclear. Current fashion seems to favour middle-of-the-road melancholia, but Doves are far too complex and contradictory to fit into an easy emotional pigeonhole.
The Olympia was the sixth date on the band's tour - the fifth was in Castlebar - but the trio still seem unsure of whether they're going down like Led Zeppelin or a lead balloon. Singer Jimi Goodwin's bearlike figure hugs his bass guitar diffidently as drummer Andy Williams begins the pounding beat of Pounding; the instantaneous response of the crowd should reassure them, but the band seem to approach each song as a tough new test, an ongoing quest for flying colours.
New single Black And White Town, like many tunes on the current album, uses a Northern Soul map to navigate a blighted urban landscapes; One Of These Days fixes itself to a familiar pop riff, but takes it to deeper, darker places.
Having re-established rapport with the big music of NY and the psychedelic whimsy of Words, the trio (plus keyboard player) feels confident enough to try out such new songs as Snowden and Almost Forgot Myself, and the show settles into an almost zen-like groove, older tunes such as Caught By the River, Here It Comes and The Last Broadcast blending in almost seamlessly.
By the end, though, we need one final upswell, and the band duly oblige with There Goes The Fear. Fear not, lads, you've passed - again. Kevin Courtney
