Silverchair - Newport, 12-7

Silverchair comes from the land down under, and the band has pretty much stayed there the past 10 years. In 1995 its grunge debut, Frogstomp, was released when singer/guitarist Daniel Johns, bassist Chris Joannou and drummer Ben Gillies were only 15. Epic signed Silverchair after the band won some studio time from a radio station contest. Little did they know that studio time would spawn a multiplatinum album and a number-one single--“Tomorrow,” that flannel anthem about a fat boy who for some reason must wait till tomorrow.

“Pure Massacre,” the second single, did reasonably well, and singles from releases in ’97 and ’99 made small splashes here and there throughout the U.S. But for the most part, Silverchair fell off most people’s radars as grunge did the same. In Australia, it’s a different story. The band is the most successful rock band the country has ever seen, garnering five number-one albums. The boys continued making music and each album showed a new facet of Silverchair, improving on the previous release. This year’s Young Modern is getting rave reviews.

As it turns out, the radio contest wasn’t a fluke. The band really is talented. Who knew? (Well, I guess Australia did.)

It became apparent quickly on Friday night that Johns is used to being a rock sensation. He treated the Newport as if it were a giant arena that could only be filled by his rock-star posturing in a tuxedo vest (he shed his sport coat only three songs into the set). Luckily for him, he has an incredible voice and a fair amount of good songs to go with it. Gone is the Stone Temple Pilots, pickle-in-the-mouth grunge voice. Johns has a clean, powerful rock voice with quite an impressive range, as well as a pleasant if not overused falsetto. He puts Eddie Vedder and even Chris Cornell to shame. Johns is the pretty-boy theatrical type, which can get annoying, but he frequently put it aside to establish a good rapport with the crowd.

Lyrically, Silverchair has come a long way, but there’s still some tunes that are slightly cringe-worthy. “The Greatest View” stood out as an example of cheeseball lyrics, with the repeated line, “I’m watching you watch over me.” It didn’t help that the song itself is fairly weak, and would probably work well in a dentist office playlist. A couple of other songs conjured up corny arena rock--I’m not a fan of the new Journey-meets-Coldplay single, “Straight Lines,” but the crowd evidently was.

Just as many of the tunes were shout-along anthems with lofty melodies and nicely altered arrangements. “If You Keep Losing Sleep,” “Ana’s Song (Open Fire)” and “Tuna in the Brine” worked well, all swinging between arty and radio-ready. And, I admit, hearing older tunes from Frogstomp such as “Israel’s Son” brought back memories of trying to learn the songs on my first acoustic guitar in middle school. The Aussies didn’t play the old stuff grudgingly, either, looking as if they truly enjoyed getting all mid-’90s on us. Silverchair never did play “Pure Massacre” or “Tomorrow,” but I can’t really fault the band for it. I mean, the guys hit it big in their early teens, and number-one hit or not, no one should be forced to re-enact their teenage years on a nightly basis. Or ever, for that matter.

As Tall as Lions shares Silverchair’s penchant for anthemic choruses, playing pop rock suited for an opening act. It was pretty good for about 30 minutes, but any more than that would have been too long. The band has been lumped in with emo acts because of its label, Triple Crown, but vocalist Daniel Ligro isn’t a whiner, and he can pull off some tunes in a fairly high register. The minor harmonies were nice and atypical, although it felt like all these guys just discovered falsetto and don’t realize it can be overused. Also, the bass player’s awkwardly bombastic stage moves were way overdone, and I started to get embarrassed for him, like a guy at a party who thinks he can really dance and no one has the heart to tell him he sucks. One of his bandmates needs to have a heart-to-heart with him, look him in the eye, and say, “Dude, you’re a bassist.”

Dashboard Confessional, Newport, 11/3

At the sold-out Dashboard Confessional show Saturday night at the Newport, there was a couple standing in front of me who arrived at the venue surly and arguing. This argument, which seemed to involve something about standing in the balcony instead of the ground floor, continued throughout the two opening bands. At some points arms were flailing, at others arms were planted on hips, and later arms were rigidly folded. A couple of times, the male combatant would simply walk away, only to return and continue the argument.

I know it’s voyeuristic, but it was a train wreck I couldn’t stop watching, and there really couldn’t be a more fitting place to witness it. It was like a real-life enactment of Dashboard Confessional’s songs, all penned and sung by heartbreak kid Chris Carrabba, who is playing solo on this tour. The tunes are uncomfortably honest, super-sensitive stories of relationships gone wrong, complete with insecurities, details about types of lipstick and colors of T-shirts and lots of emoting--hence Dashboard’s synonymy with modern emo.

Carrabba’s songs create intense fan devotion, especially in women and sensitive men in high school and college, and when these fans get together live, it’s one giant sing-along. Like him or loathe him, one can’t deny the connection he makes with his audience. Everyone at the Newport was singing at the top of their lungs along with Carrabba, and he’d frequently stand on the edge of the stage and let the crowd sing entire verses on their own. They loved it. By the end of the first song the previously angry couple was arm in arm. By the third song, hands were in each other’s back pockets, and by the fifth song it was full-on concert canoodling.

Carrabba played songs spanning his career--tunes from his early EPs that he used to play solo while opening for punk bands, and tracks from more recent albums Dusk and Summer and The Shade of Poison Trees. He’s perhaps best-known now by the hit song “Vindicated,” which he wrote for the Spiderman 2 soundtrack (Peter Parker is, after all, the most emo of all superhero alter egos). Carrabba also made sure to play “Screaming Infidelities,” a fan favorite with the trademark lyrics, “Your hair, it’s everywhere/Screaming infidelities and taking its wear.” His voice sounded pretty much like it does on record, alternating between whispers and earnest yells.

The whole vibe was downright cute at first, and Carrabba has a likable, humble stage persona with a self-deprecating sense of humor. The odd thing is, he’s 32. There’s something strange about a 32-year-old man belting out relationship songs that seem straight out of a pubescent journal. At this stage in his career, you’d think there’d be more of a sense of maturity in the songs. It’s like how Mike Jeffries, CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch, still wears sandals and ripped jeans and sports ultra-blond hair even though he’s in his 60s. Something about it just doesn’t seem quite right. (Though I doubt Carrabba has a picture of a male torso hanging above his bed like Jeffries does.)

Also, the incessant song breaks with crowd singing got a little old, as did Carrabba’s several requests for the crowd to sing along even though they obviously were already. Maybe I’m just getting old, but when I go to a concert, I’d like to hear the artist sing more than the audience. That’s why he’s onstage and we’re not.

Still, Carrabba’s such a puppy dog that it would be downright cruel not to believe his sincerity or to mistake his passion for pandering. He just wants his sad songs to make you happy.

Opener John Ralston played safe, boring pop rock, but Augustana was a pleasant surprise, conjuring up memories of August and Everything After-era Counting Crows. It was piano pop rock that must be a record label’s dream with its cross-platform appeal, especially the radio single, “Boston,” a song you’d most likely be embarrassed to admit you enjoy because your mom would probably really like it. Singer Dan Layus has a great voice but also had the annoying trait of constantly holding his finger up to his ear monitor while he sang. And he really likes to hear himself croon, even excessively singing along to guitar solos. But at least he’s good at it.