EDMONTON - Reviewing Bryan Adams presents a bit of a quandary if you have no desire to see the veteran rocker. Short of including Summer of ‘69 as a guilty pleasure, most of Adam’s rather limited selection of unctuous ballads and pro forma roots rockers do not inspire someone raised on slightly edgier music.

Let’s be honest — Adams at his best plays unaffected, no frills rock — sturdy car-radio fodder, all surfaces, glossy in spite of its calculated roughness. At his worst he reduces rock into tired cliches and banal gestures — Bruce Springsteen with the spine pulled out of him.

The Springsteen-lite analogy followed him from the early part of his career, but the part that must hurt the most is the charge of turning adult-oriented rock with the long run of ballads that sent him to the top of the charts and had him working with the likes of Celine Dion.

That’s the general attitude that critics have always had about Adams, and no matter what you think of it, there’s some truth to the fact that his music has been teetering just a hair away from elevator dross for well over a decade now.

Last night, Adams kept as far away from the soppy side of his repetoire as he could. Dressed in black T-shirt and jeans, with a similarly attired band backing him, Adams proceeded to pump out hit after hit, barely pausing to switch guitars or banter with the clearly enraptured audience.

The ex-Vancouverite (now living in London, England) knocked off three in workmanlike fashion — Room Service, Somebody, and This Time, before pausing to catch a breath. 18 Til I Die got the requisite fist-pumping going on the part of the audience, along with the de riguer singalong. He is, admittedly, a compelling performer, energetic and committed. His band is tight and workmanlike, with little to no fat to speak of.

One thing about Adams — he knows how to work that big space. Over twenty years of touring stadiums and coliseums has sharpened his skills at working the audience. He tirelessly pulled out moves from The Big Book of Rock Manoeuvres, running from centre stage to side stage, singing into one microphone with his guitar player, checking out his bassist’s moves. There was much pointing at the crowd.

Of course, this was all to the approval of the fans, most of whom seemed to be between thirty and forty, with a small sprinkling of youngsters about. Like most classic-rock crowds, the point was to revisit youth —Adams represents good times to a huge chunk of those who came of age in the ’80s.

Somebody’s youth was certainly being revisited — the 40-ish woman next to me ecstatically air guitared and drummed every part, perilously coming close to depositing her beer on me with every cymbal crash. It was actually the best part of the show — to see what effect Adams had on this woman, who was enjoying herself in such an unselfconscious, possibly inebriated way.

If that woman’s rather strong opinion should matter, then opening act Daniel Powter is going to be a huge star. She’s probably right; he’s got a strong, versatile voice and a knack for clear, unencumbered melodies, plus he knows how to pace a short set.

Fond of gently plodding rhythms and ruminative keyboard lines — running just short of Elton John in some places — Powter also has the classic-rock book down pat. He’s apparently tabbed for greater things, and you can tell, in the ease with which he interacts with the audience, and the already half-familiar songs he pulled out.
Source: © The Edmonton Journal 2006

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