The career path of vocalist/songwriter Gilbert Gil has been a decidedly labyrinthine one over the last 40 years. A pioneer of the new bossa nova — known as tropicalismo — in the mid-'60s, Gil's compositions are infused with both political reference and multicultural influence. In 1969, the military government of Brazil jailed him for what it deemed anti-government activism. In January 2003, Gil was appointed Brazilian Minister of Culture. Clearly times have changed.
On Saturday, Gil made a rare local appearance before a near capacity, multiethnic, multicultural, multigenerational crowd at the Tampa Bay Performing Arts Center. It felt like a kind of homecoming, but maybe all his gigs do. Gilberto Gil knows his audience, and his audience knows him. Given this symbiosis, there's no need for artifice, and on Saturday, he performed solo from a stage virtually stripped of props.
At 64 (alluded to when he performed the Beatles tune), he is slender and loose-limbed. Dressed casually in a sporty white shirt, gray jeans and sneakers, his long hair tied tightly back, he looks a decade younger than he is.
Gil's voice is hoarse, but paradoxically is always in perfect pitch. His two-plus octave range is expanded further by flawless mic technique. He's also an accomplished and sophisticated guitar accompanist, employing imaginative harmonic choices and playing fleet-fingered single-note lines. Occasionally he'd whistle a jazzy solo.
Gil understands pacing. He started the program slowly, sticking close to traditional bossa nova, interspersing tunes with engaging monologues delivered in Portuguese and lightly accented English. The audience, although responsive, likewise paced itself, allowing its enthusiasm to build over the course of the show.
The concert moved toward a slow crescendo, finally erupting with a Caetano Veloso call-and-response tune (my Portuguese is non-existent, but the title sounded like "A Que Abrazo") that prompted the first of two standing ovations. There was a little more disquisition on subjects ranging from the influence that Mexican radio music had on early bossa nova to the need for his countrymen to focus on what is best in Brazil. Two hours after he'd begun, Gil closed his show with another sing-along, Bob Marley's "No Woman, No Cry," which again brought the audience to its feet.
Summoned back to the stage, Gil did a four-song encore, bringing things down gently, deftly guiding the music home to the earliest days of bossa nova.
—Charles Farrell
The Modern Skirts sold me on their warm pop sounds from the start. I stopped by their website weeks ago and was immediately drawn to their sunny harmonies, well-placed strings, stately keyboards and sincere, slightly quirky lyrics concerning matters of the heart. The quartet of young men from Athens, Ga., (yes, they've shared a stage with R.E.M.) makes music for folks who dig the Counting Crows and Ben Folds Five — two bands I enjoy.
But even though I immediately applauded what I heard of the Skirts' LP Catalogue of Generous Men, I had my doubts about the guys being able to re-create the lush compositions in concert at New World Brewery last Friday.
My misgivings were quickly erased. The Skirts have rock 'n' roll lust in their veins, and it poured through in front of the 160 or so people fortunate enough to catch this young, talented band in action. Lead singer Jay Gulley stood at the center of the eye-level stage, flanked by guitarist/vocalist Phillip Brantley while keyboardist JoJo Gildwell manned a spot in the corner next to drummer John Swint.
The four-piece smiled through a 60-minute set that went past like a blur. While the horns and strings play a more pronounced role on record, in concert the band gives its music a harder rock edge thanks to Brantley's heavy blues solos. But it was Gulley, the front man, who made the show, articulating every lyric and looking every person in the eye, determined to entertain us with his comforting tales of love won and lost.
After the performance, most of the people in attendance seemed to agree that we had witnessed something rather special. Of course, certain people are just too cool for a little fun.
"It's accessible," quipped one aging hipster.
I shook my head in frustration.
Orlando's The Sugar Oaks, an acoustic-guitar-led band, went on right before the Modern Skirts and also worked the "accessible" angle with aplomb. Unfortunately, Lakeland's Mouse Fire plumbed the dissonant, noised-out, two-years-behind-what-happened-in-Portland sound. They sounded like too many other local bands.
I often fear that, as a whole, the Tampa Bay music scene suffers from a fear of "accessibility," which could account for us failing to produce more acts like the Modern Skirts and The Sugar Oaks, two bands that are not afraid to connect with people on an emotional level.
—Wade Tatangelo
This article appears in Mar 28 – Apr 3, 2007.