Concert Review: Eric Snider

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Jackson Browne has the same hair. It's pretty remarkable that the singer/songwriter, now 61, would still sport that straight, silky brown mane with the tuft of bang over the right forehead. You know, the look that screams — make that whispers — 1970s California mellow. Yes Browne, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt, looked trim and youthful during his concert at Ruth Eckerd Hall on Friday night. Performing solo, he delivered two sets of uber-sensitive songs, countered by just enough levity to prevent the show from lapsing into thorough lugubriousness. Oh, he was plenty morose, meditating on love and loss, death and (of course) humans' mistreatment the earth, which his made his playful versions of Warren Zevon's "Lawyers, Guns and Money" and Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Free Bird" (responding to a— canned? – request from the audience), crucial respites.

Browne started just a couple of minutes after the appointed 8 p.m. start time, sitting on a stool, holding an acoustic guitar. Behind him was a row of 16 more, yes 16 if my count was correct. No, he didn't play them all, but apparently they were there, set up in different tunings, if he needed them. Browne's rather thin voice, with its limited range, was nevertheless in solid form. His tends not to over-emote, so fans hoping to hear the songs rendered much as their recorded versions no doubt came away pleased.

It is not easy to entertain a sold-out performing arts hall by yourself. The  relationship between artist and audience is so intimate that the artist's likeability becomes an important factor. I'm sure many people were charmed by Browne's introspective musings and wry humor. I found him quietly arrogant and a tad self-important.

The most annoying part of the show was the insistence on the part of quite a few knuckleheads in the audience to bellow out requests between each song. It was a heathen display that I personally thought put our community in an embarrassing light. Browne acted bemused and slightly impatient at the verbal fusillades from the seats, telling the audience a few times that he was pretty much going to play what he felt like playing. But then — every so often he would respond to a request and play it, thus emboldening the banshee in the back who wanted to hear "Running on Empty."

Browne played "Running on Empty," one of the show's highlights. He also played "Take It Easy," another. Most of the rest of the show was made up of pensive ballads. Browne also performed several songs on electric piano, the most leaden performances.

After the hour-long first set and a 20-minute break, where some of the male members of the audience joked about staying away from sharp objects, Browne opened his second set with — what? — another dead-serious ballad, "For Everyman." His pinnacle as a balladeer arrived in set two with "The Pretender," which is among his best tunes, one that poetically comments on alienation and materialism.

And thankfully, he kept it to one environmental speech. Browne touted a metal water bottle he had on stage, said he was selling them, and I couldn't really tell if he was kidding or not. His message to not buy disposable bottled water made real sense, and then he performed "Walk me on the Water," a nice segue.

In all, Jackson Browne's show best suited those who like to wallow in heartbreak, ennui and the ills of the world. Going in, I knew not to expect much pep and fun, but I couldn't help wish for it anyway.

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