“You know your boy’s single, right?” This disarmingly simple question, posed by singer Chris Brown near the onset of his concert at a crowded House of Blues on Thursday, is as close as the singer got to discussing the troublesome events of the last year.
In June, Brown plead guilty on charges he assaulted then-girlfriend, singer Rihanna, and was sentenced to five years probation, one year of domestic abuse counseling and six months of community service. Thanksgiving night, the 20-year-old singer — with a small assist from Chicago rapper Lupe Fiasco — continued the work of rehabilitating his battered public image.
In a handful of interviews since the assault, Brown has sounded alternately remorseful, confused, defiant and hopelessly awkward. But watching the singer stumble over words with Larry King is the antithesis of seeing him onstage. A graceful dancer, Brown moved as effortlessly and fluidly as Robert Patrick’s liquid metal T-1000 in “Terminator 2.”
Brown kicked off his 65-minute set with the hard-edged “I Can Transform Ya.” Flanked by four dancers¯all dressed head-to-toe in black and sporting matching motorcycle helmets¯the singer popped-and-locked to the robotic groove. The effect was surreal¯like watching a motorcycle gang engaged in a choreographed dance routine.
Indeed, Brown’s concert overflowed with contradictions. The singer was constantly at war with himself, torn between Romeo and Lothario. One song he’d be pledging his unending devotion (“With every kiss/Every hug/You make me fall in love,” he cooed on a syrupy “With You”) and the next he’d boast about “[hitting] it like Sosa.” On “Take You Down,” a shirtless Brown briefly turned predator, rolling around on the stage and suggestively thrusting his pelvis into the ground; 15 minutes later he was seated on a stool, belting out a ballad as rose petals fell like snowflakes on the large screen behind the stage.
When Brown performed at Allstate Arena back in December 2007, the singer, then just 18-years-old, came across as the clean-cut kid next door. While other R&B stars crooned about illicit affairs, one-night stands and worse, Brown sang about “Young Love” and pined for a simple phone call (because “I just wanna know you”). But these days, Brown sounds torn between puppy love and full-blown adult lust¯a transition that would be tough to navigate even without his current legal woes.
Not that anyone in the largely-female audience was waiting for further apology; the crowd was wholly with him from the opening salvo, singing along to each song, punctuating every pause with volcanic screams and lunging like sharks after chum each time Brown tossed an article of clothing into the fray.
Better known for the spectacle of his concerts than his vocal prowess (he remains a moderately talented, if indistinguishable singer), Brown struggled at times with the intimate setting. This proved especially true on the slower material (“No Air,” “Crawl”), which wasn’t augmented by any choreography. In a sense, Brown’s talents are much better suited to the arena setting, where the grandiose production can mask his musical shortcomings. Contrast that with a too-brief turn from Fiasco, who dazzled with little more than a microphone and a handful of verses from his own “Superstar.”
Copyright © 2009, Chicago Tribune
