Kansas City Blog

No, this was church the way church always was for me: a whole mess of folks trying their damnedest to believe in something grand in the face of little or no evidence. Here we were, ready to get holy with the golden voice behind some of the greatest of all soul records, ready to believe that the music had survived Green's shift from love man to God man, and the Reverend himself was more interested in flinging roses at the audience than he was in singing.

Often, the crowd carried Green.
Audience: I'm so ...
Green: TIRED
Audience: ...of being alone ... won't you
Green: HELP
Audience: ... me, girl, as soon as you can.

Sometimes we were loud enough to forget for a second that the world-class crooner who made all those divine secular records is now a hit-or-miss shouter more comfortable ad-libbing raspy hallelujah codas than he is at handling the actual songs.

Even he sensed that belief guttering. During "Tired of Being Alone," after he somehow hit that melty, piercing Hey, baby! that kicks off the most immortal of his love-talk breakdowns, he skipped the subsequent squeals, pleas and verse. He just stood there, counting out the measures like some timpani player sitting at the rear of an orchestra. When he finally sang again, he came on all Christ before Thomas, laying it out for any doubters: "Somebody out there's wondering if Al's still got it," he declared.

He sucked in a breath, then vaulted into falsetto: "HEEEEEEY -- EYYY, BAAABY!"

This lasted five seconds.

"Yeah, he's still got it!" he called. Then he strutted around like a kid who'd just won a field day medal while we finished the song for him.

In fairness to the Reverend:
• For five to 15 seconds at a time, he's still got it.
• He was better than this at Rhythm & Ribs a couple years back.
• He's also better than that here.
• He was, as he put it, "disorientated" after a flight from Stockholm, no Thanksgiving turkey, early show sound issues, and four months away from his wife. ("Even a preacher can't go that long," he complained.)
• He sang "I'm Still in Love With You" all the way through.
• The end of second-tier classic "Here I Am" benefited from his shouty approach. His band (a nine-piece, augmented by three singers and two goofy, sexless dancers in busboy vests) vamped on, and the Reverend throatily testified. Unfortunately, that approach didn't help "Love and Happiness," an airy funk marvel reduced to a blunt stomp.
• During a medley of Stax, Motown and Philly soul hits, he twice sang snatches of Otis Redding songs with much of the warm growl and joy of Big O himself.
• Toward the end, he slid into "Simply Beautiful." He whispered, we leaned in, and for a whole verse he killed it. The second verse he told the band off: "They say that aint' on the list!" he announced twice. "I don't care about the list! I wanna sing what I wanna sing!"

Finally, just 70 minutes after he appeared, the Reverend got raptured or something, leaving the band to ride that "Love and Happiness" groove while the houselights came up, then down, then back up again. People milled around in confusion. Green's announcer started telling us who was in the band, who kept playing, even with the lights on, running on for another eight minutes like the credits to some movie contractually obligated to hit feature length. Then, once they'd officially provided 78 minutes of entertainment for Kansas Citians who'd ponied up $50 a seat, they were gone. Let's hope they got orientated.

Set List:
I Can't Stop
Let's Get Married
Lay it Down
Stay With Me
Everything is Always Going to Be All Right
Amazing Grace
Let's Stay Together
How Can You Mend a Broken Heart
Here I Am
Sugar Pie Honey Bunch/My Girl/I've Been Loving You Too Long/Bring It on Home to Me/Sitting on the Dock of the Bay/You Are Everything
Tired of Being Alone
I'm Still in Love With You
Simply Beautiful
Love and Happiness

Critic's Notebook
Personal bias: Al Green's six-record run from 1972 to 1976 stands against any other great artist's peak period, be it Dylan, Stevie, or Miles fucking Davis. Add 1977's pop-gospel anomaly, Belle, and the remixed "Love Ritual," and we're dealing with a titan.

Random detail: Green worked the KCK/KCMO schism for much applause but also for a stream-of-consciousness flight of self-abuse. "Kansas City, Kansas!" he hollered. "Kansas City, MO! I got my mojo working! Whatever that means!" Then he slapped himself for saying mojo and chided himself: "You're a preacher!"

Also: At one point, Green bunched up the sleeves of his jacket but not the shirtsleeves underneath. Then, with a wide slice of smile, he marched in place instead of singing the next verse.
— By Alan Scherstuhl