Cinderella liked it hot and wet inside the Millennium Center last Wednesday. (photo by Ryan Snyder)
Tom Keifer will be the first to tell you that you really don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone. Prior to 1991, the front man for the band Cinderella and the rest of his mates were living the hard and fast life expected in the glam metal scene. The teased their hair 12 inches high, decked themselves out in leather and chiffon, wrote a lot of hyperbolic lyrics to expand upon their look-cool-and-get-laid modus operandi and essentially took their talents for granted. Then, just as the band had unwittingly braced themselves for the watershed grunge movement with arguably their best record, 1991’s Heartbreak Station, Keifer’s voice was gone.
Comeback attempts would transpire over years, turning into decades. Their 2006 tour in support of Poison was at times disastrous due to Keifer’s dilapidated vocal chords, compelling the band into hiatus. Their Wednesday night show at the Millennium Center, however, painted a decidedly different picture.
If this were Cinderella circa Long Cold Winter, it might have been appropriate to write a tawdry, trite review lede along the lines of “while the storm raged outside, the party raged inside.” Playing in front of a crowd of nearly 1,000, Cinderella looked to have momentarily returned to their lurid pre-arena days of old. The Millennium Center was oppressively hot, thanks in part to the sweatbox conditions created by the downpour outside, and the sound was mediocre, presumably due to the cascade of water pouring in on stage. Or might have been just because they were playing at the Millennium Center. In any event, there was a general (if morbidly hopeful) feeling that Keifer would grab the mic and go down la Russell Hammond in Almost Famous. (Un?)fortunately, Keifer survived the night, despite a general look of discomfort that persisted the entire evening.
Excessively hot mic and perilous conditions aside, Keifer’s vocal adjustments during the band’s hiatus appeared to have paid off. He consistently nailed his signature vibrato on songs like opener “Second Wind” and “Heartbreak Station,” though he seems to have sacrificed his ability to manage his vocal intensity in the course of mastering his new singing style. His pitch and volume wavered little throughout the night and when paired with the muddled sound from the back of the room, hits like “Somebody Save Me” weren’t as easily identifiable.
The band still comprises four-fifths of the lineup that was together during their heyday, which is a feat unto itself, so it was a safe assumption that they were going to sound tight musically. Keifer and guitarist Jeff LaBar were in sync throughout the show, eschewing their stage antics of 20 years ago for a lot more subtlety, intent instead upon displaying the technical prowess for which they were so long overlooked. LaBar conceded lead often, most memorably to the stony intro for “Falling Apart at the Seams/Bad Seamstress Blues.” Keifer is still half-assed bluesman, but has a lot of soul for a supposedly washed-up glam god. That said, it’s pretty easy to look back at a band like Cinderella with an air of smug condescension.
The edgy, thrill-seeking genus of rock of bands like Cinderella has no room for skepticism, especially since the hair-metal era is one for which only a select few can be nostalgic, but Cinderella — Keifer especially — deserve sincere praise for their efforts to return to form. Rock music has never been about restraint, and bands like Cinderella came to embody the lack thereof much in the same way Reganites came to symbolize wanton consumerism. When given that perspective, you realize that Cinderella is a band that embraced a certain style and a certain sound and never gave it up, an extravagant attitude paired with larger-than-life lyrics, amplified through the pickups of bluesy, gritty rock. So don’t be afraid to rip your jeans, tease your hair and revel in the garish exhibition that is the most base of real rock ‘n roll.
Tom Keifer will be the first to tell you that you really don’t know what you got ’til it’s gone. Prior to 1991, the front man for the band Cinderella and the rest of his mates were living the hard and fast life expected in the glam metal scene. The teased their hair 12 inches high, decked themselves out in leather and chiffon, wrote a lot of hyperbolic lyrics to expand upon their look-cool-and-get-laid modus operandi and essentially took their talents for granted. Then, just as the band had unwittingly braced themselves for the watershed grunge movement with arguably their best record, 1991’s Heartbreak Station, Keifer’s voice was gone.
Comeback attempts would transpire over years, turning into decades. Their 2006 tour in support of Poison was at times disastrous due to Keifer’s dilapidated vocal chords, compelling the band into hiatus. Their Wednesday night show at the Millennium Center, however, painted a decidedly different picture.
If this were Cinderella circa Long Cold Winter, it might have been appropriate to write a tawdry, trite review lede along the lines of “while the storm raged outside, the party raged inside.” Playing in front of a crowd of nearly 1,000, Cinderella looked to have momentarily returned to their lurid pre-arena days of old. The Millennium Center was oppressively hot, thanks in part to the sweatbox conditions created by the downpour outside, and the sound was mediocre, presumably due to the cascade of water pouring in on stage. Or might have been just because they were playing at the Millennium Center. In any event, there was a general (if morbidly hopeful) feeling that Keifer would grab the mic and go down la Russell Hammond in Almost Famous. (Un?)fortunately, Keifer survived the night, despite a general look of discomfort that persisted the entire evening.
Excessively hot mic and perilous conditions aside, Keifer’s vocal adjustments during the band’s hiatus appeared to have paid off. He consistently nailed his signature vibrato on songs like opener “Second Wind” and “Heartbreak Station,” though he seems to have sacrificed his ability to manage his vocal intensity in the course of mastering his new singing style. His pitch and volume wavered little throughout the night and when paired with the muddled sound from the back of the room, hits like “Somebody Save Me” weren’t as easily identifiable.
The band still comprises four-fifths of the lineup that was together during their heyday, which is a feat unto itself, so it was a safe assumption that they were going to sound tight musically. Keifer and guitarist Jeff LaBar were in sync throughout the show, eschewing their stage antics of 20 years ago for a lot more subtlety, intent instead upon displaying the technical prowess for which they were so long overlooked. LaBar conceded lead often, most memorably to the stony intro for “Falling Apart at the Seams/Bad Seamstress Blues.” Keifer is still half-assed bluesman, but has a lot of soul for a supposedly washed-up glam god. That said, it’s pretty easy to look back at a band like Cinderella with an air of smug condescension.
The edgy, thrill-seeking genus of rock of bands like Cinderella has no room for skepticism, especially since the hair-metal era is one for which only a select few can be nostalgic, but Cinderella — Keifer especially — deserve sincere praise for their efforts to return to form. Rock music has never been about restraint, and bands like Cinderella came to embody the lack thereof much in the same way Reganites came to symbolize wanton consumerism. When given that perspective, you realize that Cinderella is a band that embraced a certain style and a certain sound and never gave it up, an extravagant attitude paired with larger-than-life lyrics, amplified through the pickups of bluesy, gritty rock. So don’t be afraid to rip your jeans, tease your hair and revel in the garish exhibition that is the most base of real rock ‘n roll.
