Faith, Glory & Medicine For The
Masses: Bon Jovi Blows Away The Windy City
Monday, November 27, 2000
Bon Jovi @ Allstate Arena, Chicago, IL, Nov. 20, 2000
I was standing in the backstage hallway of
the Allstate Arena when the lights went down. Instantly, the 17,000 sold out
faithful exploded into a thunderous din the likes of which I hadn't heard in
years. As the band poured out of the dressing room to my left and headed for the
stage, Jon Bon Jovi altered his course and grabbed my arm. "Lonn, go out to
the front of the house!" he yelled in my ear at a volume barely audible
above the hurricane crash shaking the massive room from the side to side.
"You have to see the opening! Go!" With a high five from Richie, Dave,
Tico and Hugh (McDonald, bassist), I dashed around stage right and battled my
way to the sound board as the massive video screens extending the length of the
performing platform high overhead lit up with images of the band members in
varied behind the scenes wide-angle poses. As the camera follows their elevator
ride to the stage, each Jersey boy mugs for the lens in a "pre-game
mug" while the crowd reacts wildly to their faces with ascending explosive
roar, crescendoed by Jon, smiling that disarming, street -born-rocker -done
-good smile. The elevator doors open onto the stage and out walks Bon Jovi,
alive, extremely well, and holding a secret they will shortly reveal to every
single human body in the room over the two and a quarter hours: TONIGHT WILL BE
AS GOOD AS IT GETS.
Vaulting into an exhilarating "One Wild Night," notice is served early
that the five years the band's been away from
the American road has spawned a magnificent hunger in not just the fans whose
'80s/'90s support drove their multi -platinum star a mile or two past Alpha
Centauri, but in the guys themselves. What isn't widely known across
our great land is that the rest of the world -- namely Europe and Asia -have
never blinked in their support of Bon Jovi and continue to pour out to stadiums
in droves with an almost religious dedication no other band in the world except
perhaps the Stones and Metallica can touch. Last month, they destroyed Wembly
Stadium's 80,000 strong in what both press and public called one of the most
awesome live rock events in U.K. history. As "Night" segued into the
first classic of the evening, "You Give Love a Bad Name," I took off
my Friend-of-the-band cap and began observing as the eternal, journalist/rock
fan I've always been. What hit me instantly was the complete, almost mystical
comfort the guys had with their instruments, their movement, and their
performance. The comic book opus, "Captain Crash and the Beauty Queen from
Mars" off the CD that resurrected Bon Jovi to the domestic commercial
masses, Crush, brought Jon into interaction with the crowd and prepared the
pulpit for the back to back uplifting anthems, "Faith" (wallpapered by
some amazing, fast-cut political/spiritual images that married beautifully with
the song) and "Living on a Prayer," a sing-a-long moment so splendid,
I could not find a single set of jaws not flapping happily. The room was like a
gargantuan campfire, one voice, one spirit, one helluva moment. Then came
"Born to be my Baby" and the evening took on almost dreamlike
qualities. They were five, but they were one. No, beyond that, they were 17,005,
and they were one.
Bassist Hugh McDonald, who took over for Alec John Such during the Keep The
Faith sessions, looks like he's always been in the band. His groove is tight,
effortless, fluid. Drummer Tico Torres, the foundation on which the Bon Jovi
building was constructed, has never hit 'em harder or with more confidence. He
is passionate yet playful -- a bad-ass ballet of
balance. Winding his keyboard textures around every melody, Dave Bryan's nimble
fingers add the color to the black and white. His subtle yet articulate presence
a joy for both eye and ear to behold. The set pulls back now for an acoustic
"Runaway," the match that lit the Bon Jovi fire some 17 years ago. I
note here that there are moments in the song where you can't even hear Jon's
voice due to the volume in the building. The audience was almost Beatle-esque in
their constant, unwavering mania. With surgical precision, the band then cut
into Jon's solo classic, "Blaze of Glory," heightened to brave new
levels by the players he knows best, a testimonial to the camaraderie once again
shared most notably by Jon and Richie, whose "marriage" through the
ages has been both rock solid and just plain rocky. Of this I speak as an
insider, someone who's sat down at the Bon Jovi family table and broken bread
many times since I first met them in the early RIP days on the New Jersey tour.
Jon and Richie are the epitome of that rare and amazing frontman/guitar hero
metaphor. They're strength and success has always come from the combination of
their individual talents/energies: the synergy of the magnetic, superstar
vocalist and the reserved, cool, soulful shredder. There was a time they battled
for the same turf. No more. Wisdom gained from time and experience has fostered
a mutual respect so strong, no outer or inner forces of evil can tear it apart.
Richie Sambora is one of rock's great guitarists, both in his deftless picking
and bigger than life onstage persona. He strikes the musician's pose with a
humble confidence, sans pretense, never overshadowing the Man. Like Page, Perry,
Richards, Slash, Edge…they complete the picture, occasionally
stealing the show, but forever content with the on deck circle.
"It's My Life" soared out of "Blaze," an anthem of both
resurrection and affirmation. For those in the "business" who -
cloaked in their flavor of the moment "new" rock fascinations - were
shoveling dirt on the Bon Jovi casket a couple years
ago, this song was a bolt of on-high lightning. Again, the masses sang, in
unison, in spirit, loud and proud. This track contains a very simple line but
one of the best I believe Jon's ever written. "I just wanna live while I'm
alive." We live in an oft times toxic culture where good people get sucked
into death and depression because they forget what a miracle it is just to be
here. Existence replaces living. It doesn't matter if Jon Bon Jovi's motivation
in life is money, power, fame, enlightenment, philanthropy, ego or an eclectic
mixture of the above, the effect he has on those real people, those precious,
wonderful fans who take their hard earned pennies just to be present for a
couple hours of entertainment - in this way, he dons the hat of prophet. Like
his neighborhood hero Bruce Springsteen, he preaches the gospel of rock to
throngs who gather for a couple hours to just plain feel good about themselves,
their lives, and the fact that they've been blessed with an archetypal love of
the most inspiring music on earth: rock n' roll. Prepare for a digression.
During "I'll Be There for You," (the entire playlist will appear at
the end of this piece), I was standing on the stage on
Richie's side where two dozen fans each night get the band's eye view of the
festivities. God Bless Metallica for the Snake Pit tour, the first time a band
invited the fan up top for a view. The perspective is breathtaking. Korn, Limp
Bizkit and others have taken the cue over the last decade, enhancing the concert
experience for a lucky few each night. Anyway, I noticed a girl standing twenty
feet away pressed up against the barricade in front of the stage. She was
throwing me that "pleading stare," the one you get sometimes when
you've got a laminate (all access pass) around your neck. Her teary eyes
wrestled from their fixation on Jon, to me, back to Jon. I walked down to
address her as the song soared toward its finale. I've come to identify those
whose passion for certain artists go beyond the normal parameters of
"fan." "Please, please, please, I just want to touch him,"
she grabbed my arm, begging, her face wet, a shimmering lakebed of pain and
pleasure. This was one of those precious children (I guessed her age around 20)
so deeply immersed in the "star," she would undoubtedly go to
questionable lengths just for a lock of her hero's hair. My heart cracked as I
stared into her desperate eyes. I went backstage and copied the band's set list
and brought it back out for her, a sorry consolation prize, but all I was
willing to offer. I was stricken with a bit of guilt when the set was over. Hey,
an introduction wouldn't be so hard, but unfortunately, I couldn't find her. The
disappearance inspired me to bring a couple other fans backstage with posters
and introduce them to Jon just before we departed the venue for the hotel. If
the girl with the set list ever reads this, send it to me and I'll get it signed
for you; maybe with a few strands of Jon's hair thrown in for good measure.
The show was supposed to end with "Wanted Dead or Alive," but there
was no way this madhouse was going to disperse without more. Not one body had
left the building, sat down, or stopped screaming at the top of their lungs. The
band came back with a spirited "Twist and Shout," after which they
attempted again to leave, but Jon stood at the front of stage, soliciting more
from what he confessed later to me was one of the best audiences he had ever
played for. The
exclamation point of the evening proved to be a sweet yet soaring "Never
Say Goodbye." It was only the flaring of the house lights that finally sent
the crowd out into the 20 degree Chicago night, satiated from a performance they
will be calling their friends about tomorrow, and telling their kids about when
they grow up and ask mom or dad about the "good ol' days of rock n'
roll," and that little band from New Jersey. The one that saw a million
faces, and rocked 'em all.