Review
Hot In Herre: Giants Stadium, East Rutherford, NJ
Release Date: 07/07/2007 12:00
Reviewed by Jon Dolan and Dorian Lynskey
“Please rise for our National Anthem!” golden-tan Jon Bon Jovi commands Giants Stadium before playing his “Wanted Dead or Alive.” The place goes tsunami, swallowing the homegrown rocker in a wave of native pride. Live Earth — a loud S.O.S. for our jalapeño popper of a planet — reaches an emotional crescendo with Bon Jovi, 22 hours, 100 acts and several million elevated consciousnesses after Jack Johnson began the seven-continent concert down in Sydney, Australia.
It makes sense. Decades before “compact fluorescent lightbulbs” entered our lexicon, the swamps of Jersey became a national punch line for environmental neglect. Today, nothing more toxic than a mushroom cloud of eco-awareness emanates from the Garden State. Bye, asbestos-choked Hackensack River. Hello, Prius-packed turnpike.
And thank you, Al Gore, the biodiesel-fueled force behind the “largest global-entertainment event in history,” geared to inspire support for a Seven Point Pledge to end climate change. Gore is a heroically geeky MC, bounding onstage to louder cheers than Cameron Diaz (who, unlike Gore, does elicit a hearty “I wanna fuck you!”). [In the ’80s, Senator Gore backed legislation banning the sale of dirty records to minors.] So there’s a hallucinatory effect when he buoyantly introduces “a great American band, the Foo Fighters!” cueing up their London performance, one of several beamed from around the world onto Jumbotrons. (The coolest: Nunatak, indie-rocking scientists based in Antarctica.)
But if Gore is the engine of change, he’s also the elephant (sorry, the donkey) in the room. A once and maybe future Democratic presidential candidate, he’d seem opportunistic, even bitter, if the day’s rhetoric turned partisan or attacked George Bush. Environmental lawyer Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s harangue at the “corporate toadies” in government is the only mention of political pollution. The woman holding a save nola sign must have gone home bummed.
Minus politics, the call to action falls on us. “Eat more soil or something,” jokes KT Tunstall. The official Live Earth anthem, Madonna’s “Hey You,” demands, “Save yourself … don’t rely on anyone else.” It keynotes a theme: salvation through individual sacrifice.
Some of the music is demanding, too, rejecting the oft-spoken idea that significant change is simple. During Smashing Pumpkins’ bludgeoning set, Billy Corgan endlessly bellows “Revolution Blues!” and wrenches a guitar solo based on the National Anthem. (Jon Bon Jovi, you’ve been fact-checked.) Melissa Etheridge squeezes a semester of hippie homilies into 20 minutes. The Dave Matthews Band hit its stride with a turgid boogie, Matthews growling, “Don’t drink the water!/There’s blood in the water!”
Sometimes the least political artists seem to have the most fun. Keith Urban plays bubbly country-pop and hooks up with Alicia Keys for the Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter,” formerly about drugs, now about ice caps. Ludacris offers an “all the Luda you’ll ever need” live mix tape, and Akon, hilariously ill-informed (“Support this global warming, baby!”), brings dancehall-stoked hip-hop fire.
The show’s best moments find a sweet spot between worrying and rocking out, perfect for a crowd that screams like groupies after a bereaved entreaty from primatologist Jane Goodall. Fall Out Boy and AFI look silly airing their emo issues while Earth dies, but self-pity is part of Live Earth’s pathos. Kelly Clarkson, hey, y’all adorable between songs, makes a mad face that could scare Dick Cheney during a raging “Since U Been Gone.”
Hitting the stage around dusk, Kanye West is the day’s obvious superstar. He doesn’t throw any rhetorical bombs (“George Bush doesn’t care about bumblebees”?), but he’s still sublime. Backed by female musicians in Ziggy Stardust makeup, he sprints across the stage, a whir of righteous arrogance. No one else is as Bono-messianic. By the way, where is Bono?
Sting is not an acceptable substitute. Sure, the Police frontman has freed a Tibetan monk or two, but his band’s headlining set starts off stiff. They open with “Driven to Tears,” well-themed but meandering, then putter through “Roxanne” and “Can’t Stand Losing You.” When John Mayer brings out his emasculated Eric Clapton mojo, all hope seems lost. Sorry, Earth, we were pulling for ya.
And then, on schedule (i.e., at the end), benefit-concert magic: Mayer starts pogoing, the band tightens up, and 30,000 people sing “Message in a Bottle,” the greatest recycling anthem ever. When Kanye storms back to freestyle, he hollers what no one’s had the stones to even mumble: “We need some new leaders!” A day at times heavy with vagueness and tedium finally feels urgent. “We can save the world!” Kanye repeats, firing us up to go make a better, frostier tomorrow.
It makes sense. Decades before “compact fluorescent lightbulbs” entered our lexicon, the swamps of Jersey became a national punch line for environmental neglect. Today, nothing more toxic than a mushroom cloud of eco-awareness emanates from the Garden State. Bye, asbestos-choked Hackensack River. Hello, Prius-packed turnpike.
And thank you, Al Gore, the biodiesel-fueled force behind the “largest global-entertainment event in history,” geared to inspire support for a Seven Point Pledge to end climate change. Gore is a heroically geeky MC, bounding onstage to louder cheers than Cameron Diaz (who, unlike Gore, does elicit a hearty “I wanna fuck you!”). [In the ’80s, Senator Gore backed legislation banning the sale of dirty records to minors.] So there’s a hallucinatory effect when he buoyantly introduces “a great American band, the Foo Fighters!” cueing up their London performance, one of several beamed from around the world onto Jumbotrons. (The coolest: Nunatak, indie-rocking scientists based in Antarctica.)
But if Gore is the engine of change, he’s also the elephant (sorry, the donkey) in the room. A once and maybe future Democratic presidential candidate, he’d seem opportunistic, even bitter, if the day’s rhetoric turned partisan or attacked George Bush. Environmental lawyer Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s harangue at the “corporate toadies” in government is the only mention of political pollution. The woman holding a save nola sign must have gone home bummed.
Minus politics, the call to action falls on us. “Eat more soil or something,” jokes KT Tunstall. The official Live Earth anthem, Madonna’s “Hey You,” demands, “Save yourself … don’t rely on anyone else.” It keynotes a theme: salvation through individual sacrifice.
Some of the music is demanding, too, rejecting the oft-spoken idea that significant change is simple. During Smashing Pumpkins’ bludgeoning set, Billy Corgan endlessly bellows “Revolution Blues!” and wrenches a guitar solo based on the National Anthem. (Jon Bon Jovi, you’ve been fact-checked.) Melissa Etheridge squeezes a semester of hippie homilies into 20 minutes. The Dave Matthews Band hit its stride with a turgid boogie, Matthews growling, “Don’t drink the water!/There’s blood in the water!”
Sometimes the least political artists seem to have the most fun. Keith Urban plays bubbly country-pop and hooks up with Alicia Keys for the Rolling Stones’ “Gimme Shelter,” formerly about drugs, now about ice caps. Ludacris offers an “all the Luda you’ll ever need” live mix tape, and Akon, hilariously ill-informed (“Support this global warming, baby!”), brings dancehall-stoked hip-hop fire.
The show’s best moments find a sweet spot between worrying and rocking out, perfect for a crowd that screams like groupies after a bereaved entreaty from primatologist Jane Goodall. Fall Out Boy and AFI look silly airing their emo issues while Earth dies, but self-pity is part of Live Earth’s pathos. Kelly Clarkson, hey, y’all adorable between songs, makes a mad face that could scare Dick Cheney during a raging “Since U Been Gone.”
Hitting the stage around dusk, Kanye West is the day’s obvious superstar. He doesn’t throw any rhetorical bombs (“George Bush doesn’t care about bumblebees”?), but he’s still sublime. Backed by female musicians in Ziggy Stardust makeup, he sprints across the stage, a whir of righteous arrogance. No one else is as Bono-messianic. By the way, where is Bono?
Sting is not an acceptable substitute. Sure, the Police frontman has freed a Tibetan monk or two, but his band’s headlining set starts off stiff. They open with “Driven to Tears,” well-themed but meandering, then putter through “Roxanne” and “Can’t Stand Losing You.” When John Mayer brings out his emasculated Eric Clapton mojo, all hope seems lost. Sorry, Earth, we were pulling for ya.
And then, on schedule (i.e., at the end), benefit-concert magic: Mayer starts pogoing, the band tightens up, and 30,000 people sing “Message in a Bottle,” the greatest recycling anthem ever. When Kanye storms back to freestyle, he hollers what no one’s had the stones to even mumble: “We need some new leaders!” A day at times heavy with vagueness and tedium finally feels urgent. “We can save the world!” Kanye repeats, firing us up to go make a better, frostier tomorrow.