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Mayer Tries To Save Rock and Roll

Rock-and-roll is dead.

Think about that for a moment. Maybe it is. Maybe the wailing, crashing, screeching days of Hendrix, Townsend, Joplin, Page, and company have burnt out and faded away. But in the midst of this six-string destruction, there is a faint light — a flicker of hope if you will. For with the emergence of such folk-twang, bluesy “rockers” as Pete Yorn, Ryan Adams, and John Mayer last year comes a small promise of better, brighter things on the horizon. If rock has traded its edginess for a few Dylan-esque troubadours in tight t-shirts, faded jeans and shaggy hair who care more about relationships and self-reflection than revolution, then I am prepared to make this small sacrifice to enjoy their lyrical validity and solid musicianship in today’s pitiful surge of boy band BS and managerially constructed hip-hop.

This is the same cynicism that accompanied me to the Feb. 28 John Mayer concert at Avalon. And yet, I was pleasantly surprised.

The club’s cheesy Mardi Gras décor, complete with copious beads and flickering fake torches, initially took me aback, but my doubts faded when the 24-year-old Mayer took the microphone. As he stood in his black Paul Frank t-shirt and faded jeans, his boyish face suffused with genuine effort, I began to understand his appeal. He is the real thing — no pretense. A boy, a guitar and a heart full of poignant lyrics — therein lies the attraction.

“There is an 80 percent change of earnestness tonight,” Mayer breathed into the microphone as he began the set with “Why Georgia,” a thoughtful ballad from his 2001 release, Room for Squares. He continued to play the majority of the songs from his critically acclaimed Squares, backed by a full electric ensemble. The white Christmas lights sprinkled on the stage’s dark backdrop shone like the unquenchable sparkle in Mayer’s eye as he surveyed the mostly-teenaged girl crowd — his obvious guitar talent, spawned at the early age of 13, escaped from his lithe fingers in short, hard riffs and driving solos.

Mayer also played a number of songs from his debut LP, Inside Wants Out, which was released in 1999. Though he created the acoustic album while living in Atlanta, he wrote many of the songs during and about his short stint at Berklee School of Music. And it was this youthful feel of freshman naiveté that enveloped Mayer and captivated the audience Thursday night during his solo journey into such not-so-long-ago staples as “Sucker” and “Victoria.” For when Mayer was strumming in the spotlight, his electric band having retreated backstage, he was truly in his element. The words were raw, the emotion real,the naked grassroots of rock exposed for all to see.

These promising aspects almost made the throngs of his screaming pre-pubescent fans bearable. Almost. I was deaf in my right ear from a young woman who proceeded to orgasm — LOUDLY —every time Mayer opened his mouth during the sexy, sleepy “Body is a Wonderland.” He is cute — in a little puppy sort of way — but I am not sure that qualifies him for *NSync-like treatment. However, he seemed to return the love to Boston, his “favorite city in the world.”

“I love BC I want to make love to the whole school. You know, walk around the campus like a foot soldier of love,” Mayer mused.

He peppered his performance with plenty of superfluous, random comments like this — all stated matter-of-factly in his loopy, drugged, imitation-Dave Matthews drawl. He rambled on between songs, his voice eventually dropping to glorified mumbles.

But it was all part of the eccentric, energetic act. Mayer also dances. Not well, mind you, but in the leggy, lovable style of Matthews. The crowd went crazy when he darted his neck like a chicken, — in tune to his guitar — or when he sang scat along with his finger-plucking. Mayer’s face also had a strange way of contorting to whatever high note he was struggling to achieve. No far-reaching, inspirational speeches or fancy footwork for this minstrel. Unconventionality is just part of the full John Mayer package. Take it or leave it.

Before launching into the final few numbers of the concert, Mayer thanked the crowd for their support. He talked about making it “big,” and quipped; “Maybe one day, we’ll make it on TRL. But we’ll play our own instruments and change the world.” A pipe dream, maybe, but a noble thought all the same, and completely fitting of his views on everything music.

As Mayer finished his hour-long set with a raucous version of “1983,” incorporating pieces of Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and Rusted Root’s “Send Me on My Way” into the furious ending, and encored with an equally daring “Neon” and a considerably softer, resonant “Comfortable,” a sense of contentment washed over the crowd. Everyone was light-hearted as they drifted toward (or should I say, until they reached) the long coat check lines.

So rock-and-roll is dead. But isn’t it nice to think that while every new Britney album probably causes George Harrison and Jimi Hendrix to turn over nauseously in their graves, perhaps Mayer allows them to smile once in a while?

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