Tucked in the suburban expanses of northwest Indiana, the Star Plaza Theater is where over-the-hill pop stars and irrelevant comedians are put out to pasture. A mid-sized venue that at one time was Liberace’s favorite, today the Star Plaza is frequented by the likes of Engelbert Humperdinck, Gallagher and Kenny Loggins. So imagine the dismay I felt when the electronic marquee reading “CHEAP TRICK – LIVE IN CONCERT” flashed in my face while driving past on the freeway. I was only in eighth grade at the time, and I knew these guys were dinosaurs, but still it seemed somehow unjust that a band responsible for timeless anthems like “Surrender” and “I Want You to Want Me” could be so humbled as to appear on the same stage that would mere days later host Carrot Top.
But then again, maybe it wasn’t so surprising. I was born three years after Live at Budokan; and while I knew the anthems mentioned above, I also knew of the late ‘80s synth-metal dreck of “The Flame.” So perhaps it wasn’t so outlandish; after all, by 1994 Poison and Ratt couldn’t even fill a smallish American Legion. But in the cockles of my heart, I hoped that the Cheap Trick I loved was still there somewhere.
Fast forward to 1997. After having been dropped by Warner Brothers in the early ‘90s, the band reemerged with a back-to-basics ethos on their second eponymous album, released on the independent (and short-lived) Red Ant label. In 1999, Cheap Trick celebrated their 25th anniversary with a four-night residency at Chicago’s Cabaret Metro, performing each one of their first four albums on separate nights. The result was last year’s Music for Hangovers, a record that announced unequivocally that the Cheap Trick of yore still breathes. The material was not new, but most of their early material stands up well enough that such complaints are moot. The energy was the surprising thing: the band was having fun playing and the fans were having fun listening.
It was at that point that seeing Cheap Trick live made on to my list of things to do before death . I missed those Metro shows, but last Sunday night at the 9:30 Club, for the considerable fee of $20, I finally got my chance. It could be easily assumed that the crowd was going to be a little different and it was indeed. Sunday night attracted perhaps the oldest crowd the 9:30 Club will ever draw until it starts featuring weekly Perry Como nights. In fact, the bulk of the under-30 crowd consisted of pubescent kids in the tow of their parents, while the rest (read: me) spent most of the show looking around warily expecting to bump into their moms at any moment.
Demographics aside, the club was surprisingly crowded for a Sunday night. Harmony Riley, a quartet featuring two of Cheap Trick guitarist Rick Nielsen’s sons, opened with a surprisingly strong set of prog-rock flavored power pop not unlike the Freddy Jones Band but thankfully without the endless wankery. Any charges of nepotism proved to be tenuous, as the young brothers Nielsen made any comparisons to their distinguished father’s band a real stretch, and quickly established themselves as worthy of their opening slot.
Rockford, Illinois’ finest took the stage with their nearly unrecognizable cover of Fats Domino’s “Ain’t That a Shame.” Certainly twenty-five-plus years of rock stardom, however intermittent, would be expected to take a toll on nearly anyone, but Cheap Trick surprisingly seemed to have held up well. Rick Nielsen remained spry enough to run and jump across the stage and strong enough to support his infamous quintuple-necked guitar. Bun E. Carlos and Tom Petersson together remain one of the most reliable rhythm sections in rock. Robin Zander, though looking the weariest of the four, still possesses the powerful yet nuanced voice that made him essential to the band’s success.
While Zander sings most of the songs surprisingly well, it is Nielsen that puts on the show. Utilizing no fewer than fourteen guitars, of which at least two-thirds are custom built, Nielsen, in his trademark baseball cap and sneakers, prances and preens making his guitar heroics seem simultaneously extraordinary and simple. Flinging hundreds of guitar picks embossed with his likeness and signature at all corners of the club during the course of the show, Nielsen made sure nearly everyone got a souvenir. His antics might seem distracting and downright annoying to some, but it’s showmanship like this that helped build the band’s noteworthy live reputation.
The material tackled drew heavily, if not exclusively, from the band’s first four studio albums, all of which were released before 1980. As most fans know, their best material was not necessarily the most popular; the band seems to be in agreement, thankfully forsaking “The Flame” and “Tonight It’s You,” for slightly more esoteric picks like “Elo Kiddies,” “Heaven Tonight” and “Southern Girls.” Not to say that the hits weren’t there; “I Want You to Want Me” was a highlight, and the regular set closed with a raucous “Surrender” featuring the above-mentioned behemoth of a guitar.
Now, “Surrender” was released in 1978 and has been performed by the band probably thousands of times since, but on Sunday night that seemed irrelevant. Smiling and energetic throughout the performance, the band seemed genuinely enthused to be playing a song that meant so much to so many. The encore featured an equally compelling performance of “Dream Police,” a song that will forever be associated in some minds with Apu Nahasapeemapetilon.
The four members of Cheap Trick have been playing most of their repertoire for more than 20 years, and yet they still manage to do more than simply go through the motions. It is both refreshing and comforting that a band can survive the peaks and valleys of a career worthy of “Behind the Music” and still enjoy their craft as much as ever. These guys still rock. The 9:30 Club might not be Budokan, but don’t tell Cheap Trick that.
