Clairy Browne and The Bangin Rackettes
Wednesday, November 5, 2013
Clairy Browne and The Bangin Rackettes visited Downtown Phoenix's Crescent Ballroom last night and they were a bonafied Rhythm and Blues snoozer. The entire performance was devoid of anything that even remotely resembled soul. The Melbourne based nine piece just stood on stage and went through the motions of putting on a show without even attempting to engage the audience, and the music itself was mediocre at best.
Most of the guitar solos sounded as though they were meant to be a part of a different song. Most of the background singers seemed as though they could care less whether they were at the Crescent Ballroom or standing in line at Arby's, and Browne herself seems like little more than a low rent Adele with a voice half as awesome, and a look twice as stupid.
In her shiny, transparent orange dress reminiscent of a mermaid, ridiculous poofy hair cut and employing her awful dance moves that seemed to only utilize the jointed areas of her body, Browne looked an awful lot like the alien that broke into the white house in Mars Attacks.
Of course Tuesday is a rough night anywhere and in Phoenix every night is rougher because of how oblivious the residents seem to be of the culture, but The Bangin Rackettes were really set up to succeed and they blew it. The nine piece from down under was put into Phoenix's best venue, promoted by one of Phoenix's best promotors, Stateside Presents-- with local stalwarts Sunorus opening--and were even able to attract a decent crowd at $15 to $18 a ticket.
But not event the blatant passion that Tato Caraveo, Eric Dahl, Chris Doyle, Mark Stinson, and Hillary Tash of Sunorus brought to the stage when they oepened was enough to keep the night interesting. In the half an hour it took between Sunorus and Browne all the electricity left the the venue, and once Browne came on it was out for the night.
Based on their performance last night, Clairy Browne and the Bangin Rackettes seem like they are trying to capture the essence of a time they did not live in, with music from a place they do not come from, and have seemingly very little understanding of. Quite frankly it came off as nine white people trying to make soul music, and they fell flat on their faces.
Perhaps they enjoy the music they make, and none of them were bad musicians, but on Nov. 5 they were not feeling the music whatsoever.
Maybe all the real fun-loving Phoenicians were down at The Lost Leaf seeing The Limit Club and The Oakland Raiders, or maybe Clairy Browne and The Bangin Rackettes were tired from touring and phoned in this performance. But whatever happened this was definitelty a forgettable performance on a forgettable night.
Then again, how memorable can the band be when their biggest hit is known to most of their American fans as "that one song from the Heineken commercial."
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