Review: As the Crow falls

Geoff Carter

Monday, March 15, 1999 | 4:06 a.m.

I ran into an old friend of mine at the House of Blues March 13, during Sheryl Crow's set. He used to review live shows for an alternative weekly; needless to say he got a sizeable kick out of watching me squirm through "Leaving Las Vegas," the durable ditty that made Crow.

"I love Las Vegas!" she sang, by means of introduction. I tried to say something but could only mouth obscenities.

"It's hard, isn't it?" my friend chuckled. "You can't rip her up without insulting all these people" - he gestured to the full house - "that dig her and paid all this money to see her."

Sure I can. Disclaimer: I have nothing against Sheryl Crow personally; in fact, I have a deep respect for the fortitude she employed to get here. And I mean no disrespect to Sheryl Crow fans - hey, it's your tastes. You've empowered her and she's empowered you.

Having said that, I can honestly say that she doesn't do a damn thing for me, so I feel no compulsion to do anything for her. Her disoriented, lazy vocal is an acquired taste. Her songwriting seems to my ears like a self-help exercise gone globally bad and that theme she recorded for the last James Bond film, "Tomorrow Never Dies," was an embarrassment. Placed next to the kd lang track that closed the film, Crow's performance sounded thin, nasal, forced.

Which brings us to her live set: it was everything but. There's no life to Crow's "live." Isn't the point of performing live to kick out the jams, burn down the house? I could see or hear no divining mark between Sheryl Crow in the flesh and in the CD player. It's not bad but it's not worth $75 bucks a head, either.

She played fine, the band sounded fine, the songs sounded fine. Uh-huh. Don't you pay the big bucks to hear something a wee bit better than the old status quo? Crow needs to either wake up or wake her fans up. And frankly, I don't know if she can.