Monday, Nov. 24, 2003 | 8:32 a.m.
That's basically how I felt about Jewel's informal solo performance Saturday night at the Aladdin's Theatre for the Performing Arts.
For those unfamiliar with "Storytellers," the program was a cousin to MTV's "Unplugged" series, which placed musicians in unusually intimate settings.
Instead of simply sitting on stools with acoustic guitars, playing to near-silent crowds, the artists were also expected to talk -- about their music, their lives, whatever. As long as they were speaking.
That never sat well with me. These people are, after all, famous for being great musicians, not for being superb orators.
A little between-song banter is one thing. But when time onstage is limited, why divert significant chunks of that time away from the music?
I found myself asking that question as I exited the Aladdin around 11 p.m., after watching Jewel perform about 80 minutes of music during a two-hour show.
The rest of the night, the 29-year-old singer/songwriter/guitarist recounted tales from her past and told jokes, starting with one about the fog emanating from a hidden machine.
"There's mist coming in here," the blond-haired siren announced after arriving sporting a black leather miniskirt and black lace-up tank top. "They must have me confused with Metallica."
Not entirely unfunny, but hardly a quip that will land her full-time work at a Strip comedy club.
I'll admit I chuckled a bit when Jewel (born Jewel Kilcher) told of a scary dream in which Bob Dylan made a pass at her, and then of her first real meeting with the folk legend.
"He was actually really nice. He talked to me about my songs, and didn't come onto me," she said. "He must be gay."
The punchline sent the crowd of 2,000 into hysterics, but its impact was lessened seconds later when Jewel revealed she has told the same joke before. I'm guessing it's a nightly stop along her tour.
Musically, Jewel's performance was much more spontaneous and far more effective. Standing throughout atop high heels, she nonetheless appeared quite comfortable and confident in her role as a lone, band-less entertainer.
She worked without a predetermined set list, taking requests and, at one point, allowing the crowd to choose between two of her songs. Apparently, the diehards knew their stuff, selecting "Carnivore," an unreleased tune that fully demonstrated Jewel's growing vocal prowess.
"That's all right, that's OK," she sing-songed in a childlike tone before twisting the chorus to an anguished cry, "I'll never trust my pink fleshy heart to a carnivore."
Jewel lent her voice and understated guitar stylings to several other non-album tracks, as well as several deep cuts from her first three CDs. And though she included most of her best-known songs -- "Who Will Save Your Soul," "Hands" and "Morning Song" among them -- she was reluctant to trot out every radio hit in her catalog.
Jewel even aborted "Foolish Games" after a few bars on her guitar, then had to be coaxed into doing a full version by the audience.
"All right, but I'm not going to feel it," she said smilingly upon surrendering.
Jewel performed just two tracks of her latest album, "0304," not a huge surprise considering that CD's slick production elements. Megahit "Intuition" translated fairly well to the acoustic format, but probably would not have skyrocketed up the charts in that stripped-down form.
For all of its good points musically, the concert ended on a down note. Actually, it came dangerously close to unraveling entirely.
First, Jewel rambled for more than 10 minutes about a trip she once made to Mexico. All so she could tell us she wrote "Morning Song" while she was down there.
Then, after playing the song, she invited a fan to come onstage to try singing one of his requests, something titled "Flower."
To no one's surprise but, apparently, Jewel's, that was a total fiasco. The obviously intoxicated man never attempted a word of the song, but did pluck at the guitar and waste everyone's time for a few minutes before returning to his seat.
Jewel then performed "Who Will Save Your Soul" and departed without an encore.
So just to review, the sum for the show's final 25 minutes: two songs, one epic tale of Mexican Federales and buried marijuana, and one moronic fan incident. Hardly the way to send fans to the doors.
Not that she's asking, but my advice to Jewel is this: take your requests, play your rarities and tell a few jokes. It's all good. But be more careful about the way you pace your shows.
And next time, save the long stories for "Behind the Music."
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