Earth, Wind & Fire
at Harbor Lights
by Clarendon Lavorich
Not everyday you get to see a legend. I don’t remember a damn thing they did, except for the infomercials you see at 3:00 am on public TV. Even the info packet didn’t have anything familiar. I asked around and everyone knew the band, but not the songs. The crowd was full of yuppies, baby boomers, the type of people trying to harken back to their days of youth by paying $40 a ticket and drinking trendy beer (Red Wolf).
A giant scrim covered the stage, and as the show got underway, a projection made itself known upon the white drapery. A 2001-type approach upon the third planet from the sun. For those less than subtle, a subtitle was included, five feet high: “EARTH.” This was followed by tornadoes, hurricanes, clouds (“WIND”). Then by flames exploding the height of the stage, about 100 feet (“FIRE”). Even the densest of people knew what they were in for. Huge, extravagant production.
Augmenting the 11-piece band were two delectable go-go dancers, spicing up the group’s choreography. Apart from Philip Bailey’s insane vocal solos, which at times gave Björk a run for her money (as well as Mariah Carey), the bassist, Verdine White, was the star of the show. The man’s bass was so tasty, he kept licking his fingers throughout the show. With his long, wavy hair, black satin suit with breeches, and glimmering grimace/smile standing out in the darkness, he charged around the stage, jumping and twisting himself about, contorting himself to the music. Halfway through the show, he changed into an identical red leather outfit. As they played, waves of nostalgia washed over me as I started recognizing tunes. “September,” “Boogie Wonderland,” and other disco hits took me back to when I was just a young kid from California, listening to my parent’s radio.
Even though the ballads brought the room’s energy to an all-time low (the dancers in tight spandex showing excellent flexibility notwithstanding), and the drum solo was not only too long, but obviously planned out note-for-note to synch up with the light show, and the fact the trombone never got to take a solo (ain’t nothin’ like a disco trombone!), I stayed ’til the end. A witness to an event not invented, but perfected by the 90s – old sounds and glamorized like leftovers in a shiny, new package.
