It’s easy to dismiss Michael Franti & Spearhead outside the confines of a venue. Even if you’re aware of Franti’s past as an industrial punk poet, the image of the dreadlocked activist making pop-inflected reggae fusion is an easy target for cynicism. But the way people respond to Franti’s music suggests there’s something far deeper, especially compared to how dead the audiences for the bands I consider to be “good” often are. The only other show I can recall seeing in the last year with as engaged an audience as Franti’s was Unknown Mortal Orchestra at the WOW last April. I didn’t know anyone at Franti, but as cliché as it sounds, I felt like I was friends with just about everyone by the end.
After braving a good-sized ticket line, I stepped inside the McDonald about two minutes before the opening act, the Olympia-based Ethan Tucker Band, began playing. The response to Tucker alone was greater than to the headliners at most of the indie shows I’ve been to lately. People began swaying and couples started dancing each other literally as soon as Tucker’s loping reggae grooves got into motion. Tucker’s set was strong for the most part, supported by a solid band and his own remarkable vocals — though few of his songs were particularly interesting harmonically. He hit a few quite unpredictable and gorgeous notes with his voice. This, along with his clever wordplay (“Seattle washed/Wash.”) and references to “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” suggested a Beach Boys influence that extended beyond his sun-and-sand aesthetic.
Franti’s arrival signaled an immediate shift in mood. While Tucker’s set was mellow and hypnotic, Franti was a firecracker, diving into the audience at least five times and repeatedly imploring the crowd to jump up and down (a request I have never received from any other performer and was thankful for due to jumping being my natural concert motion). Backed by a particularly tight incarnation of Spearhead, Franti flipped rapidly and effortlessly between tracks from his new album All People and standards like “Life Is Better With You” and “The Sound Of Sunshine” — the latter accompanied by the launching of numerous sun-colored balloons, which survived for about ten minutes before either being popped or disappearing into the balcony.
The unquestioned highlight of the night was “Stay Human,” which revealed Franti as more than a capable rapper and was interpolated with a gorgeous cover of Sly & The Family Stone’s “Family Affair.” The “Family Affair” segments were sung by bassist Carl Young — a significantly better vocalist than Franti who was luckily given numerous opportunities to take the mic.
The second half sagged. I must confess that I am quite disappointed in the material from Franti’s new album, which is essentially pure pop; any chance the songs had at being concise, catchy singles in the same vein as Spearhead’s massive 2009 hit, “Say Hey (I Love You),” were ruined by their transformation into endless, quasi “Hey Jude” singalongs. Most insufferable was his B.o.B.-ish single “11:59,” whose chorus he sang for at least five minutes while repeatedly hugging people — and to think this guy once made the music for a William S. Burroughs spoken word album.
Worse than the chorus-milkings were the speeches, which were only slightly shorter but ranged from annoying to choreographed-funny (the band stopped noodling whenever Franti said anything witty) to straight-up promotions for his charities.
This took up roughly half of an already overlong, two-hour set; I ended up spending a decent amount of time seated, waiting for him to play “Say Hey (I Love You”), which he did. Why it remains Franti’s biggest hit isn’t hard to see; it’s a fantastic pop song, managing to transcend the old “the more I see, the less I know” cliché by putting it in the context of his travels and politics as well as contrasting it with a silly, sun-baked love song. (He didn’t even go overboard on the “Hey Jude” shit.)
Though Franti’s an engaging performer (if only for an hour or so), my experience at the concert was shaped by the audience. It was probably the most diverse crowd I’ve ever seen: There were kids and people who couldn’t have been younger than eighty, athletes and people in wheelchairs and a notable number of same-sex couples. The two frat boys next to me kept spontaneously hugging. During the less-inspired moments of Franti’s set, I passed time by keeping watch for a middle-aged guy with a broken arm who was trying to discretely get high. Even the dancing lady who obliviously slammed into me a few times settled down after she broke her glasses. Those I interacted with were all extremely friendly, and quite a few random people tried to strike up conversations with me over the music.
Even if Franti’s music doesn’t speak to me as much as it might speak to others, I still admire his ability to bring people together in musical rapture — which is one of his stated goals, so I have to hand it to Franti for succeeding.