Chickenfoot was in command, havin' rockstar fun

PORTSMOUTH

First off, here’s half a cup of warm beer backwash to the dope who scheduled maintenance on the Downtown Tunnel Wednesday night, causing a needless traffic jam for folks leaving the nTelos Pavilion and heading east.

And, yes, that is the right tone to kick off a review of a night of blistering guitar work, piercing screams and bleeding ear drums. In other words, a rowdy, defiant, f-bombing rock concert.

Warm-up band Davy Knowles and Back Door Slam was outstanding in its brief set of blues-based rock. Knowles, lead singer and guitarist, was impressive in both roles. They covered the CSNY song “Almost Cut My Hair” the way that the iceberg hit the Titanic – they destroyed it. Knowles played so hard and so well, the pressure seemed to be on the main act.

It took all of about five seconds for Chickenfoot to show why they were the main attraction. The all-star band is Joe Satriani on guitar, Sammy Hagar (Montrose, Van Halen) as lead singer, Michael Anthony (Van Halen) on bass and backing vocals, and Chad Smith (Red Hot Chili Peppers) on drums.

They looked, acted and sounded like rock stars as they roared through their first number, with Hagar wailing about “Crossing the borderline, into the fire.” The night had crossed into new territory.

Hagar wasn’t just the singer, he was the frontman, prowling the stage, working the crowd, playing to the cameras that splashed his wild mane and big smile on larger-than-life video screens.

Satriani and Anthony had complementary black-and-white guitars with the Chickenfoot peace-sign logos. Hagar and Satriani both were dressed in black and wore shades. Anthony and Smith laid down a monstrous rhythm that never let up.

Of course, their sound mix was better, the lighting was better. The energy – especially their energy – was better. They were in command and having a ball, and gave the impression that they might wade into the crowd, grab you and shake you if they thought you needed it to get going.

Rock cliches? Oh, yeah. Smith threw enough drum sticks into the crowd to build a log cabin. For awhile, Anthony played a bass that looked like a bottle of Jack Daniels. They did the call-and-response yelling thing with the crowd. The power love ballad, encouraging folks to wave their hands in the air. The huge finish to song after song. Hagar made much of his drinking beer and taking a swig of Anthony’s glass of tequila. (Could it be because Hagar sells a line of tequila?)

But the quality could not be denied. Hagar, 61, can still belt it out, with great range and feeling. And he has an infectious grin and a way with a story.

Satriani is a joy to behold. Basic rock chord progressions turn into things of beauty and power. His guitars grunt, moan, cry, growl, scream, squeal, rage, lust, stomp and race. His playing was so sharp, the pavilion canopy was in danger of tearing to shreds. By the end, his amazing solos got a little repetitive, but maybe my ears – may they rest in peace – just could not keep up with the speed of his playing.

He was obviously happy to be there. It was like he couldn’t wait to dive into each song, often starting to jam while Hagar was telling a lead-in story. These weren’t artists suffering for the benefit of mankind. These were rock crazies out to party down.

When Chickenfoot’s two hours of playing was capped off with a quick, wild rendition of The Who’s “My Generation,” they lingered on the stage soaking up the applause and clowning around. It was easy to imagine them heading out on the town to keep the night going, and to envy whoever was in the bar where they landed.

Dan Duke, (757) 446-2546 or dan.duke@pilotonline.com