David Crosby CPR in Portland (long)

Todd Samusson (toddsamu@teleport.com)
Tue, 19 May 1998 15:27:52 -0400 (EDT)

This is a long review...

CPR, Roseland Theatre, Portland, Oregon. May 17, 1998

David Crosby could easily make a complete career out of summer tours with
Crosby, Stills, and Nash playing crowd-pleasing favorites from the
Woodstock era. He does do a bit of that and the music is still compelling.
But lately Crosby has found a new medium. And, like Crosby, Stills, and
Nash, there's a trio at the core of this music as well. CPR is David
Crosby, Jeff Peevar, and James Raymond. While Crosby is the primary singer
and "frontman", this is a band in every sense of the word. Crosby has the
voice and the name, but everybody in CPR brings a substantial helping of
musical talent to the table. The show at Portland's Roseland Theater proved
that in every song.

No need to rest on laurels here. CPR opened with newer material and kept it
up for several tunes before reaching back into the Crosby catalogue. The
band is sharp as a tack. James Raymond (Crosby's son) handles the keyboards
with ease. His supporting material was solid, shining,embellishing each
tune with exactly what was called for. But when the kid leans into a solo,
he becomes a jazz demon, showering the audience with cascades of notes that
leave you shaking your head and wondering how someone's hands can wring
that much sound out of a piano.

Then there's Jeff Pevar. It may be that this guy was born with a guitar in
his hands. As he plays, it seems the instrument is an extension of his
body. Where some players vamp and slip into the guitar hero pose, Pevar
seems to dance with the instrument. Like he can't help his movements. It
reminds me of how Hendrix used to connect with his guita (yeah, I saw him
live once). Pevar is a songwriter's dream guitarist. Every note is in
service of the song. If it calls for a quiet, subtle fill, that's what he
plays. If it needs a single ringing harmonic, it's right there. And when
it's time to drive it to the wall, he can wail with the best of them. Yet
he seems to have been vaccinated at an early age and developed an immunity
to that most dangerous affliction of lead guitarists, overplayer's disease.
This man never, I mean never, overplays. Any musician reading this will
understand the power of that compliment.

The in-service-of-the-song approach is also embodied by the venerable
Crosby. Here's a singer with a gorgeous voice, a master at phrasing and
dynamics, and the all-time king of harmony. He could front any band and be
a star. But he doesn't. He blends everything into the band. The vocal
harmonies (Pevar, Raymond, and the drummer all sing as well) are flush,with
Crosby never dominating the mix. When Pevar or Raymond step out on their
instruments, Crosby turns to face the player and grins in appreciation. In
fact, any time one member of the band solos, everyone would turn to face
the player, maybe take a step or two closer and create a circle of support
for the musical effort. CPR is band's band.

The outstanding rhythm section deserves mention (apologies to these two
fine players but I didn't catch their names). CPR is grounded by
understated bass playing so good you hardly notice it. But if it were gone,
there would be a huge hole. The bass plays a central role without ever
imposing a drowning drone. With the bass holding the center of the music,
CPR's drummer is freed up to explore those four cymbals off his right hand
and range across the toms, snare and highhat with a light, exploratory, and
more discreet approach. The drums played a more "melodic" role that really
opened up the entire band.

If the bass holds the center, it is strongly supported by David Crosby's
right hand. You could set the world's clocks to Crosby's sense of rhythm.
Much of the CPR material is characterized by interesting, off-time breaks.
There are numerous sections where the entire band hit a syncopated line
that seriously departs from the beat being played. It's like a ball boucing
down an irregular stairway - notes played only on the impacts and nothing
but space during the flight. Rhythm is so engrained in CPR that they don't
ever need a heavy handed approach.

Then there's the material. They opened with "Morrison" (about the
emotionally lost singer of The Doors). Then slid into "Tracks in the Dust",
a reminder that the harsh realities facing the human race need to be put in
a much bigger cosmic perspective, lest we all ebcome cynics. The first
instrumenbtal tour de force of the evening came with "Homeward Through the
Haze" (a personal favorite of mine). Pevar has a way of acknowledging the
fine guitar work of the original album recording (Danny Kortchmar on
six-string) and then taking it farther and putting his own unique stamp on
the song. Once again, James Raymond's piano set a standard for tasteful
chops as well. Other highlights included yet another innovative reworking
of "Triad", a compelling "At the Edge", a romping "1000 Roads", several
newer tunes I could't name, and a tune penned by Crosby and Joni Mitchell
called (I believe) "Yvette in English", that's a real charmer.

When you've been around as long as David Crosby, there are bound to be some
"obligatory crowd pleasers" in your repertoire. But even with an old
warhorse like "Deja Vu", nobody in CPR is going to phone in their parts.
"Deja Vu" has long played an important role in David Crosby's live music.
It's an expansive piece of music that ranges from quiet, delicate moments
to huge sweeping thunderstorms of sound. Filled with intricate vocal
interplay and instrumental tides, "Deja Vu" is the closest thing I've heard
to the Grateful Dead at their most intricate. It's a song that alternates
between tight, precise arranging and open improvisational jams, dancing
back and forth between the two approaches. Energy is gained from both the
form of the arrangement and the freedom of the jam. At the center, the
entire tune is grounded by Crosby's ringing, sweeping strums of acoustic
guitar

CPR returned to the stage with an encore performance of the classic "Eight
Miles High". Once again, the caliber of musicianship in the band gave the
song a sweeping sonic range that honored the original Byrds tune but took
it eight miles higher. In moments like this, you could see the musical
camraderie among all the players. The drummer leaning forward, grinning
into the beat. James Raymond's eyes darting from player to player, keeping
the connection. The bass, as always, right there in the center. Pever
stepping closer to each player, feeding of the energy. Crosby in the middle
of it all, beaming down on the audience like an old friend. Standing in the
center of the crowd at the Roseland Theatre, I looked to my left then my
right and saw every single person in that audience grinning from ear to
ear. What more can you ask from music?

Todd Samusson
toddsamu@teleport.com