Crowes Fail To Fly
By Kieran Grant
Toronto Sun
March 17, 1995

When it comes to the Black Crowes, that old adage that they play a really intimate, grass-roots-style gig seems to follow them everywhere.  Last night's show at the Gardens may have seen the Crowes fall victim to that adage.

While some will argue that the Crowes' ability to make a large hall feel like a cozy club is what makes them a great live band, the dwarfed Atlanta outfit may have been pushing their luck last night.

With a sparse, devotees-only crowd spread around the arena, there lay a gap in the Crowes normally fat sound. Where they are certainly capable musicians, dueling pickers Rich Robinson and Marc Ford's chunky riffing was reduced to a blurry pastiche of sound with only occasional bright spots. These came when the band would jam into disarray without losing focus.

Conversely, the booming Johnny Colt/Steve Gorman rhythm section tended to step on the group's intricacies.

Then there's that dusty retro thing. These days the Crowes star-spangled sojourns down Seventies' Lane seem to translate into vamped-up '90s frat-rock - where the scent of pot mixes uneasily with cologne.

Not to say the band doesn't have the grooves to back it up. And those grooves were there last night - buried somewhere in the mix under heaps of listlessness.
 The Crowes attempt to put the `n' roll back into the rock. And when their rock gets wanky, they wank in good taste (no silly star trips on their stage).

But last night The Crowes - even firebrand frontman Chris Robinson, whose gritty lung-belts must come from another world considering you could spit through the guy - just didn't convey enough of a schtick to fill the room. The stands, on the other hand, had just enough of a supply of zany acid-heads - dancing their way off into uncharted time signatures - and unruly brawlers to fill in some extra entertainment.

Though not all that strong in numbers, Crowes' fans responded kindly to their favorites: Conspiracy, Ballad In Urgency and Nonfiction off their recent Amorica disc, and versions of Joe Cocker's Feeling All Right and the Crowes trademark cover of Otis Redding's Hard To Handle.

Still, one can't disregard the success of the Crowes' surprise club show only three months back. Judging by last night's turnout, perhaps the Crowes next visit will find them back in such a room.

That kind of scaling down could be just the blessing-in-disguise they need.

Kudos must go to last night's openers, The Dirty Dozen Brass Band. Bringing a funked-up vibe to traditional New Orleans jazz, the band smoothed a mind-boggling assortment of notes over a heavy groove.  Never has a Sousaphone sounded so thunderously close to funk bass.