IDOL RECAP: Agony of De Feet

Pathologically barefoot Kleenex machine Brooke White was doinked from American Idol Wednesday, leaving just three singers and one asexual Muppet, David Archuleta, who has managed to charm great chunks of the United States without any semblance of a personality. Some might say Brooke was adios-ed because of her deep hatred for shoes and obvious love of dandelion crowns.

But for the first time all season, the singer with the worst Tuesday performance (Brooke's I'm a Believer, the low point of Neil Diamond week) was given the boot. Finally, justice!

THE BOTTOM TWO: Syesha Mercado, Brooke White

AND FIFTH-PLACE GOES TO...Brooke White

YOUR TOP FOUR IDOLISTS: Jason Castro, David Archuleta, David Cook, Syesha Mercado

LIVE REVIEW: Sheryl Crow

[JOSEPH GARNETT JR. | Times]

CLEARWATER –- Sheryl Crow sure has packed a lot of living into 46 years. She’s battled breast cancer and Karl Rove. She famously dated Lance Armstrong -- and then famously didn't. She adopted a son. She bashed a president. And heck, that’s just in the last few years.

The Missouri singer-songwriter can't escape the drama, so she processes it the the only way she can, building best-selling albums like diary entries you can dance to. She's an intimate, in-your-face performer best seen in an intimate, in-your-face performance hall.

And we had just the place for her.

Touring behind 2007 album "Detours," a hit-or-miss purging of all things political and painful, Crow got up close and personal with 2,039 fans at Ruth Eckerd Hall Tuesday.

Opening with the quiet, acoustic angst of the new "God Bless This Mess," with its damning of "a war based on lies," the diminutive firebrand soon shifted sonic gears and kicked into an endlessly electric rock show, alternating between new stuff and stuck-in-your-head hits dating back to 1993 debut, "Tuesday Night Music Club."

Backed by a tight eight-piece band well-versed in her preferred dive-bar boogie, Crow's bewhiskeyed wail, a finely aged instrument, got stronger and stronger with each song: the funky oomph of "A Change," the restless beauty of "Leaving Las Vegas," the midtempo strut of "Can't Cry Anymore," the tricky breakup smash "My Favorite Mistake."

If the bass was too loud, well, she just got louder -- and better.

Crow was loose, smiling, adorable, the diminutive star with the cascading dirty-blonde hair exuding charm to spare. For a cover of Cat Stevens' "The First Cut Is the Deepest," she even traded verses with a young girl in the front row.

For tabloid-readers looking for Armstrong references, they were there in sneaky, cheeky ways. On the new album, the song "Diamond Ring" is sad, somber. Onstage, however, she tweaked the tune with winky torch-song flair: "I blew up our love nest / By making one little request / Diamonnnd ringgg!"

"I've been engaged three times," Crow said with a laugh afterwards, "and I'm pretty proud of it."

Even the weaker songs on "Detours" were made likable in a live setting. The hamhanded futuristic clunker "Gasoline" was saved by a menacing midsong injection of the Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter." And the cheeseball singalong "Out of Our Heads" ("If we could only get out of our heads, out of our heads, and into our hearts!") turned into a silly but fun drum-circle chant, the seated crowd forgoing protocol and stomping to its feet. 

For the absolutely sublime "If It Makes You Happy," her signature song, Crow reared back and hollered that titular chorus, letting it all go, the catchiest catharsis in her songbook. From the sound of it, Sheryl Crow has a lot of living left to do, too.

IDOL RECAP: I'm Less Alive Than I Was Before This Started

   Hi all, Sharon Fink again, once more subbing for the charming and vivacious Sean Daly, who's out getting a good beer buzz early into the morning with Sheryl Crow. (Or arranging a marriage between her young Wyatt and his Maya. Or both, figuring the former would lead to the lattter.)

Regulars know my Idol credentials. Here are my qualifications to assess Neil Diamond night:     I am a HUGE Monkees fan ("Ohhhh, I'm a believer"). I own vinyl copies of The Jazz Singer soundtrack and the Heartlight 45. I saw Jazz Singer when it came out. And the manager of the record/CD/video store I worked at in a large American city in the mid-1980s swore that the most insane crowd he had dealt with while working security at the local concert arena was for the big D -- thousands of women who looked like your mother sweetly promising not to rush the stage door once he appeared, only to stampede so they could pluck out a chest hair (like there wasn't enough to go around if they didn't line up in an orderly fashion).    

Tonight's Idol Happy Hour had two songs from each of the final five. Why two songs? Not because Fox can't pad an hour show. Because it had to justify to Neil Diamond bringing him on for five people, even if his album does come out May 6. And why do I call it Happy Hour? Because it was like happy hour at a karoke bar in Cancun frequented by spring breakers.       

Jason Castro: First song, Forever in Blue Jeans; second song September Morn. There's being cool and low-key, and there's coming across like you would rather be stationed at a South Pole research station than here. His somnambulant delivery didn't differ between the songs, and of the bazillion songs Neil Diamond has written, one of the ones he picks is a throwaway. I want to say he's in danger of going, but I have a bad feeling about the voting habits of a lot of vulnerable females.     

David Cook: I'm Alive and All I Really Need is You. The judges are so in love with him, they can't bring themselves to point out that both of his songs also sounded the same: "modern rock" arrangements, start out soft, build to a big, shouted ending. The judges also are seeing nonwinner Chris Daughtry's millions of sales dancing in their heads and remembering that they egged along his ejection by telling him he needed to stop with that repetitive modern rock stuff. Cook matches up well with Daughtry, and he has more talent and stage presence than Castro. And he'll deservedly still cruise to the final.

Brooke White: I'm A Believer and I Am ... I Said. Her entire first song was a war between the key it was played in and the key her voice was trying to sing it in. By the second song, I was thinking of Christopher Guest's A Mighty Wind and his mockumentary folk group The New Main Street Singers.    

David Archuleta: Sweet Caroline and America. Sweet Caroline was the best vocal of the first round. And Archuleta is nothing if not audience savvy. If he didn't do Heartlight for his second song, he was going to do America. Simon was right, America was a smart choice. Performance was ragged, but Archuleta's voice is so good, his personality so cuddly -- and his fans so fervent -- it didn't matter. He's also still on track for the final two.    

Syesha Mercado: Hello Again and Thank the Lord for the Night Time. She had the best overall vocals, and a few moments of connection in the second song, but overall her night was another one of "Aren't I just the greatest singer! ... That's a rhetorical question."    

Who will go? Before the show started, it was going to be either Jason, Brooke or Syesha. Their performances didn't change that. Fan-base voting has had a bigger impact this season than in the past, so as much as Jason or Brooke should go based on performance, any one of the three could could be out.     

LIVE IDOL! Hot April Night

Hey kids, should be a good American Idol tonight (and when I say "good" I mean "watchable after a few beverages"). Last week's Andrew Lloyd Webber-a-thon was brutal. But the remaining Top 5 should have some fun with the songs of tonight's mentor: Mr. Neil Diamond, one of the coolest cats around. Show starts at 8 p.m.

Alas, I will be reviewing the Sheryl Crow show in Clearwater. But you're in for a treat, 'cause pop-culture goddess Sharon Fink will be working the Pop Life Idol Chat & Crunchy Granola Stand, which will open at 7:39 p.m. She'll also give a full snarky rundown after the show. If Archuleta does Heartlight, we all win.

Sticky & Sweet: Madonna's "Hard Candy"

Hey sex kittens, just got the new Madonna in the mail this morning. Hard Candy comes out tomorrow. Here's a first impression...

Madonna
Album: Hard Candy (Warner Bros.)
In stores: Tuesday
Why we care: Forty-nine-year-old mom Madge invites the neighbor boys over for a little while-he’s-away on her 11th studio album. Justin Timberlake, Kanye West, Timbaland and Pharrell bring their synthy booty beats and marching-band samples, Madonna purrs out every dumb “give it to me” cliche, and we all dance naked.
Why we like it: If all that sounds a little desperate, a little forced and a lot of fun, well, it is — how you deal with the morning guilt is up to you. The Timberlake appearance has the intended Mrs. Robinson effect, but Madonna merges best with Pharrell, whose restless rhythms goose her into giving more.
Reminds us of: In the liner notes, Madonna looks like a dancer at Adult World in Syracuse, N.Y. This is not a good thing.
Download these: 4 Minutes (WATCH) Heartbeat (LISTEN) and Candy Shop (LISTEN)
Grade: B

UPDATED: Here Comes the Hate Mail...

Dear Sean,

No doubt, you’ve already been bombarded. I wanted to join the ranks. Clearly you are not a Jersey girl who grew up in the 80’s with a door-poster of Jon in your bedroom; I get that. However, if you aren’t a fan of Bon Jovi’s new music, then perhaps you shouldn’t have gone to the concert bearing its name in the first place. I’m sure there were other people that would’ve gladly taken your spot. At 46 Jon is still a great artist/singer and performer, and for you to take that away from him with such demeaning words seems a bit harsh, even for a "critic." I understand everyone is entitled to their opinion, but something tells me your opinion differs from about 20,536 people who enjoyed the show immensely, especially the shimmys! Perhaps you were also a little jealous of just how much we female fans love our man Jon. After all, you certainly can’t argue that he looks DAMN GOOD for his age.

Jersey Girl extraordinaire

****

Dear Sean,

Next time the Times should send someone to the Bon Jovi concert who truly appreciates good music.

Your article and your taste in music need to learn how to rock, cause you don’t!

PS Bob Dylan can't sing to save his life!

****

Sean Sean: What the hell?!?!?!?!

Dumb, dull, fine, sublime, goofballs....What concert were you at????

The Bon Jovi concert last night kicked ass!!!!!!!!!!!!  Did you notice that the crowd,
woman and MEN where on the feet almost the entire concert singing and dancing and having an awesome time. Where were you watching the concert from, the men's room?
You obviously are not a Bon Jovi fan. To bad you missed a GREAT time?!?!

From a true Bon Jovi Goofball Fan

PS: And yes I screamed when he showed some chest and shook his fanny!! Are you jealous Sean?  Are you? I think so!

LIVE REVIEW: Daughtry & Bon Jovi

TAMPA –- When you think about it, or drink about it, Chris Daughtry is basically a hairless version of Jon Bon Jovi. Both hunks excel at a slick brand of bar rock that is essentially, harmlessly, identically cut from the same chords and choruses. You come to their shows not to ponder, but to party, everyman escapism in its loudest form.

Of course, Bon Jovi, New Jersey's second-favorite rock son, has been selling-out stadiums for 25 years now. Daughtry, who famously did not win "American Idol," has only been around since 2006, his self-titled disc the fastest-selling debut rock album in SoundScan history.

So while their double bill at the St. Pete Times Forum Sunday was an inspired pairing, one that sent a humongous crowd of 20,537 into a three-hour tizzy, there was no doubt which act should be genuflecting to the other.

Flanked by four bandmates, the 28-year-old Daughtry first appeared in a cowboy hat. But his head wouldn't stay covered for long, as the dramatic reveal of his bald melon has become as crucial to his act as confetti is to Rip Taylor's.

His radio-ready music was pretty popular with the ladies, too, especially surly-sweet ballads "What About Now" and "Over You," both of which filled the arena just fine. For the latter song, he told the sing-along crowd: "If you don't know the words, it's real simple." Truer words have never been spoken.

Daughtry has a distinctive wail that can sell even the most corporate of rock. Case in point: his band's incredibly earnest, sweetly dorky cover of Foreigner's "Feels Like the First Time." As a lead-in to his smash hit "Home," he even played a snippet of Motley Crue's "Home Sweet Home." He may not be the most dynamic performer, but he treats every word like gospel.

With the beer lines mighty, and the venue's temps getting steamy, Bon Jovi took the stage and proceeded to live by the hits -- and die by the new stuff. The band opened with the title track from 2007's "Lost Highway," a country album that proved to be as dull live as it is on disc. Alas, they played great chunks of that, including the brutally dumb "We Got It Going On."

But the female-strong crowd would wait with googly-eyes and patient smiles until Jon, Richie Sambora & Co. played something they liked. And that the group did, alternating new songs with old faves: "Born to Be My Baby," "You Give Love a Bad Name" and the downright cheesetastic "Bad Medicine."

Bon Jovi has been doing this for a long time, and they certainly know their strengths. Even with crummy material, the 46-year-old Jon would flash some chest or shake his fanny and the moms would scream as if he were playing the best song ever. (He wasn't; he was playing "The Radio Saved My Life Tonight"). He uncorked a short acoustic set in the middle of the crowd (including "Bed of Roses") and slapped every hand on the way back. And in his most winning moment, he did a killer Mick Jagger impression during a winky cover of "Start Me Up."

Using the talkbox or a double-necked doozie, Sambora played for all the air-guitar goofballs in the house, unleasing every solo on "It's My Life" or "Runaway" or "Have a Nice Day" as if he were in great artistic anguish. (He should have been grinning ear-to-ear after getting off easy from a recent auto-and-alcohol misadventure.)

The band cruised into the finale with a couple of crowd-pleasers, including "Keep the Faith" and a "Livin' on a Prayer" that was better than it had to be. After an encore version of the new "I Love This Town" (ugh), Jon asked everyone to rise "for our national anthem": "Wanted Dead or Alive," a great country song that doesn't try too hard to be a country song.

In the end, as a rock show, it was fine. As a girls' night out, however, it was no doubt sublime.

Kanye West: Love? Hate? Couldn't Care Less?

Hey gang, I need your help.

I want your take on Kanye West (even if you don't have a take on Kanye West). Maybe you love his music, hate his ego. Maybe you dig Gold Digger, despise the rest.

Maybe you think he's a liberal windbag; maybe you think more artists should speak their minds like the Chicago rapper. Me? I think Ye has the genius gene in him, which means he's a fascinating, frustrating, phenomenal headcase. I'm pro-Kanye all the way.

Anyway, lemme know. I'm writing up an essay about his polarizing rep for the next Weekend mag. Kanye plays the Ford Amphitheatre in Tampa on Monday, May 5.

IDOL RECAP: She Shoulda Listened to Me

If Carly Smithson had followed my celebrity-enhancement advice -- for instance, staggering the besotted streets of West Hollywood and sucker-punching Willie Aames to juice her boring reputation -- she might have won American Idol this year. 'Cause the Irish lass could sing. Instead, her blah personality finally caught up with her Wednesday. She had killer ink, but no edge. She needed a little rock 'n' roll rebellion. That leaves four singers...oh, and Brooke White.

Next week features the great Neil Diamond as a mentor. David Cook doing "Solitary Man"? Archuleta weeping "Hello Again"? Castro and his E.T. mug doing "Heartlight"? We'll see...

THE BOTTOM-DWELLERS...Syesha Mercado and Carly Smithson

AND THE SIXTH-PLACE FINISHER IS...Carly Smithson

YOUR TOP FIVE... David Cook, David Archuleta, Brooke White, Jason Castro, Syesha Mercado

LIVE REVIEW: Bruce Springsteen

Springsteen and Steve Van Zandt perform at the St. Pete Times Forum Tuesday night. [CHRIS ZUPPA | Times]

TAMPA –- Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band just don't lose fights to Father Time. For four decades, it’s always been a mismatch. From epic concerts that rumbled on with disregard for deadlines to thunderous anthems about thumbing your nose at destiny, the Jersey-born brotherhood is inherently built to push, and punish, the boundaries of the clock.

But last week, Father Time -- with his tin ear for the youthful urges of rock ’n’ roll -- landed a suckerpunch, as longtime E Street stalwart Danny Federici, 58, died from melanoma. As well as being the group’s organist, keyboardist and accordion whiz, Federici had been friends with Springsteen for 40 years. Bruce called his pal “the Phantom,” quiet, crafty, cunning.

On Tuesday, at the St. Pete Times Forum, the Boss and his band, who postponed three Florida dates to deal with the loss, staged their first show since Federici’s death. (The Tampa night was originally scheduled for Monday.)

But if you thought the Blue-Collar Bard would respond with a long, sad see-ya-later  – no way, not a chance. For more than two-and-a-half hours, they rocked and remembered in front of 16,332 faithful fans fully aware of the emotional undercurrent.

With house and stage lights dark, the band took the stage, familiar shadows walking to the well-worn spots they've worked for years. "This night is a special one," said the somber voice of the Boss. "So we'd like to start with something for Danny."

With that, a video tribute unspooled onscreen, as a recorded version of gentle acoustic homage "Blood Brothers" played. With a spotlight illuminating Danny's workplace, the band then launched into a crescendoing, cathartic "Backstreets," with its notable refrain of "You swore we'd live forever."

That's the way this memorable night went, the wistful giving way to the robust. Springsteen referenced Federici several times, including "4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)," which was always Federici's time to shine on the accordion. On this night, piano man Roy Bittan took the squeezebox, as a bemused Springsteen noted, "Somebody's watching." That was followed by what Springsteen called "another fairy tale," the jubilant "Growin' Up."

For all the emotion, the night's most memorable songs were the roof-raisers, the throwdowns, songs in which your pounding fist acted almost independently: "Radio Nowhere" and "Gypsy Biker," from 2007 album "Magic." "Because the Night," with its downright fiendish guitar solo from Nils Lofgren. The tent-revival fun of "She's the One." The defiant blasts of "No Surrender" and "Long Walk Home."

Springsteen, always eager to ruffle the lapels of the proverbial powers-that-be, kept the speechifying to a minium. But after a quick tsk-tsk to the Bush administration, he threaded a series of songs about the shaky state of the union: "Livin' in the Future," "The Promised Land," "Waitin' on a Sunny Day."

The set built to a resounding, resilient wallop, especially fan fave "Badlands," in which the Big Man, Clarence Clemons, hobbled to the forefront and blew a big, fat sax solo that jolted the joint. That was followed by the chiming joy of "Out in the Street" with its chorus of guttural wahoos.   

"This one's for Dan," Springsteen said at the start of the encore, as the band roots-rocked an acoustic cover of 1929 gospel hymn "I'll Fly Away" ("Some bright morning when this life is over, I'll fly away.")

As part of this tour, Springsteen has been reaching into the crowd each night and grabbing random signs with song requests. Tampa just about blew its top for tonight's winner: "Rosalita." The rambling, rollicking song, considered by many the queen in the canon, showcased a band still intent on raging into the night. And, well, they did. "Rosalita" eventually morphed into "Born to Run," for which the house lights exploded for an all-together-now singalong. And that turned into "Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out." And they just kept playing, hard, fast, ferocious, as if they had all the time in the world.    

Andrew Lloyd Webber Barbecue

Janet Keeler here, blogging for the lovely and talented Sean Daly who is doing the Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out at the Forum with the Boss tonight. I'm at home eating buffalo any'tizers, washing them down with a heaping helping of American Idol and wondering if Lloyd is Andrew's middle name or part of his last name. And if it's his last name, why isn't it hyphenated? I hope I can get to sleep tonight.

I'm qualified to be a guest blogger for Pop Life because:
1. I still have my original vinyl version of "Jesus Christ Superstar" and can sing all the songs.
2. I've watched Idol since the beginning and am not ashamed to say I voted for Justin Guarini a million times. I also voted for Ruben Studdard which redeems me at least a little. I still say his performance of the Bee Gees Nights on Broadway was one of the best of all time. Sexy. There, I said it.
3. I'm the only person in the features department not at the Springsteen concert.

I'd hoped no one would sing Memory, but alas it happened. The rest of the story of the night the final six met their match, musical theater:

Syesha Mercado: One Rock n' Roll Too Many from Starlight Express. The Lady in Red looked fabulous; very Eartha Kittish. She sounded great until those last few notes when my ears started bleeding. What's with all the screeching? By the end of the night, I'd forgotten her performance. Maybe she should have worn rollerskates. (Oh, and Sean, she wasn't wearing shoes.)

Jason Castro: Memory from Cats. The dreads freaked out Sir Andrew during the "master class." I can't imagine how he must have felt when he heard my old college boyfriend butcher the most lampooned-song in history. Now he's given us another reason to skewer it. Basically, the song just kicked his butt. See ya, Jason.

Brooke White: You Must Love Me from Evita. Did she really stop and start again? If Jason doesn't go, Goldilocks may be looking for a bear-hug tomorrow night. I actually liked it once she started up again but she smiled a few too many times for a women singing about dying. Maybe she was just dying inside.

David Archuleta: Think of Me from Phantom of the Opera. This guy is ready for his Disney soundtrack closeup. Very sweet, very measured. After this many weeks, can he actually be that surprised people like him? His Melissa Doolittle, aw-shucks thing is grating.

Carly Smithson: Jesus Christ Superstar from Jesus Christ Superstar. I wish more people had picked songs from this soundtrack. The '70s-vibe dress was cool but the amped up band and overactive backup singers made me feel like I was at Caesars Palace. She could have really iced it tonight but the arrangement got the best of her. Oh, lord.

David Cook: Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera. Sir Andrew has a big ole crush on David. Look into my eyes and pretend I'm a 17-year-old girl? Oh, behave. As usual, David was solid as a rock, but what was that big scarf hanging from his pocket? He's the one to beat, but tonight that wasn't saying much.

LIVE IDOL! Will Archuleta Sing "Memory"?

Tonight's American Idol is all about celeb mentor Andrew Lloyd Webber, the British composer responsible for such theatrical cheese plates as Cats, Evita and Phantom of the Opera. Oy, was this a brutally bad idea. I can't wait to see Jason Castro bust out the ukelele and warble Don't Cry for Me Argentina.

Actually, I can wait. Tonight I'm covering Springsteen. Next Tuesday, Sheryl Crow. The Tuesday after that, Radiohead. It's the concert season, so I'm swamped. However, the Pop Life Idol Chat & Opium Den will be OPEN normal hours, thanks to a host of celebrity snarkers these next few Tuesdays.

TONIGHT'S SPECIAL GUEST? None other than my work wife, Janet Keeler, who's been watching Idol ever since the first "pitchy." The newspaper's travel & food editor, Janet is also one of our great pop-culture wits, so you're in for a treat. The show starts 8 p.m.

Old Ladies Hate Me

I just received an angry call from one of the "white-haired ushers" mentioned below. "You've offended us," she said ominously. (The blurb ran in our latest Weekend magazine.)

A few years ago, I saw Kid Rock "play" Ruth Eckerd Hall, the venerable performance center in Clearwater, FL. Now sure, Ruth Eckerd hosts scores of concerts and plays each year. But as for Kid Rock, well, the Motor City dirtball just about turned that classy joint inside out and upside down. The sparkly venue's white-haired ushers never knew what hit 'em. Backed by a fleet of undulating strippers and exploding flashpots, the Kid made the place feel like a biker bar in hell.

I thought of that show when Ruth Eckerd announced the arrival of another wild act: Panic at the Disco. An energetic emo band on Florida's own Fueled by Ramen label, Panic probably won't have exotic dancers on call, but it will attract a couple thousand hairy, screaming kids who never knew Ruth Eckerd existed. And those kids are going to go absolutely bonkers for all the stuff on Panic's new album, Pretty. Odd., which is a little like Sgt. Pepper's on Red Bull. Those white-haired ushers might want to wear their steel-toed Florsheims.

Panic at the Disco, with Motion City Soundtrack, the Hush Sound and Phantom Planet, performs tonight at 7 p.m. at Ruth Eckerd Hall, 1111 N McMullen-Booth Road, Clearwater. $35. (727) 791-7400.

Maybe Now I'll Pay Attention

The first time I saw Sheryl Crow, I spent most of the night with my back to the stage. Not that the wee singer-songwriter wasn’t engaging; touring behind 1996's self-titled sophomore album, she sounded just as good live as she did on disc, her bewhiskeyed wail unloading those radio-ready roots-rock hooks. The gig was at the intimate, and absolutely packed, 9:30 Club in Washington, D.C., and Crow’s guest list included one small young teen by the name of Chelsea Clinton. The First Daughter was up in the balcony, and she and her gaggle of underage pals — well, let’s just say they were having a rollicking good time in front of God and everyone. So although I cheered Crow, I was mesmerized by Clinton, who seemed to be graduating from good-girl to gone-wild right before my eyes.

Crow became an even bigger star after that, of course, so the chances to see her at equally cozy confines have been few and far between. So thus, I’m pretty pumped about her local gig at Ruth Eckerd Hall. This time, I’ll keep my eyes on Sheryl, touring behind new album Detours, every second of the show. Well, unless Jenna Bush is there. That one drives me wild.

Sheryl Crow performs Tuesday, April 29 at 8 p.m. Ruth Eckerd Hall, 1111 McMullen-Booth Road, Clearwater. $46-$60.50. (727) 791-7400.

"Everybody Calls Me Big Man"

This interview with Clarence Clemons was conducted before the death of E Street Band member Danny Federici, whose passing Thursday caused the postponement of three Florida shows. The Tampa date is Tuesday -- the band's first since losing Federici.

Long before the sax, the solos, the Boss, Clarence Clemons simply wanted to smash mouths. He was a tough kid from Norfolk, Va., the son of a Baptist preacher. And as a college football star in Maryland, he dreamed of going pro. "That was gonna be my career," he says.

Back in the '60s, "we had to play both ways on the field, so I was offensive center and defensive end." The scholarship standout would protect his quarterback, then he'd turn to the visitors and "go beat 'em up." His signature move? "The forearm shiver."

"I'd stop 'em in their tracks," he says with a hepcat heh-heh-heh.

Clemons, who speaks in low, rapid-fire sentences, sums up his injury-riddled gridiron glory by saying, "God had other things for me to do." But in a way, God stayed with the plan just fine. After all, the 6-foot-4 Clarence is still protecting his quarterback, who just happens to be Bruce Springsteen. And he's still slaying the visitors, who just happen to be us.

"Drinking Beer Is a Science"

Hey kids, here's a goof on the new "vented" Coors Light can I wrote for the Sunday paper. I'm dedicating it to my pal Guy, who imbibes this stuff like oxygen...

TAMPA — In case you haven't watched TV lately, or read the newspaper, or opened a magazine, or surfed the Web, or visited a post office in downtown Tampa where you were swarmed by buxom young women chirping beer propaganda, Coors Light has declared a war on glug.

That's right: glug (you know, rhymes with ugh).

In a hellzapoppin' blitz of advertising and promotion, Coors Brewing Co. is touting the latest advance in discount-suds consumption: the Vented Wide Mouth Can. Never mind that Coors Light has slightly more flavor than rain. Never mind that the entire point of Coors Light is that it doesn't stain a bowling shirt. In the great beer battle, Joe Six-Pack is treated like James Bond.

The Coors Light can has been retinkered like a spy gadget, with an opening that's 8 percent wider than before — and 27 percent wider than other domestic beers. Along with the gaping maw is a "vent," or groove, next to the opening, which allows air into the can, supposedly creating a "smoother pour."

Viewed from the top, the new can design looks like a Stratocaster with a whammy bar — or a snowman with a nightstick.

The Last Debbie Gibson Post. (Maybe)

Hey gang, for anyone who hasn't heard it yet, here's the Gibson PODCAST. If I hear one more person coddle poor Steve Spears, who has his groupies thoroughly hook-line-and-sinkered, I'm gonna torch the joint.

Debbie Daly? Maybe, Just Maybe

So Stuck in the '80s stud Steve Spears is strutting around all cocky and googly-eyed today. You see, after an in-house interview yesterday, '80s pop sensation Deborah Gibson hugged the big goof --but all I got was a stiff, lousy handshake. However, as the following video proves, the real connection was actually made between Daly and Gibson, who work up such hot chemistry during the chat, it's amazing we didn't just attack each other on the rickety table.

Anyway, here's the VIDEO of our interview.

And here's another hot picture. And here's Spears bragging. The podcast should be up on iTunes real soon.

Springsteen changes Tampa date

Due to the death of E Street Band organist Danny Federici, the dates have been changed for Bruce Springsteen's string of Florida shows.

The Tampa date at the St. Pete Times Forum has been moved from Monday, April 21, to Tuesday, April 22.

The Orlando show is now April 23, and the Fort Lauderdale show is May 2.

For more tour date news, click here to go to his official website.

E Street Band Loses a Friend

Longtime E Street Band organist and then some Danny Federici died Thursday after a three-year battle with melanoma.

He was 58.

Bruce Springsteen and his band are in Florida this week, but shows in Sunrise and Orlando have been postponed. A Tampa date on Monday, April 21 is scheduled to be the band's first show back.

No makeup dates have been announced for the postponed shows. 

For more information, and video of Federici sitting in with the band during a special March 20 appearance in Indianapolis, go to brucespringsteen.net.

Gibson + Daly + Spears = Podcast Magic

Just had a sizzling sit-down interview with the incandescent Deborah Gibson (I just called her "Gibson"), who was visiting the St. Pete Times on a promotional tour. As part of an upcoming Stuck in the '80s podcast/video spectacular, Steve Spears and I talked with the '80s sensation-turned-Broadway star for about 45 minutes in the studio.

I thought Steve's head was gonna explode when he asked her about posing for Playboy. She was totally toying with him, too -- then, after dishing about the nudity, she told a saucy tale of Playboy Mansion mayhem. Hot, very hot. Especially since she looks drop-dead gorgeous in person, about 10 years younger than her 37. Her secret? She's never tried drugs, alcohol or smokes. (Me? I did all those things on the way to work this morning.)

Anyway, Gibson is promoting a series of projects (including a monthlong run at Harrah's in Atlantic City). She also has some new songs ready to record, so a comeback album could be on the horizon. The video of our chat will probably go up before the actual podcast, so we'll keep you updated. Right now, I have to get the defibs for Spears.

Oh well, at least he'll go out with a smile on his face.

Need a Jolt? Here's Daly TV

Here's my spot on Fox 13's "Lightning Round" last night (WATCH). Three-quarters of the gags are recycled, and I'm not as zingy as usual. But we filmed it live at 11:20 p.m., so there was a cool novelty to it. After Idol, I wearily crossed the lonely bridge into Tampa, hoping I didn't stink of baby barf. About 20 minutes before leaving the house, TwoTwo launched a Similac smear on her Old Man. But alas, unless you had Smell-o-Vision, you could never tell.

Thanks to loyal bloggette Marissa for the link. Oh, and if you want to see the complete Tricia Walsh Smith video, HERE you go.

IDOL RECAP: KLC Is DOA

Kristy Lee Cook, American Idol's resident Kmart Kellie Pickler, was booted off the show Wednesday night, leaving six remaining contestants. This came as great relief to me and my libido, as I was tired of wondering why I wasn't hot for her in the slightest, and yet all my male friends were. Was something wrong with me? Should I be worried? 'Cause let's be honest, I hit 38 years old like a brick wall, folks, and stuff's breaking down on me by the hour.

Anyway, I gotta go on TV now. See you tomorrow.

BOTTOM THREE: Syesha Mercado, Brooke White, Kristy Lee Cook

AND THE 7TH-PLACE FINISHER IS... Kristy Lee Cook

YOUR TOP SIX: David Cook, David Archuleta, Carly Smithson, Jason Castro, Syesha Mercado, Brooke White

Questions for Debbie Gibson?

Tomorrow, for a very special taping of Stuck in the '80s, Deborah "Debbie" Gibson will be visiting the studio LIVE! IN PERSON!

The '80s pop princess is in town promoting a number of things, including a performance arts camp, an online reality show and her upcoming residency at Atlantic City's Harrah's Casino.

Spears and I are in a flop-sweaty froth about this. In fact, we just consumed large quantities of Thai food while excitedly preparing for this legendary interview. But we need your help.

So...WHO HAS QUESTIONS FOR DEBBIE GIBSON?

Synaptic Misfiring? Dementia?

I woke up with this song in my head. It's been lurking for 22 years, waiting for just the right time to strike. Daryl Hall's "Dreamtime," from 1986's "3 Hearts in the Happy Ending Machine." I blame the Double Filet-O-Fish.

IDOL RECAP: Mimi Made Me Do It

After titillating the ladies with this picture of me in Magnum P.I. shorts, it's only fair that I provide a snapshot for the guys. (To be honest, my search for a tasetful Mariah Carey photo was fruitless. If you don't like skin, go listen to Natalie Merchant.)

As for Mimi guest-mentoring on American Idol Tuesday, well, it coulda been a caterwauling nightmare. Instead, it was relatively harmless and frequently boring. Carey tried to look interested and humble, and the contestants were careful not to challenge her to an Octave-Off. But I couldn't help dreaming of an Idol-less future, which is now just a month away.

DAVID ARCHULETA, When You Believe -- Watching Archuleta hug Mariah Carey was brutally awkward. Kind of like that time I danced with my Cousin Melissa to Baby Got Back at a wedding. As for the performance? Whatever. It's the same throaty cruise-ship crap every time.

CARLY SMITHSON, Without You -- Here's what Carly Smithson should do tonight. Buy a bottle of Jack. Go out to the Sunset Strip. And take a swing at a D-list celebrity, like Willie Aames or the guy who played Cousin Larry on Perfect Strangers. 'Cause Carly needs edge, personality, a story. Without it, she's dull.

SYESHA MERCADO, Vanishing -- Syesha is getting closer to that million-dollar note. Good performance, contained and torchy when it should be, show-offy when it mattered. Plus she looked hot. That said, singing a song called Vanishing is just messing with the Idol gods. Remember: They love irony.

BROOKE WHITE, Hero -- Of course she did Hero. And of course she looked like she was going to sob. And of course she doffed a shoe and promoted the scourge of barefootism across the land. But she also had this Studio 54 wild-haired, disco-queen thing going on. I was digging that. If she joins Carly for a beatdown on the Sunset Strip, we might have something here.   

KRISTY LEE COOK, Forever -- Am I the only dude in America who isn't hot for Kristy Lee Cook? Is this a salt-peter sign of my old age, a shot to my libido? Should I start bird-watching or building model planes?

DAVID COOK, Always Be My Baby -- That song is gonna LIGHT UP iTunes tomorrow. You watch, No. 1 all the way. Wow. That could be the best song on the Daughtry album, which has only sold 8 trillion copies. Nice storyline, too, with his sick brother in the crowd.

JASON CASTRO, I Don't Want to Cry -- The last slot of the night is usually a power position. But following Cook was brutal for Kmart Jack Johnson. His act is outta steam. IN FACT, I think I'm sending him back to the bonfire with a bold prediction tomorrow. Stay tuned.

LIVE IDOL! The Desecration of Mimi

With her new album hitting stores today, Mariah Carey will indulge in the ultimate promotional stunt by mentoring the remaining seven schlubs on tonight's American Idol. The great irony in this is that Mariah, more than any other artist, is responsible for the endless plague of octave-stretching, note-murdering amateur singers we get bombarded with year after year. In essence, she's taught young America how to properly butcher a song. Now she's in direct contact with her pupils. Oof. Tonight could be a caterwauling catastrophe.

As for my rooting interest, I just don't know anymore. I started with Amanda Overmyer-Daly. Then after she was wronged, I switched to Michael Johns. But in a big-time shockeroo, the Aussie hunk was unceremoniously adiosed last week. I picked Carly Smithson to win the whole shebang, but she's missing something, like a personality or proper orthodenture. Maybe I'll just hop in bed with Syesha.

The Pop Life Idol Chat & Lingerie Boutique opens at 7:45 p.m. The hourlong show kicks off at 8 p.m. I've been offered tickets to tonight's Yankees-Rays game, but I fear what Marissa would say about me if I accepted. In other words, I'm your faithful servant. See you tonight! 

This Is Strikingly Accurate

This magnificent piece of art is from Stuck in the '80s fan Mike Tartar.

If you haven't passed out yet, and would like to be even more skeeved out, go HERE for the rest of the story.

The Double Filet-O-Fish Playlist

Kid Lulu is in her Happy Meal phase now. Every day, the kid asks for a Happy Meal. For better or worse (okay, worse), this coincides with my Filet-O-Fish phase, which is now in its 38th year.

After taking Lu to the library Sunday (see, I'm not a horrible Dad, just a porky one), we hit Mickey D's. Like some sort of religious beacon, a sun-kissed poster on the side of the building advertised the Double Filet-O-Fish. Of course, I thought. What took them so long? My lord, it was a glorious sandwich, twice the tingly pleasure. Accordingly, I used not one, but two ketchup cups, one per deep-fried square, and then ate that blessed behemoth over a hot bed of fries, the tartar-ketchup bombs splattering down with artery-clogging glee. Awesome. Just awesome.

I was worthless for hours afterward. And those sharp pains running down my arm can't be good. But lemme tell you, folks, that sandwich brought me great joy. In fact, I loved it so much, I want to dedicate a few songs to it. (By the way, the "Double" is around 800 calories, 36 grams of total fat. I should be dead by Thursday.)

The Double Filet-O-Fish Playlist
1. Beyond the Sea, Bobby Darin
2. Heart Attack, Olivia Newton-John
3. Fish On, Primus
4. Fried, Blur
5. Yummy, Gwen Stefani

The Black Keys "Attack & Release"

This is awesome to the highest power. Seriously, the summit of Mt. Awesome. Akron's the Black Keys. Love these dudes. (Plus they read Silver Surfer, which geeks me out even more.)

The Black Keys
Album: Attack & Release (Nonesuch)
In stores: Now
Why we care: Gnarls Barkley’s DJ Danger Mouse produces this new full-length from the Akron blues-rock duo. That’s a little like Buck Rogers joining Indiana Jones to fight Nazis. So it’s cool.
Why we like it: Singer-guitarist Dan Auerbach and drummer Patrick Carney lay down Hendrixian licks and assorted crunchery as Danger Mouse drops in subtle psychedelic shimmer and related trippery. The result is more gnarly than Gnarls, and when it works best, it’s totally intoxicating in a puff-puff-pass sorta way.
Reminds us of: Wolfmother — which means they remind us of the greatest new rock band of the 21st century. The Keys rule.
Download these: Strange Times (LISTEN) and Psychotic Girl (LISTEN)
Grade: A

LIVE REVIEW: James Hunter

ST. PETERSBURG — James Hunter is a soul drifter, a longtime British busker in search of, and in love with, an American musical past. On Friday, at the opening day of the Tampa Bay Blues Fest at Vinoy Park, his quest continued, looking to link the heartache shake of Sam and Otis and Ray to modern times.

Looking like a suave bloke who might play poker at the fat tables (even though he loves to talk about how broke he is), Hunter is also an ever-grinning cutup and an unabashed showman. So he'd no doubt think all that "soul drifter" stuff was rubbish.

If you think he channels the mighty spirit of Cooke, Redding and Charles, that's fine. If you shimmy and smooch to his time-travel tunes, that's even better.

"Is there a law against dancing here?" the 45-year-old singer asked security when he thought an up-front fan was reprimanded for getting down. Hunter then turned to the accused: "Are you interfering with someone? That's one of my favorite pastimes. I'll join you in a second."

Mariah Carey's "E = MC2"

E = MC2 makes my head hurt.

Mariah Carey, the Long Island mall queen who's never met a note she couldn’t stretch into octave-spanning overkill, opens her new album with a flurry of particularly painful shrieks, a showoff moment that goes horribly, cat-exploding wrong.

I repeat: Ow.

What was she thinking? Or drinking? MC’s previous disc, 2005’s 10-million-selling smash The Emancipation of Mimi, had an unintentionally funny title, a self-indulgent nod to the singer’s flighty tabloid troubles. But the music within (including Grammy-winning ballad We Belong Together) was relatively smart — or relatively smart enough to help her over a midcareer slump.

E = MC2, Carey’s 11th studio album, which comes out next Tuesday, has a rather clever title, a wink-wink twist on the bombshell-with-a-brain mystique, a la Marilyn Monroe. But in this case, the music within turns out to be a lazy, generic mess, limp, brain-poking pop that makes the Einstein-inspired title even more of a ripe, red satirical target.

An "Idol" Rant from the Office Crank

Here's a piece from my good buddy Kyle, a beloved curmudgeon. It's nasty.

"I can't stand American Idol."

Agree? Disagree?

IDOL RECAP: Aussie Loses, McCain Wins

Despite looking like both Tim Daly and Sean Daly, Aussie hunk Michael Johns was bounced from American Idol Thursday night. My apologies to both Sharon Fink (my colleague who picked him to win) and Marissa (the blogger who picked him to stalk).

The night's biggest winner? John McCain, whose message to Idol fans was for more likable (or at least entertaining) than spots by Clinton and Obama.

I'd love to chat more, but the Forever Fiancee went out with her friends, and my daughters are bawling their eyes out. Apparently, they too were fans of Michael Johns.

BOTTOM THREE: Michael Johns, Syesha Mercado, Carly Smithson

AND THE EIGHTH-PLACE FINISHER IS...Michael Johns

YOUR TOP SEVEN: Brooke White, David Cook, David Archuleta, Jason Castro, Kristy Lee Cook, Syesha Mercado, Carly Smithson

Happy 500th, Uncle John's Band

Congratulations to Uncle John's Band, Tampa Bay's mightiest Grateful Dead cover crew, which tonight celebrates its 500th gig playing at the same venue, Skipper's Smokehouse, another local institution.

The group's biggest heartthrob, vocalist-percussionist Dan DeGregory, is married to award-winning journo Lane DeGregory, who just happens to be my friend and colleague.

Anyway, tonight's show starts at 8 p.m. Cover is $7. For more info on the band and the venue, go HERE.

Have fun and shakedown responsibly!

Looks like Bond, Sounds like Cooke

When James Hunter stays at a hotel (and he's always staying at a hotel), he checks in under an assumed name. It's a classic celeb maneuver, a way to shake off fans, paparazzi and press.

But alas, that's not why the British soul singer does it.

"I'm hiding from my creditors," Hunter says with a raspy laugh. He's on the phone from yet another tour stop, in Vancouver, British Columbia. He jokes that he can't even "afford to trash a hotel room anymore."

Looking like James Bond but singing like Sam Cooke, the constantly touring 45-year-old is part of this weekend's Tampa Bay Blues Fest at Vinoy Park in St. Petersburg. And when he takes the stage Friday evening, he will carry with him the well-worn tag of the Next Big Thing. If only hype could pay the bills.

Despite Van Morrison calling him one of the best-kept secrets in music and his 2006 album, People Gonna Talk, being nominated for a Grammy, Hunter remains a cash-strapped cult fave, a spellbinding talent with a small but passionate following. (WATCH HIM HERE)

"I've pretty much been impoverished for the past two decades," says a chuckling Hunter, who has opened for Aretha Franklin, Etta James and Boz Scaggs, and was part of Morrison's traveling Rhythm and Blues Revue. "But being on the brink of erupting keeps me going, actually."

IDOL: Manipulating for Good, Not Evil

Here are 5 memorable moments from Wednesday's epic "Idol Gives Back" celeb-stuffed benefit show, not including Miley Cyrus' jeans, which are really starting to cause problems:

(1) When Bono, reporting from AIDS-ravaged Africa, cut the BS and took off his ever-present shades in the presence of an angel. I'm not sure if I've ever seen him with his glasses off. Weird, but that floored me. (2) Annie Lennox. If you saw her travelogue from South Africa, which ended in tear-choked sobs, and then her following performance at the piano, you know what I'm talking about. (3) Thank god for Simon Cowell's man boobs. Without those ample good sports, which took shots from both Jimmy Kimmel and Robin Williams, the solemn, appropriately bleak event would have been too much too bear. (4) Carrie Underpants' cover of George Michael's "Praying for Time." Not as good as last year's "I'll Stand by You," but I'll buy her on iTunes nonetheless. (5) "Stiller Whips Whitney's A-- for Charity." I'd buy that, too.

Last year's "Idol Gives Back" raised $76 million for underprivileged children here and abroad. That number will no doubt be smashed. If you'd like to make a donation, go HERE.

For more play-by-play on the show, check out the Pop Life Idol Chat comments section, where such popular blog stars as Marissa, Jane, Jeff in Cuba, Sparky, Dede and a cavalcade of pop-culture critics spent the night snarking for your pleasure. See you tomorrow for the vote-off show.

Inside Dylan's Brain

Here's Bob Dylan's recipe for the perfect meatball.

This is so damn good.

I'm totally subscribing to Vanity Fair.

FOB & John Mayer's "Beat It"

For some twisted reason, I like this. I'm not not a Fall Out Boy fan, and Mayer is a dope. But this? Makes me grin. If you have any doubts that history will remember Michael Jackson very, very well, here's proof that it's already happening.

IDOL RECAP: Hang in There

Hey kids, it's Sharon Fink...

snarking in for the lovely and talented Sean Daly while he serenades B.J. Upton at the Rays home opener with his Rays home opener playlist. (He even insists on going through the 3 minutes and 1 second of Mrs. Robinson that precedes the Joe DiMaggio verse. But that's why we love him.) Seriously, folks, Sean is one of my great inspirations, too, so I humbly attempt to fill this space with my take on how the final eight did at inspiring us. Or turning us more toward Satan.

LIVE IDOL! You're the Inspiration

This week is all about inspiration on American Idol. Tonight, the final 8 contestants sing songs of inspiration. That begins at 8 p.m. You just know David Archuleta is busting out the Josh Groban.

Wednesday is the second annual "Idol Gives Back" celeb-stuffed benefit show. That starts at 7:30 p.m. and runs until (gasp!) 10 p.m. Sometime during the show, Teri Hatcher will caterwaul, hopefully not a Josh Groban song.

And Thursday is the inspirational vote-off show. That starts at 8.

Who are my two greatest inspirations, you ask? That's easy. Zamfir, Master of the Pan Flute, and the lovely and talented Sharon Fink, the St. Pete Times' Mistress of Pop Culture.

I'll be at the Tampa Bay Rays home opener tonight, so Sharon will be handling Idol duties, including a withering show recap. I'll be back Wednesday to entertain and delight. Go Sharon!

The Pop Life Idol Chat & Oxygen Bar will be OPEN FOR BUSINESS for all 137 hours of televised Idol this week. So pace yourselves and drink plenty of fluids!

Dylan Wins a Pulitzer

The 2008 Pulitzer Prizes were just announced, and 66-year-old Bob Dylan was given a "special citation" for "his profound impact on popular music and American culture, marked by lyrical compositions and extraordinary poetic power." Very cool news.

Click HERE for a complete list of winners.

The Opening Day Playlist

Tuesday is Opening Day at Tropicana Field, and you know what that means: Anything is possible.

Opening Day is about rebirth, about fresh starts, about big fat fun wishes. It’s the genie bottle of sports metaphors. That great newspaperman Thomas Boswell even waxed poetic about it: Why Time Begins on Opening Day.

So when your Tampa Bay Rays take the turf tomorrow night against the Seattle Mariners, it’s entirely reasonable, and entirely mandatory, to assume that, come October, Carl Crawford & Co. will be playing in the World Series. (They crushed the Yanks for the pennant, natch.)

And after winning the World Series in seven games, thanks to a walk-off homer by American League MVP B.J. Upton, your Tampa Bay Rays will receive a ticker tape parade down Central Avenue, which even folks in Tampa will brave the bridge to attend.

And as a result of the Rays’ mind-blowing victory, newspaper sales will skyrocket as everyone in Florida, in the Southern states, in the country, will clamor for Rays stories and pictures and zany Joe Maddon quotes to hang on their Frigidaires.

And this rabid excitement for our ragtag World Champs will also commence a hellzapoppin’ downtown boom — and an uptown splash, and a midtown renaissance, and a Feather Sound huzzah. There might be a recession elsewhere in the U.S. of A., but not here, not in St. Pete, not in Rays Nation, baby!

And yes, the Rays’ triumph will ultimately lead to a new waterfront stadium, which everyone will agree was the greatest idea in the history of great ideas. And they will call it Al Lang Field, of course, because it’s never too late to correct past wrongs.

And in the posh confines of this bejeweled downtown stadium, where the championship banner hangs in straightaway center, there will be a watering hole called Ferg’s Too, a cozier version of the loyal sports pub that once lubed losing streaks next door to the Trop.

And while drinking at Ferg’s Too in the new waterfront stadium in the revitalized downtown in recession-free St. Petersburg, you — yes, you — will meet your future spouse, who just happens to be wearing the same Scott Kazmir jersey as you. You will talk and laugh and flirt. And when you stroll out of the ballpark together, you will discover, after the goodnight kiss, that your future spouse is heir to the Mack Tr