Tampa Bay's Must-See Fall Concerts: Shooter Jennings, U2, Metallica & more

Who will make your ears bleed faster: Metallica or Miley Cyrus? Who will wear more makeup: KISS or the Killers? Who will be happier: people who see David Foster & Friends or people who get a root canal? There are myriad questions looming over this stuffed fall concert season. (For instance, will Shooter Jennings, above, ever send me another bottle of Wild Turkey?) But there are five things we know for sure, and that’s the must-see shows coming to Tampa Bay. READ ON.

Review: Jonas Brothers, Tampa, Aug. 18

Fans scream before the Jonas Brothers show at the Times Forum. Below, Kevin Jonas performs during Tuesday's show. [KATHLEEN FLYNN | Times] Click on photo to enlarge.

TAMPA – It’s not easy being the Jonas Brothers these days. Sure, they have millions of squealing fans, lucrative Disney deals, impossibly rad hair. But after a short, refreshing reign as unmarked rockers, Nick, Joe and Kevin have become boys-to-men tabloid fare stuck in the celebrity jetstream. There are now as many snide punchlines about them as JB posters adorning tweenage lockers.

Have rampant rumors of their dating life -- poor little Taylor Swift, so innocent, so blond -- tarnished the good clean fun of their music? Is the magic officially kaput once their fans are old enough to order a margarita? It’s getting tricky for the trio from Wyckoff, N.J. Sales of new album “Lines, Vines and Trying Times” have been disappointing, and a new Disney Channel show is a rush-job dud.

But hold on, let’s get back to those squeals for a bit.

Some 19,534 fans showed up for JB’s 21-song, 110-minute sold-out show at the St. Pete Times Forum on Tuesday. That’s more than Green Day and Judas Priest drew to recent shows in the same venue – COMBINED. So for all the naysaying and upturned noses, for all the threats of a shaky future, the JoBros aren’t done quite yet. Most musicians can only dream of the ear-splitting adulation heaped on these kids.

(By the way, Burger King is the official sponsor of this tour. But if I’m in Advil's marketing department, I’d start making calls. How loud was it? Imagine slamming your head in a jet engine while wearing an angry wombat for a hat.)

After opening sets by Honor Society (there's a good chance they were cyborgs) and Jordin Sparks (the sturdy "American Idol" star would later come back and perform her hit "Battlefied" with the headliners), JB took to a massive spinning stage. This ginormous sucker was centered in the round and had two side platforms plus an arachnoid lighting rig straight out of George Lucas' daydreams. I'm telling you, it was so big, it was often hard to keep track of the lil' buggers.

Sixteen-year-old Nick (the Cute One), 20-year-old Joe (the Funny One) and 21-year-old Kevin (the Tito) excel at guitar-based jangle pop, sheer athleticism and cool-kid charm. Their self-penned pop is getting a little same-soundy these days, but mine were apparently minority ears at the show. From opening cut "Paranoid" to the closing "Burnin' Up," the girlie-strong crowd reacted to each cut, supplemented by a huge backing band, as if it were the second coming of "Let It Be." (Go ask your parents.)     

Radio Disney hits such as "That's Just the Way We Roll" and "Hold On" betrayed Joe and Nick as yelpy singers live, but the show was wisely built on dazzling distractions: lasers, smoke effects, blinky thingies. They saved the coolest trick for the end, when the boys performed the rambunctious part of "Lovebug" in a cone of rain. Maybe I'm gullible, but it sure looked like they were manipulating great sheets of water to spell out lyrics.

Tons of money was spent on this tour to make it look adult, to make sure fans stay around for awhile. Two violinists, flanking Nick at a white baby grand, lifted from below the stage for the new "Fly With Me." For "Much Better," the boys did flips and all manner of aerial derring-do off a trampoline. On a really cool stage that lifted into a couple stories high, Joe, with his adorably slumped shoulders, warbled "Gotta Find You" from cable phenom "Camp Rock."

And in a thank-you to parents for putting up with all those repeat listens in the mini-van, they did a clunky, but earnest cover of Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline." Who knows? Maybe if the Jonas Brothers lose the kids, they'll move in on the moms. After all, with that hair, they could do anything.

DALY TV: If you need a loud man in a louder blue shirt, I'm there for you -- on demand

Hey kids, if you live in the Tampa Bay area and pay ghastly sums to Bright House for cable...you can now get my televised schtick for free whenever you want! What a (cough) bargain! Last Friday, I taped a 5-minute JoBros bit with Bay News 9's incandescent Danielle Belusky outside of the St. Pete Times Forum. Here's a sneak peek. If you want the full "on demand" experience, go to Ch. 340, then follow the magic trail from Special Coverage to Jonas Brothers to Concert Preview. Oh, and turn down the volume. 'Cause apparently I CAN'T CONTROL THE VOLUME OF MY VOICE.

Jonas Brothers in Tampa: Was this the beginning of the end for Nick, Joe and Kevin?

So I’m hanging with the Jonas Brothers, three kids from Wyckoff, N.J., who also happen to be the world’s biggest pop stars. It’s just the four of us — plus dozens of reporters, band members, fans, lookie-loos, all gathered ’round a swimming pool at the Saddlebrook Resort in Tampa.

It’s September 2008, not even a full year ago, and Nick, Joe and Kevin — cutie-pie Disney products with shy smiles and Aladdin’s hair — are in town for a concert at Ford Amphitheatre. They are humble and low-key and polite; at one point, Joe gives me a fist-bump, ’cause that’s just the way we roll, ya know?

The guys are loose, candid even — until it’s time for a formal press conference, and then they turn into audio-animatronic versions of themselves. Joe, the fan-proclaimed Funny One, is asked about his swoony relationship with country star Taylor Swift. He is straight-faced, gracious, coy: “She’s a wonderful girl. Anyone would be lucky to meet her.”

It’s a careful, cardboard line, but they way he delivers it, with little regard for the gossips, you wonder, just for a second, if the Jonas Brothers, guys in their teens and early 20s, will be the rare 21st century celebs to buck the trend and slow the terminal velocity of popular culture: the ugly tabloid, the snotty ’tudes, the fade into obscurity. Maybe that’s the fist-bump talking, but I had hope.
 
****

It’s now the second week of August 2009. Turn on the Disney Channel, and there’s a good chance you’ll see the video for Paranoid, the Jonas Brothers’ new song, in which the three boys bemoan their cruel fates: being stared at by adoring throngs, dating hot singers with poison pens, living with the stress of being millionaires before they ditch the last strains of puberty.

Paranoid is off their new album, Lines, Vines and Trying Times, a conceptual moanfest about the rigors of being able to date any girl between the ages of 18 and 45. The album includes a song called Much Better, a spiteful breakup doozy on which Joe sings, “Now I’m done with superstars, all the tears on her guitar.” It’s a blatantly mean reference to the song Teardrops on My Guitar by none other than Taylor Swift. The Jonas Brothers are no longer coy about their love lives; they are downright nasty.

You see where this is going. On Tuesday, I will be at the St. Pete Times Forum, where the Jonas Brothers will perform. Last year, their local show sold out in a heartbeat. Seats, however, are still available for Tuesday’s gig. (TICKETS) They are touring behind Lines, Vines, which hasn’t sold nearly as well as their last album, the multiplatinum A Little Bit Longer. Their recent movie, Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience, was expected to be a smash; it wasn’t. Their Disney Channel show, Jonas, has garnered a lukewarm reception; watch an episode, and it’s obvious the guys don’t want to be there.

Now, now, I’m not being a total doomsayer: Despite the vitriolic reaction they get from adult music fans — late-night host Craig Ferguson was rooting for their extinction the other night — the Jonas Brothers have some legit talent. They sing, play, act, write. They’re probably getting more help from writers and handlers than they let on, but that’s okay. Heck, Britney Spears is a creative dead spot, so any initiative on the point of teen stars should be applauded.

But it seems the JoBros aren’t infallible after all. Like Miley Cyrus and Hilary “Who?” Duff before them, they are starting to ebb just as fast as they flowed to the top of the charts. You can blame the fickle nature of young consumers (and middle-aged television execs). But the JoBros, or at least their parents, deserve some tsking-tsking, too: They’re getting tired, snotty, lost in the celebrity jetstream. It was bound to happen, but for a second there, these guys seemed different.

Then again, maybe I’m just mad that they didn’t invite me to hang with them again. I was looking forward to another fist-bump.

Kristinia DeBarge is stuck in my CD player (or: Anybody wanna sell me a car?)

So I'm driving to work this morning in the rusty, trusty MAZD (leave the "A" off for savings!). The odometer says 192,000 miles, and it makes me warm inside thinking that someday soon I'll steer this 1998 champagne-colored beauty over the 200K mark. (Of course, it also makes me feel warm inside 'cause the air conditioner in the MAZD is kaput.) 

Next to me is a satchel full of new CDs. That's the drill, every day, to and from work -- keep popping new albums into the player until I find a good one. First up this morning: a promo copy of teeny-popper Kristinia DeBarge's Exposed album, featuring hit single Goodbye. Kristinia is the 19-year-old daughter of James DeBarge, the '80s king responsible for Who's Holding Donna Now. I'm not expecting greatness.

I figure I'll have Kristinia in the stereo for a few harmless minutes, then I'll put in something much more masculine, like, well, just about anything. I slide the disc into the player and... kragagkragazzzt! It makes a horrible grinding noise, a deathly gurgle -- which, to be honest, is probably preferable to anything on Exposed. But alas, something has gone mechanically wrong. I try to eject Kristinia...nothing. Eject! Eject! Eject! You've got to be kidding me. Pause. Take a big breath. EJECT! EJECT! EJECT!

Now I'm sweating profusely (damn you, air conditioning) and banging on the car stereo (damn you, MAZD!). I'm swerving all over the road, punching the dashboard, the console, the steering wheel. Why does God hate me so much?! 

I'm also realizing that someone will have to fix this, and that someone will be pulling Kristinia DeBarge out of my CD player, and that someone will laugh at me and poke me with sticks. Why couldn't I have been listening to Dylan or Motley Crue? Hell, I'd take Helen Reddy at this point. But Kristinia DeBarge? That's like getting a porn tape stuck in your VCR -- or, um, so I heard from, like, this guy once.

The love I felt for the MAZD has been replaced with a steady, sweaty mantra: IneedanewcarIneedanewcarIneedanewcar. Who cares about 200,000 miles! I have a DeBarge problem.

I finally give up, wipe a tsumami of sweat off my brow and turn on the radio. But there's nothing but static. That's when I remember the radio antenna snapped off a few weeks ago. The MAZD is dead. Long live the MAZD.

Mail Bonding: 'Woodstock: 40 Years On: Back to Yasgur's Farm' & other delectables

One of the great perks of my job is opening my mail. This is especially "perky" the first day after vacation -- re-entry day, if you will --  when I can put off any actual work by taking solace in my parcels.

I had some nice stuff waiting for me today, including a big ass 6CD Rhino box called Woodstock: 40 Years On: Back to Yasgur's Farm. Now, I gotta be honest: I don't care that much about Woodstock. That's probably a sad thing for a music fan to say -- and a bad thing for a music critic to say. But alas, it's true. When I see the pictures, I'm glad I wasn't there. Despite its counter-cultural importance, the whole thing seemed, well, inconvenient.

For me, the most interesting aspect of the N.Y. festival that ran August 15-18, 1969 was that Sha Na Na somehow got an invite. Oh sure, the Jimi Hendrix thing is cool and iconic. But c'mon, Jon "Bowzer" Bauman was there, too? Doing that weird thing with his fists?! That would make a grotesquely interesting story, don'tcha think? I'm gonna try and get that guy on the phone. Hope he's not busy.

Anyway, here's some other stuff I found in my mailbox today:

Mac McAnally -- Down by the River
Loudon Wainwright III -- High Wide & Handsome
Patty Loveless -- Mountain Soul II
Ian Hunter -- Man Overboard
Ashley Tisdale -- Guilty Pleasure: Exclusive U.S. Version
Demi Lovato -- Here We Go Again
Joe Henry -- Blood From Stars  

SD's Favorite Pop Soundtracks (or: Happy Anniversary, Purple Rain)

As a kid who loved both movies and music — not to mention conjuring suave cinematic fantasies of action, adventure and Christie Brinkley in a two-piece — I grew up with as many soundtracks in my collection as regular records. So with Prince’s Purple Rain turning 25 next week, it got me thinking about my other fave soundtracks, all 10 of which, no matter how old or weird, I still spin on the player all the time.

The Graduate (1967) Dave Grusin’s ripe cocktail swing puckishly frames the youthful freedoms of Simon and Garfunkel’s ethereal pop. April Come She Will gets me every time. (Fun Fact: The famous "leg" in the poster is not Anne Bancroft's. It's Linda Gray's. Yep, of Dallas fame.)

Superfly (1972) From the title track to Freddie’s Dead, Curtis Mayfield’s street serenade is sexy, cool and utterly terrifying.

Pat Garrett & Billy the Kid (1973) Bob Dylan’s foray into soundtracking includes Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door plus a soft, jingle-janglin’ saloon score. I bought this on CD at the Princeton Record Exchange, then played it in my crappy rental car as I cruised around campus. Total bliss.

Grease (1978) If we’re talking Travolta dance flicks, I’ll take the bawdy ’50s fun of Greased Lightning over Saturday Night Fever’s ’70s-sparkly Stayin’ Alive.

The Electric Horseman (1979) Willie Nelson owns Side 1 of this underrated gem, from his crackly take on the Allmans’ Midnight Rider to the bittersweetly spare Hands on the Wheel. Catch me at the right time -- say midnight, alone in my office, can't sleep -- and I'll tell you this is my favorite soundtrack of all.

National Lampoon’s Vacation (1983) As well as having hits by the Ramones and the Pointer Sisters, this fun, cheeky road-tripper is bookended by two great Lindsey Buckingham cuts: Holiday Road and Dancing Across the U.S.A. This sucker is pretty rare and rather expensive (at least on CD).

Some Kind of Wonderful (1987) For all the verbal zip of John Hughes movies, the director also had killer taste in music. This soundtrack stars ’80s one-hitters Flesh for Lulu (I Go Crazy) and Lick the Tins (a cover of Can’t Help Falling in Love). Sadly, Charlie Sexton's climactic Beat So Lonely (an extended version, no less) is not on here.

Pulp Fiction (1994) You could go with any Quentin Tarantino soundtrack and you’d be in happenin’ shape. (I was this close to picking Reservoir Dogs.) Still dig the surfy, switchblade licks of Dick Dale’s Misirlou kicking off the bloody party. 

Toy Story (1995) There are myriad reasons why Pixar has a winning streak unmatched in modern cartoonage. One of those is the reliance on big-hearted satirist Randy Newman to provide the music. Here he matches adult cynicism (Strange Things) with chummy tyke sing-alongs (You’ve Got a Friend in Me).

Slumdog Millionaire (2008) Composer A. R. Rahman’s Bollywood-meets-techno score, plus devilish help from Sri Lankan hip-hopper M.I.A., helped make this beat-mad soundtrack a crossover smash.

Ashley Tisdale: Five reasons why millions of tweens (and one doughy music critic) love her

Ashley Tisdale's new album, the titularly self-aware Guilty Pleasure, comes out next Tuesday. Her new movie, Aliens in the Attic, arrives next Friday. That’s a whole lot of Tiz coming at you. So because Pop Life is rife with haters and naysayers, here are five awesome reasons why the 24-year-old is more than another vapid Disney doll:

1) Tisdale is a bad singer. But here’s the thing: Whether she’s vamping as HSM’s Sharpay “Fabulous” Evans or warbling her bubblicious pop, Tisdale is seldom overproduced or monstrously pitch-tuned. Why? Because unlike, say, Vanessa Hudgens, Tisdale has an actual personality, and it’s based on charming imperfection.

2) Tisdale is a good comedian. Her deliciously vain Sharpay was the saving grace of the HSM flicks. And while gamboling with twins Zack & Cody on the Disney Channel, she proved a slapstick star. I like a girl who can take a pie in the face.

3) Tisdale’s grandfather, Arnold Morris, created the Ginsu knife craze. Oh, please, don’t pretend that’s not cool.

4) Tisdale is not sleazy. In a day and age when her Hollywood peers are getting caught on sex tape or wrapping Ferraris around parking meters, we only see Tisdale on TV and in magazines when she wants us to. Sure, she did give a lapdance to an Obama impersonator, but it was funny and, more importantly, totally unconvincing.

5) Tisdale is pretty, but not THAT pretty. When Tisdale went out and got herself a new schnoz, the rhino-response was vitriolic. But people were upset mainly because we already have enough perfecto Barbies out there. Tiz was cool because she had a giant beak. Although we miss her old honker, she’s still unconventionally lovely — a little mousey, a little gangly — a decent message for kids who don’t look like Brit-Brit. Of course, if she gets a boob job, she’s dead to me.

Let's Get Guilty! What pop songs bring you great joy...in private, with the windows up?

For Sunday's Pop Life print column, I'm owning up to all the dirty lil' soft hits lurking in my iPod. Why, hello Seals & Crofts! I see you hiding, England Dan & John Ford Coley! You can't have Captain without Tennille! You say Neil! I say Sedaka! And yes, Engelbert is in da house, too. After the Lovin', baby!

I'll post my own Guilty Pleasure Playlist later in the week. But for now, I wanna hear about your sordid affair with Peabo Bryson or Air Supply or Barry Manilow or James Ingram. You got a few pieces of Bread? Man, I have loaves of the stuff! You know all the words to The Little Mermaid soundtrack? Hell, I got the dance moves to go with 'em!

54 years ago today...Disneyland opens to laughing children, crying parents

That's right, Mouseketeers: 54 years ago today, seconds before Disneyland swallowed its first lookee-loos, chain-smoking Uncle Walt took that infamous stroll through Sleeping Beauty Castle (it's Cinderella's joint in Orlando), surveying his "architecture of reassurance" before it went live. Love that picture. This is what he told the throngs (mostly the press) on opening day:

To all who come to this happy place: welcome. Disneyland is your land. Here age relives fond memories of the past and here youth may savor the challenge and promise of the future. Disneyland is dedicated to the ideals, the dreams, and the hard facts that have created America...with the hope that it will be a source of joy and inspiration to all the world..

Since that speech, 515 million people have visited the Anaheim, Calif., park (although that opening day was a major mess -- all Mouse House hell broke loose).

As the Forever Fiancee will tell you with a dramatic eye-roll, I'm an unabashed Disney apologist, from obsessing about Hidden Mickeys to nerding out over Mr. Toad memorabilia. I have no problem with the notion of going to a park and relying not on my own imagination, but someone else's. As the father of two young daughters, I'm often swearing, sweating, bemoaning my fate as I wait 50 minutes for a 30-second Dumbo ride. I get the grotesqueries. I do. And yet, I always return. (For all the FF's mocking, for Father's Day she bought me two drool-worthy books: Designing Disney: Imagineering and the Art of the Show and Walt Disney's Legends of Imagineering and the Genesis of the Disney Theme Park.)

To celebrate Disneyland's anniversary, here's the coolest Disney song of all time, brought to you by Phil "Baloo" Harris and those songwriting Sherman Brothers.