WHEN TICKETMASTER sent me an email alert that Duffy, the 19-year-old Welsh songstress, was coming to the Orpheum, of course I jumped on the chance to buy 5th row at face. I was blown away by her album "Rockferry." I'd first heard the title track on Indie 103 and immediately downloaded the album. She has a retro Dusty Springfield sound. Like Amy Winehouse minus the crack cocaine.
"Do you know anything about Duffy live?" I asked Dexter, my 20-something IT guy and music afficionado. Dexter has worked for my company for 4 years as our tech guru and magazine production manager. He also spins records as a freelance DJ. He is my walking google for music and tech.
"I heard she was great at Coachella," he responded from across the room.
That was enough for me. I purchased the tickets and called my fellow rock chick Natascha to reserve the date. Tascha and I have been seeing live music together for years now. We tend towards the classics (Areosmith, Stones, Roger Waters), but also do alt (Cat Power, Kings of Leon, Arcade Fire). I'm more alt than she is, but the most fabulous thing about Tascha is that she will say yes to anything. She doesn't have to know the musician beforehand to enjoy them live. (I do.)
Tasch picks me up and we head downtown to the Orpheum, which is a gorgeous old-time theater recently remodelled in a very seedy part of skid row. Inside we check out our seats and park ourselves with some beers, catching up before the show starts. The stage set-up is Sinatra-esque. The opening act is a chubby white guy in a lime green suit who sounds like Sam Cooke. Very odd visual/aural disconnect.
Then Duffy comes out. Jeez, what the hell is she wearing? White satin short culottes, pantihose and white high heels. She has a chubby backside and no business being in that outfit. Not sure if she can recover from this. She launches into one of the tracks from her album, and the crowd goes mental. "We love you, Duffy," they croon. I look around and suddenly realize she has a heavy gay male client base. They are dancing, singing along. That part I don't mind. I like passionate audiences. However, guys, there are limits.
She launches into "Rockferry," a beautiful anthem that showcases her vocal range. That was the highlight of the show. She continued on through her material and I started to notice the dorkiness of her stage presence, which included marching in place and twirling the microphone by its cord. Then she would turn sideways and repeat the marching and twirling.
"Yeah, that move doesn't get old," Tasch whispered.
Not sure what I was expecting. Something retro in an elegant way, "Swingers"-esque. What we got was approaching campy without being cool. Dumb camp. The songs kept rolling on. The crowd was pretty much on its feet, save for a swath of the audience that sat there sort of terrified.
"I've got to get you to the Rainbow Room, and fast," Tasch said, referencing the famous rock 'n roll venue on Sunset. "I think we need more alcohol. I'll get you a beer."
As she maneuvered her way past our gyrating row mates, the set lights turned blue. "Turn away," she said in a loud whisper, "turn away from the sparkly lights."
The AC/DC we played at concert volume on the drive home hit the spot.
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