Johnette Napolitano at the Canal Room, New York, NY
May 16, 2007

It was pouring as I ambled to the entrance of the swank Canal Room. I lifted my head right in time to see a woman say to the bouncer, "Oh, but I'm performing tonight." Once again, I come within three feet of greatness and I nearly keel over. Last month, Debbie Harry. This month, the voice of Concrete Blonde. You'd think that with all the practice I've been getting lately that I'd be able to conjure up a semblance of cool. But no.

Inside, a pale punk wearing a Crass t-shirt stood alongside a balding, beer-bellied dude in a pink-and-turquoise striped polo shirt who stood alongside a dude wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt displaying a thatch of grey chest hair. Suburban lesbians ordered drinks next to a smartly dressed cigar bar crowd who ordered drinks next to biker chicks in tight jeans and boots. Napolitano's fan base is motley to say the least. But it's a testament to her compelling charms, not the least of which is her voice that could fill every crack in the Grand Canyon. Our Boss Publisher likes to compare Napolitano to "a gem among a lot of garbage." There are a lot of good voices out there. But there are precious few as distinguished and revealing as Napolitano's. One listen to Concrete Blonde's hit "Joey" and you're hit with what feels like the ancestry of a thousand battered souls.

"Welcome to the 'Bring the Doom' tour," announced Napolitano from the stage. The day after she left San Francisco, the bridge fell. The day after she left New Jersey, there were wildfires. She shook her head and shrugged. "Be careful everyone!" She's touring in support of Scarred, her first official solo album. Onstage in a flowing black dress, she played her acoustic guitar as if aiming to break the strings. The new songs switch between bursts of fiery emotion to Concrete Blonde-y, desert-influenced meditations. She was breathing heavily, mixing rambling verse with strident cries that pierced the cheesy club's mood lighting. One song detailed friends barhopping on the boulevard: "It seemed we'd live forever and life wasn't that hard." Then Napolitano broke into "Rehab" by Amy Winehouse and flashed a smile. Here and there, the songs were flecked with Latin and southwestern influences. Throughout, Napolitano's voice would go from a dark cloud to a bolt of lightning.

Almost as entertaining were her hilarious quips. Among the many:
"I'm voting for Hilary," Napolitano said. "A woman deserves four years to fuck up 200 years worth of male rule. Obama, baby, get on the VP ticket."
"You got [burlesque star] Dita Von Teese [performing] the same night. She's awesome. I can't compete with that shit."
"The humidity is killing me. I'm shvitzing up here."
"I just wanted to write a Willie Nelson song. He smokes seven joints a day because [he said] 'If I didn't, I'd kill someone.' ... He's Willie Nelson! Are you gonna call him unpatriotic?! NO."
"My shrink says I don't need meds. I think I do."

Two special guests made appearances. The first was axe-slinger Cecilia Villar of NYC band Eljuri. "I call her the female Santana!" shouted Napolitano. The two did a duet on Concrete Blonde's "Mexican Moon," with Villar handling the solo. Napolitano stomped her boots and shifted her hips like a flamenco dancer. By the end, she was bowing at Villar and throwin' the horns. "How fuckin' rad was that!" she shrieked to her drummer. Second guest Steve Wynn joined Napolitano for a sweet, playful cover of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' "The Ship Song."

Napolitano dedicated a song to the city of New Orleans and her late brother Robert who passed away last year at the age of 26. The crowd applauded reverently until Napolitano opened her mouth and sang the word "Joey." It caught everyone off guard and some poor lady accidentally screamed one of those "holy shit oh my god" screams. This was only trumped by Napolitano's encore. An a cappella version of "Tomorrow Wendy" adjusted for the political climate. "They say goodbye, tomorrow more Iraqi kids and American soldiers are going to die. They say goodbye, may I ask when is George Bush going to fuckin' die." I got goosebumps on my scalp as severe as mumps, felt the backs of my knees quiver, and thought I was going to barf and/or cry. If this isn't the purpose of being alive, I don't know what is.

– JEANNE FURY