Live Review: The Black Keys, Philadelphia, PA, July 30, 2010

California quartet the Morning Benders were supposed to open for the Black Keys but were replaced with Kurt Vile due to illness. This burgeoning Philly-based solo artist, formerly of the War On Drugs, came to the rescue promoting his Square Shells EP (Matador). Vile, backed by guitar and harp, describes his sound on his website as “when u wake from a long and glorious slumber, then u realize u don’t have to go to work, then u fall back into long and glorious slumber,” which seems lovely. Live, however, it sort of put the crowd to sleep. Perhaps it was because many fans were expecting to hear the Morning Benders. Or perhaps it was the dreamy, echoey tunes Vile crafts laid over the lapping river down at Penn’s Landing that lulled the audience into a haze. After Vile’s set, the Black Keys certainly had their work cut out for them.

As the lights came up onstage, a buzz began trickling through the crowd until everyone was on their feet, frenzied to see the Akron, Ohio, duo and their powerful blues-influenced rock. Patrick Carney (drums) and Dan Auerbach (guitar, vocals) are promoting the recent Brothers (Nonesuch), a 15-track album with Auerbach’s soulful vocals, stark lyrics and classic blues imagery.

The duo began with an ultra-high-energy “Thickfreakness,” followed by a heart-heavy “Girl Is On My Mind.” By this second song, a dripping, red-faced Carney ditched his signature black, thick-rimmed glasses, then ripped into “10 A.M. Automatic” as if possessed. TBK truly showed the power of two with clap-a-long blowout “Strange Times.” Just as I began to wonder how the two would complete the set without running out of steam, Auerbach and Carney were joined by a backing band (bass, keyboards).

“Everlasting Light” showcased Auerbach’s pleading falsetto, a surprising foil for his usual, deep-rooted growl. Even without the cute back-up “ooo-waah”s provided by Nicole Wray on the album, it retained the same raw emotion live, complete with Auerbach’s shredding outro. Then was bitter-boy anthem “Next Girl,” which had every baseball-capped man-boy in the audience united with one fist in the air, promising, “My next girl will be nothing like my ex-girl.” The call-and-response riffs bounced from guitar to bass, and the live rendition was more energized rock than the thick, heavy sound on the album. Auerbach, one of those performers who seems to thrust all of his energy into the tips of his fingers, the rest of his body moving on its own accord, swayed to the front of the stage during a solo. A fan lamely tossed a single plastic-wrapped rose toward Auerbach’s feet as he retreated. “Aww,” he smiled, “I feel like Pavarotti!”

The ominous, organ-sounding keys floated over Auerbach’s simultaneous maraca and guitar playing on “Chop And Change,” which rolled into the buzzy “Howlin’ For You.” The crowd-pleasing “Tighten Up” shined with a longer, bluesy bridge that brought the whole song to a fever pitch. Next up was the image-evoking “She’s Long Gone,” whose lyrics shine through Auerbach’s throaty vocals, “Her eyes are rubies and pearls/And she’s not made like those other girls/Her lashes flap and they smack men back/Like springs they bounce off of her curls.”

“10 Cent Pistol,” a tale of a jealousy-induced double murder really shined; Carney held back as Auerbach crooned, “The couple screamed/But far too late/A jealous heart did retaliate,” drawing out the last word as the lights went to black. The audience attempted to clap just as the lights came back up in sync with Carney’s pick-up to finish the last driving chorus.

After a passionate “I Got Mine,” Auerbach thanked the Philly audience graciously, and the two left the stage as the crowd demanded more, the front rows pounding on the lip of the stage like thunder. They returned for an encore, playing the regal “Too Afraid To Love You” and gospel tune “Sinister Kid.” To close, a fervent, rebellious “‘Till I Get My Way.” It’s the kind of song that sums up the work of the Black Keys, with its simple lyrics, percussion and Southern bluesy guitar all together with that demanding, soulful voice Auerbach provides. Amen, brother.

—Cristina Perachio; photo by Kelly McManus

Live Review: Admiral Radley, Escalon, CA, July 24, 2010

The initial tour of duty of Admiral Radley came to a fitting conclusion in a steaming barn just outside Escalon, Calif. last night. Nothing could have been more appropriate. Jason Lytle and Aaron Burtch (both formerly of revered Modesto, Calif., indie-rockers Grandaddy), along with Aaron Espinoza and Ariana Murray (who once toiled similar fields with Fresno-based combo Earlimart), played most of their debut album I Heart California (Ship) to about 65 adoring Central Valley friends and former lovers at the Tea Farm, a working spread owned by Willie C. Taylor. And, yes, as Lytle repeatedly fielded all inquiries weeks before the show, they really intended to play in a barn.

“It’s a genuine, pigeon-shit-stained, cracks-in-the-wall-so-the-sun-comes-streaming-through kind of barn,” Lytle had warned the night before at the penultimate Admiral Radley gig at San Francisco’s Bottom Of The Hill. The bucolic final venue, 10 miles north of Modesto, is one that Burtch, Admiral Radley’s drummer and the human metronome for the Good Luck Thrift Store Outfit (also on the bill last night with Taylor as one of its vocalists), scouted out for the last date of a short West Coast jaunt. The tour also included stops in Golden State heartland towns like Merced, Visalia and Fresno, all places where the thermometer remains in triple digits for most of the summer.

Clad in a straw hat and a well-traveled pair of overalls with no shirt, Taylor, the Tea Farm’s gregarious owner, hasn’t hosted this sort of shindig in more than a year, since he put on shows by local folk/pop bands Come Softly Around Us and Larry & His Flask. “We had some problems with people parking all over the place the last time we tried it,” he says. The $15 admission fee tonight also includes “dinner by Mary Joseph,” a farmhouse buffet that consists of BBQ tri-tip, Italian macaroni, tortillas and grilled corn on the cob. Drinks are BYOB. And they’ve solved the former parking problems by having a young lady usher vehicles into a nearby walnut orchard in an orderly fashion. The heat, well over 100 when you alight from the air-conditioned comfort of your car, hits you like a blast furnace as you stroll up the main driveway toward the barn.

The revelers, here early for Radley’s 7 p.m. starting time, could be refugees from the Charlie Manson family if they’d taken up organic gardening instead of mass murder. It’s a family affair with toddlers wandering freely about the grounds. One moppet is sucking on a plum while talking to her mom in a Betty Boop-like squeal from the top deck of a bunk bed. Another cue-ball-headed kid is wearing muffler-like ear protection. Horns from a longhorn steer are nailed above the one-foot tall stage, and a gaggle of tiny white Christmas-tree lights could be mistaken for a table of devotional candles at stage center. A small disco ball spins lazily overhead, and smoke from the barbecue blows in the barn window.

The profound heat has Murray pressing a cold bottle of water to her flushed cheeks. Espinoza asks a friend in the crowd to toss him a bottle of Aqua Fina, which clanks off an overhead beam and bounces to the floor like a missed field goal that’s hit the crossbar. Eschewing the usual plaid flannel long-sleeve, Lytle is decked out in a faded blue T-shirt with his Levi’s rolled-up, Huck Finn-like around the cuffs, and a pair of flip-flops. As always, he’s tinkering with the underbelly of his keyboard which has “AD RAD” written on duct tape affixed to its front. “Has anybody seen our drummer?” asks Espinoza. Ignoring the no-smoking sign overhead and two strategically located fire extinguishers, Burtch lights yet another smoke before striding onstage.

Somebody slaps on Hank Williams’ “Honky Tonk Blues,” then the Beatles’ “Here Comes The Sun,” before Willie Taylor steps up to the mic. “If you want to talk all night,” warns Taylor, “go somewhere else. We’re here for a rock ‘n’ roll show.”

With its descending eight-note trademark riff, “Ghosts Of Syllables” sounds like the eerie incidental music to David Lynch’s Twin Peaks and immediately introduces you to the voice of Espinoza, a slightly more polished, Elliott Smith-like instrument that’s a perfect blend with Lytle’s own wispy pipes. The two have split the band’s songwriting duties down the middle, which probably alleviates 50 percent of the pressure from Lytle’s shoulders.

An audio sample of Sgt. Preston of the Northwest Mounted Police opening a cabin door in the Yukon during a blizzard actually does seem to cool off the room a little between songs. When Lytle’s not playing his palette of keyboard sounds, he’s adding a Steve Wynn/Lou Reed crunchy rhythm guitar to the mix, a nice antidote to Espinoza’s fuzzed-out fretboard antics.

Burtch barks out “Una, Dua, Treea, Foura” like an Italian Ramone brother for the title song of the new album, “I Heart California” (“I am California/Iced tea in my hair/Drugs fall out of diaper bags/As Midwesterners stare”). It’s a tune that simultaneously explains why Lytle still loves his birth state, as well as why he moved away several years ago to Montana. “I’ll be here when I die,” sings Lytle, re-affirming his intent to maintain his long-distance commuter status.

“This is a helluva fucking barn,” says Espinoza, mopping his brow and glancing at the gap-toothed back wall with one-inch spaces between boards. “I know there are a lotta kids around, but you guys are always dropping the F-bomb, right?” To which one parent in the crowd shouts out, “Fuck ’em.” Oblivious to the rank exchange, a cartoon of surfing mice rolls on behind the band.

“Sunburn Kids” seems a worthy successor to the list-song throne previously occupied by Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues” and R.E.M.’s “It’s The End Of The World As We Know It”: “We’ll be coming out tonight/Clothes all black and skin all white … We burn Germany and Reno … Scotland and Hawaii … Iceland and Toledo … Kansas and Jamaica … We’re sunburn kids and we burn every night and day.” Murray noodles just the right musical motif, from steel drums to ukulele, after each exotic locale. “The Thread,” a moonlit waltz, gives Murray a well-deserved vocal spotlight of her own behind the keyboard, and she takes full advantage.

“Red Curbs” could have sprung from any Grandaddy album with an interstellar backing track of garage-sale synths carrying Lytle’s patented vocal moan to unexplored galaxies. “Ending Of Me,” with its quivering keys and explosive lead guitar, is the perfect blend of the relative strengths of both Espinoza and Lytle. They jam it a little live, but never too long. “Chingas In The West” finds Espinoza apologizing for staying on the road too long.

“GNDN” is probably strung together with quotes from record-company rejection slips and bad reviews of some beloved rock hero. Maybe it’s even Lytle, himself. Some things are better left unknown. One thing’s for sure: It’s Lytle at his lyrical best, pulling rhymes out of his hat like some drug-addled Dr. Seuss: “The critics would say/The sounds you would make/Were so second-rate/And your instruments were fake/Well, of course they were fake/Like the flimsy displays/And the glitter and the latex/Paint on their faces/Scientists would say/It’s not like that in space/And some folks love to hate/But I thought you were great.”

The real, behind-the-scenes hero of this full-moon delight, of course, was the man behind the soundboard, Lytle’s old friend and engineering mentor from his days in Modesto, Lucky Lew. To get such a great sound from a working barn takes an extraordinary talent, and Lew delivered the goods tonight.

When asked why he had committed to a band situation after he promised himself he’d never do this again when Grandaddy folded a few years back, Lytle, as always, responded frankly. “The only time I ever felt bummed doing [Admiral Radley] was when I started thinking, ‘What am I doing? I’m an adult. Why am I getting into a van again to subject myself to this?’ But it helped a lot knowing this was just a one-off.” Here’s hoping Lytle realizes that Admiral Radley is a rare blend of individuals with everyone pulling their weight and that he continues doing this.

Before the band plays “I Left U Cuz I Luft You,” Lytle wraps things up with a heartfelt admission: “I wrote this song for one of the great loves of my life, the god damned Central Valley.” Lytle employs his Beethoven “Moonlight Sonata” piano skills to maximum advantage while Espinoza gets down on the floor to dig into some serious bottleneck guitar work. After that there was nothing left to do. Like all good exotic dishes, the savory main course had become so succulent the meat was falling off the bones. All Lytle could do was turn to the happy throng and say thanks: “I couldn’t have thought of a better way to end this tour.”

—Jud Cost

Live Review: Paul McCartney, San Francisco, CA, July 10, 2010

Paul McCartney returned to the Giants ballpark tonight, but not to the same place he played the last time he brought a foursome to San Francisco, proper, when the Beatles performed what turned out to be their last live show ever in August 1966. That was Candlestick Park, notorious for howling winds and frigid temperatures after dark, a place that was once labeled “a pigsty” by former ’49ers owner Eddie DeBartolo. Nestled on the bay, not far from the towering spires and twinkling lights of the Bay Bridge, with an “intimate” seating capacity of about 40,000, AT&T Park is a real gem. But 44 years later, we’ve put men on the moon and built a sparkling new stadium—and the PA really doesn’t sound much better than the old one did at the ‘Stick.

An inspired visual tribute to the Merseybeat days of the Beatles and an all-but-forgotten array of fellow Liverpool acts like Cilla Black, Gerry & the Pacemakers and the Big Three, spools down a pair of elongated Jumbotron screens on either side of the stage like two giant rolls of toilet paper. The pre-show canned music features an eclectic mix that ranges from jazz songbird Sarah Vaughn and Vegas lounge act Louis Prima to the exotic pop of Sergio Mendes & Brasil ’66 and Otis Redding making “A Hard Days Night” all his own. Good as it was, after 35 minutes most people have tuned out.

Finally, McCartney and his terrific four-piece backing band leap onstage, more than an hour after the scheduled 7:30 starting time, to the anti-climactic strains of “Rock Show,” certainly not one of Macca’s more enduring numbers. Fortunately, “Jet,” one of Wings’ better tunes was followed by a letter-perfect version (down to George Harrison’s pithy original lead-guitar break) of “All My Loving.” But those who thought this was to finally be the nonstop Beatles beggars’ banquet we all hungered for were at the wrong dining table tonight, at least during the first 70 minutes of this 160-minute set. For the opening half of the show, Fab Four classics were sprinkled sparingly, like peanuts at the bottom of a box of Cracker Jack.

“I smell something sweet in the air tonight. I think I’ll take a moment to take it all in,” said McCartney, nodding toward those patrons who will definitely be voting “yes” on November’s California initiative to legalize marijuana. Revolver‘s “Got To Get You Into My Life” with the horn parts nicely replicated by keyboard stops was a real rouser.

Apparently unaware of Mark Twain’s noted assessment of San Francisco’s climate (“The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco”), McCartney asked the crowd what happened to the warm weather, then reminisced about the Beatles’ S.F. appearances in ’64, ’65 and ’66 (the first two at the Cow Palace, just outside the city limits). “The girls were screaming so loud we couldn’t hear anything we were singing. Great memories,” he mused.

Perhaps inspired by Ray Davies’ Storyteller tour a few years back, or head Beach Boy Brian Wilson’s narrative-laced That Lucky Old Sun show from 2008, McCartney was quite chatty tonight. “I was lucky enough to hang out with Jimi Hendrix, a great guitar player and a beautiful guy, very humble, during the summer we recorded Sgt. Pepper,” noted McCartney. “We released the album on a Friday, and on Sunday I went to see Jimi. And he’d learned it by then and played it that night.”

“I wrote the next song for Linda,” says McCartney. “It’s dedicated to all the lovers in the audience.” Heartfelt Wings ballad “My Love” and Beatles chestnut “The Long And Winding Road” seemed all the more poignant in the wake of McCartney’s keen postscripts and dedications to long-gone friends and lovers.

A short memo to self, not to lose his focus—”Don’t get distracted by reading the signs in the crowd,” he said—was immediately ignored by McCartney, as he blurted out the message on a hand-painted banner: “I Saw You At The Cow Palace in 1964! Do You Remember Me?” “Of course I do! How are you, luv?” he laughed. “I’m Looking Through You” from landmark Beatles LP Rubber Soul, heavily influenced by the 1965 folk-rock milestones of the Byrds, was an absolute knockout.

“Blackbird,” with McCartney solo on acoustic guitar was written, he says, about the civil-rights struggles and the suffering going on in the American South back in the ’60s. “I wrote that, in some small way, to maybe give people hope.”

As if the dedication to late wife Linda hadn’t cut deeply enough, McCartney really opened up with “Here Today,” penned for former pal/sometimes adversary John Lennon. “I’ve found you don’t always say the right things,” said McCartney. “Sometimes you have the feeling, ‘I wished I’d said that,’ when it’s too late. I wrote this after my dear friend John passed away.” (“If I said I really knew you well, what would you say?/You’d probably laugh and say that we were worlds apart … But I am holding back the tears no more/I love you.”)

Totally unknown by most of this crowd, “San Francisco Bay Blues” was once a local radio hit by San Francisco one-man band/street musician Jesse Fuller. “We had to do it,” said McCartney. The goodtime piece served as the perfect low-calorie antidote that shook the cobwebs and dust from the evening and lit the fuse for a volcanic finale. “Eleanor Rigby,” with its baroque string quartet arrangement nicely rendered on keyboard, sounded so accurate it might have been the track from Revolver played over the sound system. (Of course, it wasn’t.) One purple-shaded window focused on the stage backdrop immediately expanded into rows and rows and rows of purple-shaded, lonely windows.

“Here’s something I don’t know if you knew about George Harrison: He was a great ukulele player,” said McCartney of his other fallen former bandmate. “I used to go over to his house, and I learned this song on ukulele.” McCartney strummed and sang a marvelous version of “Something” on the Hawaiian fretted instrument that soon turned into a full-blown reading of the standout track from Abbey Road. “Oh, yeah, Georgie!” shouted McCartney as the crowd erupted.

“Band On The Run,” from Wings’ most successful 1974 album of the same name, was accompanied by outtake film footage from the convicts-in-prison-spotlight cover photo shoot that featured band core the McCartneys and former Moody Blues singer Denny Laine along with celebrity drop-ins like actors James Coburn and Christopher Lee, as well as Liverpool light-heavyweight boxing champ John Conteh, among others.

McCartney has finally worked up enough of a sweat to doff his jacket and cut loose with the best of his tracks from the White Album: the ska/Blue Beat-influenced “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” and the Beach Boys-fueled “Back In The U.S.S.R.” It’s a solid one-two roundhouse that gets the old-timers up and out of their seats, gyrating like they did before they turned 64. “U.S.S.R.” is blanketed on the rear of the stage by stunning black-and-white images of wildly spinning Cossack dancers. It’s just as powerful as any drug you can buy on the premises. “Wings did a show in Red Square, and we got to meet the Russian defense minister,” chuckles McCartney. “I dunno, he looked just like a kid to me.”

The endgame happens so quickly you hardly have time to catch your breath between songs. A raucous runthrough of “Paperback Writer” is surrounded by a lurid backdrop of pulp-fiction cover art. And before you can recover, you’re mesmerized by the hauntingly familiar opening strains of “A Day In The Life,” the Wagnerian, death-spiral closer of Sgt. Pepper. Just as they’re about to finish the song with those too-close-to-the-sun chords, everything shifts gears into Lennon anti-war manifesto “Give Peace A Chance.”

The philosophical “Let It Be,” from the final Beatles album, originally produced by Phil Spector, might fool you into thinking the end is near. But no. “Live And Let Die,” Wings’ most exciting track and the theme song from the 1973 James Bond flick with Roger Moore inheriting the franchise from Sean Connery, goes off like an IED in Iraq. A row of flamethrowing onstage smoke pots send fire heavenwards, and the instrumental teaser passages are highlighted twice by a barrage of full-bore fireworks exploding behind the stage to land safely in McCovey Cove, just beyond the right-field wall. it’s an unexpectedly welcome sight in the Bay Area, since most local towns eliminated Fourth of July pyrotechnics displays this year due to extreme budget constraints.

They wrap things up with McCartney seated at the grand piano for the gripping opening passages of “Hey Jude,” the song that even made a Beatles believer out of Mick Jagger in 1968.

But, just as the massive final sound of everyone joining in on a sing-along has ceased to echo from the surrounding hillside, McCartney and the boys are back onstage, toting two flags, the Union Jack and the California bear flag, for an encore that rattles the foundations of AT&T, much like the Loma Prieta earthquake shook old Candlestick back in 1989. It’s the runaway-firetruck headiness of “Day Tripper,” followed by McCartney abandoning the wonky, dayglo keyboard up front at the last second for the trusty old grand piano in the back. “Lady Madonna,” a Beatles tune, supposedly written in 1968 for one of their boyhood heroes, Fats Domino, is followed by “Get Back,” a smoldering number that gives the left-wing Lucky crowd one more chance to light up. And that’s it.

Not so fast. Back again for a second encore. The contemplative “Yesterday,” McCartney’s first solo/Beatles vehicle, is followed by an earsplitting “Helter Skelter,” the White Album screecher rumored to have inspired the Manson Family murders in 1969. The reprise of “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” gives way to Abbey Road finale “The End.” As you can see clearly by now, the love you take really is equal to the love you make.

The funny thing is, I’m thinking on the way back to the train jammed with revelers, he could have played 35 completely different Lennon/McCartney songs, and it might have been an even better show. Let’s hope the cathartic rendering of “Here Today” will open the barn doors for a full-scale mounting of more John-songs and more George-songs. Amazingly, McCartney’s voice, hailed as the finest rock vehicle of all time, remains as strong as ever. He hits every high note with ridiculous ease. It’s pretty obvious, Paul McCartney is sitting on the best back catalog of songs in the history of pop music. It’s high time we heard all of them. Live.

—Jud Cost

Montreal International Jazz Festival, Day 10

It’s the 31st annual Festival International de Jazz de Montréal. MAGNET’s Mitch Myers translates the action.

Part of the charm of being at the fest is that there’s always a few events that, if you can catch them, make you feel especially lucky to be around. Such was the case for me at the Allen Toussaint solo show at the dear, sweet little Gesù Theater. Did I say intimate? The Gesù is nothing if not intimate, and Toussaint was the perfect host, guiding us through his amazing songbook and regaling the crowd with selected reminiscences from an amazing career. If you don’t know, producer/songwriter/arranger/session musician Toussaint has been making records since the ’50s. He’s one of the most influential musicians to come out of New Orleans in the last half-century, and you remember a lot more of his songs than you think. Having relocated to New York City since Katrina while his home in New Orleans was being rebuilt, Toussaint enjoyed an ongoing residency at Joe’s Pub (another intimate venue), where he’s revisited much of the classic material that he performed at the Gesù.

Sitting alone at the piano, Toussaint cut an elegant figure. His singing voice has never been anything to write home about, but he commands such love and respect that it feels like a small detail in a much bigger picture. Playing recurring riffs of his memorable songs, Toussaint gave a fantastic history lesson in American music as he described writing and arranging and producing hits for New Orleans characters like Ernie K-Doe (“Mother In-Law”) and Lee Dorsey (“Working In A Coal Mine”). His song “Fortune Teller” was covered by the Rolling Stones, trumpeter Al Hirt had a big hit with “Java,” and Herb Alpert scored with a Toussaint melody that ended up as the theme of the 60s TV show The Dating Game. It should be noted that Toussaint was more than dexterous on keys, playing jazzy, classically, R&B funky and just plain pretty.

As Toussaint played these songs and strung together these amazing stories, a far bigger picture of the man began to emerge. Talk about mailbox money? Can you imagine the songwriting royalties Toussaint must receive? His songs have been covered by artists like the Yardbirds and Warren Zevon (“A Certain Girl”), Boz Scaggs and Bonnie Raitt (“What Do You Want The Girl To Do?”) and, of course, the Pointer Sisters (“Yes We Can Can”). Don’t forget, Toussaint arranged the horns for The Band’s performance at The Last Waltz. And for every great tune I mention, there are dozens more; this would include his acclaimed CD with Elvis Costello, The River In Reverse. Toussaint even performed his ever-enduring motto “Everything I Do Is Gonna Be Funky (From Now On).”

The high point of the evening was Toussaint’s 20-minute discourse over the theme from “Southern Nights,” which was a huge hit for Glen Campbell in the ’70s. As his hands ruminated over the lovely melody, Toussaint recalled his early childhood and family car trips out to the countryside to see his Creole relatives who refused to come into the city. His words painted a picture of love and serenity and childlike wonder and evoked the quiet, beautiful evenings that obviously inspired this tune.

In 2009 Toussaint taped a two-hour edition of Austin City Limits, but somebody has to get this solo show down on film before it’s too late. The Gesù gig was an education, as well as an emotionally laden experience that served as a perfect tribute to this essential American artist. Tonight, Toussaint will perform again, this time heading a brilliant band and performing the classic jazz material found on his critically acclaimed CD from last year, The Bright Mississippi. As Toussaint explains it, New Orleans, La., is the jewel of the Mississippi River, hence the name The Bright Mississippi. Got it? For his encore, Toussaint played a couple of tunes from the LP and a short version of “On Your Way Down,” which was covered by Little Feat back in the day. This was a request from the Gesù audience shouted out by yours truly. Thanks again, Allen.

By the way, after dazzling the crowd for two hours, Toussaint went back to his hotel, cleaned up a bit and went out again to play onstage with Cyndi Lauper. Who Dat!