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Note:Mighty good company here Susan !!
FRI OCTOBER 21
Gwen Stefani at the Hollywood Bowl.
Besides bringing the word “bananas” back into the current pop-culture vernacular, Miss Stefani did something a lot more significant with her dance-music release Love. Angel. Music. Baby — she filled the void left by Madonna. Every little girl needs a strong, sexy and stylish icon to aspire to be like, and, let’s face it, that was never Britney nor Christina. Gwen’s new stuff might be mostly dance fluff, but her unmistakably creamy vocals and punk-chick chutzpah make it all shine brighter than Swarovski. And long before she started bumping booties with Moby and Eve, her ska-swayed singing with No Doubt kinda foreshadowed this funky-diva incarnation, didn’t it? Judging from her assiduous performances onstage with Anaheim’s finest, her first solo show is sure to be nothing less than the shit. 2301 N. Highland Ave. (213) 480-3232. (Lina Lecaro)
Susan Cowsill at McCabe’s.
Susan Cowsill’s childhood was spent as a pop princess, performing and recording a slew of hot-pink bubblegum with her notorious family act, the Cowsills, specialists in wholesome good cheer so picture perfect that they made the Brady Bunch look like marauding Clockwork Orange droogies. The older, wiser Cowsill began staking out more substantive turf in the mid-’90s, relocating to New Orleans, joining the Continental Drifters, and cooking up a far-grittier song style that has finally been captured on Just Believe It, her well-received debut solo album. But Hurricane Katrina not only left her homeless, it also may have claimed her still-missing brother, Barry. Cowsill brings a heavy heart and, no doubt, some equally weighty music to the stage tonight. (Jonny Whiteside)
The Black Crowes at the Henry Fonda Theater.
The Robinson brothers should be just about warmed up tonight (the third show in the Black Crowes’ five-night stand at the Fonda), and if you’re hoping for blues-stompin’ goodies from such early albums as Shake Your Money Maker, you won’t be disappointed — we hear they’ve been busting it all out on this reunion tour. And why not? After each pursued forgettable individual projects (Chris’ solo acoustic stuff was particularly dull), maybe they figured out that it’s only their chemistry together — Rich’s relentless riffing, which seamlessly goes from metallic to sweet & jangly, and Chris’ rowdy rag-doll swagger (hopefully, it hasn’t wilted now that he’s a daddy) — that makes the Crowes crackle. Perhaps they missed the friction onstage. Fans of their Faces-flavored rock (which is so not-trendy right now) sure did. 6126 Hollywood Blvd. Also Sat.-Sun. (Lina Lecaro)
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