The notion that something veiled can be more alluring than something in plain view—the way, for example, that a partially clothed person can be sexier than someone wearing nothing at all—goes a long way toward explaining the performing prowess of Bobby “Blue” Bland and Al Green. Both singers are Memphis legends of the first order and both have perfected the art of wooing and satisfying an audience. What Bland and Green understand so well is that, as much as anything they reveal, it’s what they leave out of a performance—the words they don’t sing, the times they hold something back—that tantalizes their fans and leaves them breathless.
This power of suggestion—the ability to capture a listener’s heart and imagination—was certainly in evidence when the two men brought their road shows to Tennessee State University’s Gentry Center Friday night. As part of a dream double bill, Bland and Green—middle-aged at 66 and 50, respectively—not only projected undeniable sensuality, but did it the hard way, by enticing rather than pandering to their audience.
Bland, in his seventh decade and not in the best of health, doesn’t have much of a choice anymore. But that’s really beside the point: He’s always epitomized smoldering rather than explosive passion. Possessed of a Sinatra-like charisma, only warmer and more down-home, Bland’s cool sophistication has been his calling card ever since the early ’50s when, after a stint as B. B. King’s chauffeur, he signed with Duke Records and went on to become the undisputed master of the modern blues ballad.
Bland’s appearance at TSU Friday night —he was dressed in an elegant tuxedo and backed by an equally immaculate horn and rhythm orchestra—proved no exception. Whether wrapping his supple voice around the mournful “St. James Infirmary,” or coaxing “Share Your Love with Me” to its magnificently understated climax, Bland never hurried a note. From the moment, early on, that he loosened his collar and summoned his valet to come collect his necktie, Bland sang like someone for whom the height of lovemaking is finding that deep, slow, abiding groove.
Bland’s energy sometimes flagged—the man is nearly 70—but his vocals only occasionally lacked authority, something that was most noticeable on “Further On Up the Road” and on a misguided, though funky, number that he dedicated to the younger people in the crowd. The rest of the time, and especially on signature songs like “I Pity the Fool” and “That’s the Way Love Is,” he paced himself marvelously, punctuating his performances with cooing falsettos and throaty growls. Though the latter technique at times felt predictable, its bedroom appeal often elicited shrieks of delight from some of the women at Gentry Center.
Al Green’s boundless enthusiasm provided the perfect complement to Bland’s debonair reserve. The younger singer used every ounce of his effusive charm, including animated strutting and facial expressions, to connect with his audience. On the eve of his 50th birthday—and just hours after having the mayor name the day after him—Green, dressed in a light-colored suit accented with a scarlet handkerchief, cut as lithe and sexy a figure as a man half his age.
Appearing onstage with roses for the audience—how’s that for romantic?—Green opened his set with the kind of sanctified material you’d expect to hear at the church he now pastors in Memphis. The show’s early emphasis on gospel music culminated with the irrepressible “Everything Is Gonna Be Alright,” a churning, funky number highlighted by the chicken-scratch guitar of Larry Lee and Hammond B-3 organ of Johnny Brown.
Green then launched into some of his biggest hits from his years at Hi Records with producer Willie Mitchell. This retrospective, but far from nostalgic, portion of the show actually began with a chorus from Green’s 1967 pre-Mitchell R&B hit, “Back Up Train,” a song that he recalled singing at Nashville’s Hideaway Club in 1969. “Let’s Stay Together,” “Call Me (Come Back Home)” and Green’s definitive version of the Bee Gees’ “How Can You Mend A Broken Heart” followed, the latter to wildly enthusiastic cheers.
Throughout the evening, Green not only invited people to come down to the altar—er, stage—he frequently turned the microphone toward the legions of fans who couldn’t help but sing along. This move might have proven disastrous in the hands of a lesser performer, but with Green it was just one of the ways, along with his repeated forays into the crowd, that he achieved intimacy with his audience. That he did so without taking off his coat or tie—and almost without breaking a sweat—was all the more remarkable.
After pleasing the crowd with hits and favorites for most of the night, Green hushed his band and offered a brief testimony. The revelation that followed—a grinding version of Green’s self-penned “Take Me to the River,” redone explicitly as a baptismal hymn—proved one of the show’s crowning moments. Despite, or perhaps because of, its inspirational content, the song was as emotionally charged as ever—the Holy Ghost never sounded so sexy.
The benediction-like feel of Kris Kristofferson’s “For the Good Times,” which followed on the heels of the stirring “Jesus Will Fix It,” gave the proceedings an air of finality. But, as Green unbuttoned his double-breasted jacket for the first time all evening, it was obvious he wasn’t done yet. Indeed, after the smoldering funk of “I Can’t Get Next to You,” and a version of Sam Cooke’s “Bring It On Home to Me” that provided a glimpse of what the late soul singer might have sounded and looked like had he reached age 50, Green slyly said, “I think it’s time to go to work.” Even before he added, “You can stand up because I’m gonna jam this booger all the way home,” everyone knew that it was time for “Love and Happiness.”
Green had enticed the audience with the promise of the song all evening, both by incorporating its lyrics into his monologues and by having Larry Lee toy with the first notes of its unmistakable guitar intro. The extended version of the song with which Green closed the show, and which included portions of “Tired of Being Alone” and Otis Redding’s “(Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay,” was well worth the wait. Still, it wasn’t until the band brought the medley back around to “Love and Happiness” and Green got ready to leave the stage that he finally took off his coat.
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