It’s easy to forget that Avril Lavigne is only 27. She has, after all been a part of the musical landscape for a decade, selling more than 40 million albums around the world, while delivering a steady string of moppet pop singles such as Sk8er Boi, Complicated, Girlfriend and What the Hell.
She’s released two fragrances, her own clothing line, and is a sought-after spokesperson. She also went through a high-profile wedding and then, not surprisingly, soon-after, a divorce with fellow petulant Canuck snot rocker Deryck Whibley, who also partially produced her fifth (!) and latest album Goodbye Lullaby.
The young star from small-town Ontario has lived 10 full and notable years of her life before our very eyes and ears, and, yet incredibly, here she is, still three years shy of her 30th birthday.
Which all makes it weird that perhaps the only real reminder of her fairly young age is Lavigne, herself, and a career that seems, almost tragically, stuck in a retarded (note: not the Jr. High School sense of the term) musical state. She can say it, we can see it, the calendar flips can confirm it, but the singer-songwriter has not grown, clinging to only a slightly modified version of the Gap-punk teen she portrayed at the very beginning of our awareness of her talents — and, yes, vocally she has always owned an abundance of that, which is the most confounding thing.
Her show Tuesday night at the Saddledome only proved that fact and how fatal an error it’s been. Not only because it was so woefully unattended — if she were an NHL team, Quebec City, hell, Kansas City would be planning the press conference — but because it was so obviously stuck in that charade that she’s an artist for those who still need training wheels.
Jesus, Lavigne herself doesn’t believe it anymore, as she was the epitome of playing a role, and mailing it in, at that. It really was sad, watching and hearing hollow and lifeless versions of frivolous fare such as Sk8er Boi, What the Hell and He Wasn’t early on into the show and tepid later takes on Girlfriend and Smile, watching her do the same performance she’s done in previous trips to the Dome, in front of a new crop of glo-stick waving kids.
She could be a diva — she has a powerful, unique and superb voice as demonstrated on material such as Don’t Tell Me and especially Alice, a pretty stunning low-tempo track that was, not shockingly, appreciated but with a muted and polite reception.
But, instead, she still wants to try to compete with the Ke$has and Katy Perrys, who are doing far more enjoyable material, and far more entertaining and memorable concerts in the crowded genre and field.
Her atrocious live presence and stage show — especially for a seasoned veteran — consisted merely of hand-waving and indifferent ambling, and as for interaction with the fans, it was scripted and distant, the banal comments used to elicit a response from an inexperienced and forgiving audience. And ultimately, there was little to appreciate onstage other than tasteful interior design — a bold curtain backdrop and mood lighting! — and a band that adequately performed songs that sounded OK, yet not too removed from the way they are on record.
To make matters worse, the entire tempo of the relatively brief show — 90 minutes — was flat, with seemingly zero interest to pump things up or change the mood of the evening. Even a mash-up with B.o.B. hit Airplanes and Lavigne’s own My Happy Ending was tossed off with an utter lack of cheeky joy or acknowledgment that it was something different.
Because it wasn’t. Because, sadly, she isn’t. And, even sadder, doesn’t appear to want to be. And if there was any real question about her inability, or perhaps fear, of moving on and leaving a dwindling young fan base behind, her trio of opening acts and their equally as grade-schoolcentric cack and preteen pandering cemented the deal.
Opening the show was Lavigne guitarist Evan Taubenfeld, who sat centre stage with a guitar while Blink-182 whining a pocketful of Disney Channel tunes such as Pumpkin Pie and Cheater of the Year — songs that could be effortlessly and, more importantly, safely sandwiched between reruns of The Suite Life of Zack and Cody and Pair of Kings. Sure, in his banter he swore up a storm, but it was in an almost embarrassing, delusionally sensitive tuff-guy way, that let you know he was aware the room was awash with jailbait, but that he had his sights set on the moms,
The two following bands — Las Vegas act The Cab and Montrealers The New Cities — were both in the crush-friendly Vibe/Virgin/Amp FM radio, white-boy party pop vein, with good, albeit well-rehearsed energy, and moderately catchy material. But both acts basically blurred into one and had you actually pining for the edginess and originality of These Kids Wear Crowns.
And, like the rest of the evening, it also left you with only one thought on your mind. For the love of god, please, just grow up. Avril Lavigne played Tuesday night at the Saddledome. Official attendance: 6,000