R. Kelly in Chicago. (Tribune photo by Chris Sweda)
In his first hometown concert after being acquitted last year on child-pornography charges, R. Kelly was in a hurry to move on.
Before a capacity audience Tuesday in the first of two shows at the Auditorium Theatre, the South Side R&B singer-songwriter-producer-performer tried to pack two decades’ worth of hits into 90 minutes. In the first quarter-hour alone, he crammed snippets of a dozen songs, plus a bit of Kanye West’s “Flashing Lights.”
It was probably just as well. Many of Kelly’s songs are more about simple hooks and salacious lyrics rather than intricate structure, and a verse and a chorus is about all anyone needs to get the idea.
The pace slowed after that, but only slightly, as Kelly made like a man on a mission, only pausing once to obliquely mention his acquittal after a six-year legal proceeding
“I’m still here,” he cried, but his tone was less triumphant or vindictive than grateful. He then swooped into his signature ballad, “I Believe I Can Fly,” which he described as his response to “somebody continuously trying to pull you under.”
“Never would have made it without you,” he said midsong, addressing the audience. “My house, my kids, my family, my band. I would have lost it all.”
Up until then, Kelly was working the audience like a yo-yo, interspersing monologues and lyrics, his voice conversational even in full flight. Asides became choruses, and instructions to his road crew became impromptu songs. A request to have a carpet removed from the set inspired Kelly to sing as though in the grip of a higher power. He accentuated the humor in his bedroom farces by breaking into an operatic baritone roar. All that was missing was a Cliff Notes version of his 22-part sex-and-soap opera “Trapped in the Closet.”
He was lean, athletic, dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt even as bling gleamed from his wrist, earlobes and neck. He performed with a smile and a slight leer, his eyes gleaming with mischief when he dropped his sunglasses.
“Have you ever made love to my music?” he asked, like a sharp attorney already knowing the response from his witnesses.
Sing-songy nursery-rhyme cadences gave the songs a playful, almost child-like veneer, couching soft-core porn lyrics. In Kelly’s songs, sex contains multitudes of scenarios, positions, partners, metaphors. Kelly played the fans like an instrument, clasping hands, collecting panties, conducting sing-alongs.
A five-piece band, three singers, three dancers and an MC performed with anonymous professionalism. They were strictly a backdrop for Kelly’s extended tryst with his mostly female audience, which stood and cheered for most of the show.
“Let’s just keep it old school,” Kelly commanded his band, which meant little more than the sizzle of a hi-hat cymbal and a drizzle of keyboards. Kelly’s arrangements emphasized a lean simplicity and he wasted no time getting to the point in his lyrics either.
His ardor -- sincere, humorous, over-the-top --- couldn’t be denied. He conjured a weird intimacy, the truncated songs turning into the soundtrack for an extended round of foreplay between the singer and his fans: “Na-na … boom-ba … don’t stop … so freaky … G-string … hotel keys.”
After simulating love-making 700 different ways, even Kelly needed a break, and wisely shifted gears.
He explored some of the darker edges of his material in “Down Low” and “When a Woman’s Fed Up,” and donned a black suit to belt out credible versions of Sam Cooke’s classic soul tracks “Bring it On Home to Me” and “A Change is Gonna Come.”
“A change has come,” Kelly concluded, before slipping into the elegant dance songs “Step in the Name of Love” and “Happy People.” They weren’t reduced to snippets. They’re ungimmicky songs, and Kelly let them breathe a bit. Then he was out the door while the bed he had made was still warm.
greg@gregkot.com
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