Liz MIller

Mayer Hawthorne is so smooth. His pitch-perfect pipes slide from fragile falsetto to deep, soul-filled croon; his style and swagger resemble a mix of Buddy Holly and Andre 3000. Born in Ann Arbor, Michigan, less than 50 miles from the city that bore Motown, Andrew Mayer Cohen came of age during the rise of rap and R&B in the 1980s and 1990s. The stage name Mayer Hawthorne combines his middle name with the name of the street of his childhood home, otherwise known as the formula for generating porn star names. His breakout album, A Strange Arrangement (2009), and his latest release, How Do You Do (2011) share his talented, soulful sound, but understanding Mayer Hawthorne is best explained in his live show, where polished stage presence and creative crowd interaction bring the song to life.

Roy Kasten

Bonnie Raitt and band take a bow at the Pageant

Bonnie Raitt | Marc Cohn
May 18, 2012
The Pageant

They'd come in from Kansas City, Columbia, Minneapolis, Chicago, Louisville and West County -- and places further, I'm sure. The general admission ticket holders lined up outside the Halo Bar four hours or more before the doors would open, tailgating in their own way with vases of vodka-spiked iced tea and lemonade and take-out pizza. Many had never been to the Pageant before, many more were astonished that Bonnie Raitt was playing such a venue. "Are there seats and tables inside?" one woman asked. "How do I get one?"

Another, like her friends, in a hand-embroidered blouse and sandals, waved her arms in the air and started a sing-along to "Not the Only One," from a moment in time when the blues burst fully into pop in a way that it rarely does. The soulful, sexy and expert music of Bonnie Raitt, and - the loaded word must be used - the authenticity of her persona can still make an impression. Hearing and seeing the really real thing always does.

Todd Wolfson

Storytelling is a craft that is formulated through years of experience and must be as finely tuned as a guitar. Spirited rock & roll is the backdrop to Alejandro Escovedo's heartfelt and sincere storytelling. Last night in St. Louis, he bared his soul, shared gritty details of writing and recording, and thanked his fans -- all while wearing a warm smile and strumming his guitar.

St. Louis guitar legend Jimmy Griffin pulled double duty as the opener and then as one of the stellar cast of St. Louis musicians acting as Escovedo's backing band.

Despite the crowd at Off Broadway both onstage and on the floor, Escovedo created an intimate atmosphere, one conducive to his prolific style of performance and telling of tales. Many musicians feel obligated to talk between songs and fill every quiet space with unnecessary banter or awkward retellings of nonsensical stories, but Escovedo's quips invited you in to his 30-plus years as a musician. Exuberance, in both the crowd and the band, was plentiful and intensified with each iteration of Alejandro Escovedo -- starting with a four-song "set" of acoustic tunes, roaring in to the full band version of songs (including new ones from the upcoming album Big Station) and ultimately ending after three encores.

Roy Kasten

Steve Winwood at the Peabody

Steve Winwood | Bobby Long
May 14, 2012
Peabody Opera House

As go case studies in paying respects to the elder statesmen of rock & roll, there are worse fates than fourth-row tickets (so what if they're far orchestra right?) to Steve Winwood at the Peabody Opera House. Unlike many of the retirement-countdowners in attendance, I never tripped out to Blind Faith or Traffic, and unlike some of my fellow middle-agers I didn't lose my virginity to Arc of a Diver (that would be Sade's Diamond Life). I have no history with Winwood, save that I know how hard the Spencer Davis Group could rock.

Could Winwood at the recently-turned age of 64?

Mabel Suen

The Melvins beckons a special brand of music worship. The band pushes otherwise psychedelic sounds through sludgy down-trodden songs that confuse rock with metal. This April 2012 tour kicks off a prolific year for the group, and promotes their new EP, The Bulls and The Bees, produced by SCION. The Firebird was damp with sweat and beer on Thursday night, an apt after effect of Unsane and The Melvins.

Kholood Eid

It's been a year since St. Louis last hosted Florence + the Machine, but things have changed in the short time that's passed. Florence Welch has been catapulted into a whole other realm of popularity, selling out the Peabody Opera House in what felt like the blink of an eye, or in the time it takes a browser to refresh for a chance at whatever seats might still be available.

Or in actuality, less than 30 minutes. The band released its second album, Ceremonials, in November, and it dominated charts across the pond and debuted at number six in the States.

The Peabody suits Ms. Welch, with its sophisticated beauty and grandeur - attributes shared with Ceremonials. The stage was set with pillars of stained glass, tall structures that resembled the inside of a giant clock and eight other musicians accompanying Welch (two backup singers, Tom Monger on the harp, bassist, Rob Ackroyd on guitarist, Chris Hayden on drums, pianist and Isabella Summers on keyboard). Despite there being so many people on stage, it never looked or felt crowded. The rest of the set often disappeared into darkness, leaving Welch standing, swaying and belting her lungs out in a spotlight reserved only for her. And of course, there was the fan positioned in front of Welch, giving a constant breeze that only enhances her look of being this ethereal creature, floating before us in a long black gown with a plunging neckline and collar.

Kholood Eid

There was a nice moment in the middle of the Black Keys' impressive concert last night when guitarist/singer Dan Auerbach sent hired guns Gus Seyffert and John Wood away so he could play alone with drummer Patrick Carney. It was a nod to the group's roots as a duo that got everything out of shit-kicking blues-rock that two guys could get. This four-song excursion threw a bone to old-school Keys fans with selections from the group's pre-Danger Mouse era and highlighted how effective the duo is at crafting and delivering simple, catchy fist-pumping rock. They even proved they could improvise with a jam at the end of "Girl is On My Mind." But when the full-band rejoined Auerbach and Carney for the slow-building "Black Submarines," it was clear that the move to an expanded lineup and instrumental palette was the right one. The keyboard, bass and second guitar lines fill out the group's sound, add atmospheric touches the songs and overall just make the Black Keys a better, more diverse band.

D.L. Anderson

I'm just going to call it now: the most common response to this review will be "I didn't know the Mountain Goats played in St. Louis this weekend." John Darnielle and his crew flew in to play a one-off show on the closing night of Washington University's KWUR week at the Gargoyle. The campus venue has been maligned in the past for the Girl Talk tazing incident, the sober Hold Steady show, and the time These Arms Are Snakes had to play with the fire alarm blaring during its whole set. From the stage, Darnielle announced that people had expressed reservations to him about the room, saying things like, "Trust me, you don't want to play there." He said this in shock, having been impressed by the fact that during one of his quietest songs ("Dinu Lipatti's Bones"), he could have heard a pin drop.

Liz Miller

You don't expect a mosh pit to erupt at a concert headlined by a Saddle Creek Records band, but if it's a Cursive show, you should. Though one of the first groups signed to the Omaha-based record label, Cursive helped define and yet kept distance from the "Saddle Creek sound," unfairly amalgamated with label-mates as an "emo band." Over the group's seventeen-year stretch they've endured line-up changes and hiatuses born of frontman Tim Kasher's side projects (read: the Good Life and solo work). Cursive never really rocketed beyond that early 2000 indie explosion into the mainstream like Bright Eyes, Spoon and Rilo Kiley. It was and forever are, though, legends in the hearts of its fans, both old and new, both dated and forever feverish. Cursive is a band you can pick up after years and have an immediate rapport with its members, even if the closest you ever got to them was flirtation. And they put on a fucking ferocious live show.

Todd Owyoung

Halfway through last night's Willie Nelson show at the Pageant (6161 Delmar Boulevard, 314-726-6161), with the obligatory Texas flag backdrop flying on stage and Willie about to launch into "Good Hearted Woman," a man asks me, "Have you seen Willie before?" I tell him it's been a few years; the last time I saw Willie Nelson was July 8, 2005 at a baseball field (GMC Stadium, apparently) in Sauget, Illinois on a split bill with Bob Dylan.

He asks me, already aware of the answer, if the setlist feels familiar. In the past 30 years it's fair to say most Willie Nelson shows follow a similar format: open with "Whiskey River" and close with "I Saw The Light" always, sprinkle in "You Were Always On My Mind," "Momma Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys," and the bizarre, patriotism incarnate "Beer For My Horses," plus a few fan-favorite covers for good measure. And then there's Trigger, Willie's dearly loved, war-battered Martin M-20 classical guitar circa 1969, with the gaping-hole just above the bridge, as weathered and worn as ever, but also as pitch-perfect and strong. True to form, last night's setlist didn't deviate much from that structure. It's not a complaint or comment on his star that he tours the same songs -- they are the ones his fans want to hear and he plays them with such lonesome yearning and furious zeal that they're as affecting as they ever were.