It was like a scene out of Footloose. All that was missing was John
Lithgow and his Bible. Occasionally, even a seasoned music critic
will get the urge to shake it a little. For me, the stimulus was the
chugging guitar riff of Stevie Nicks' "Edge of Seventeen."

But the folks at the Ford Amphitheatre weren't having it -- not the
concertgoers behind me, stapled to their seats and hounding me to
sit down; not the ushers who, when I tried to dance it up on the
walkway, told me to return to my seat.

Sheesh.

It's a concert, people. Last time I checked, you are allowed to
stand up! And yes, you can even dance.

Truth be told, I did my Kevin Bacon thing to keep from lapsing into
a coma. As for Stevie, I would've liked to check her for a pulse.
Clad in her typical flowing dress and coat, replete with Victorian
lace in front, she barely moved. (Could it have been an array of
corsets that restricted her?)

She sang stone-faced. The woman is either incapable of any sort of
effervescence, or she was bored as hell. Detachment has always been
a part of her act; she was the cool goddess who held the center
microphone in Fleetwood Mac. But at 58, and sans Lindsey Buckingham
and Christine McVie to liven things up, it might behoove her to ...
I don't know, maybe she could start with a few smiles.

Stevie did concentrate on familiar hits -- "Stop Dragging My Heart
Around," "Rhiannon" and the like -- and she did have a solid band
led by veteran guitarist Waddy Wachtel. But her brassy voice, always
an acquired taste (that I never acquired), has lost most of its
upper register. She seemed to save up in order to hit a couple of
high notes near show's end.

Oh, and just for the record: Like Bacon, I never quit shakin' it.
Just kept staking out new turf until the show was over. The dance
police were not gonna break my spirit.

--Eric Snider
http://tampa.creativeloafing.com/gyrobase/Content?oid=195200