After the smoke and mirrors
MANILA, Philippines - Manila, it feels like the first time!” Lifehouse frontman Jason Wade yelled this out, much to the adulation of screaming fans at the Big Dome. You could see from the look on his face that he was sincere when he said it — their 2008 concert was every bit phenomenal — but a nagging feeling inside me made his statement feel a bit contrived. The band’s Smoke and Mirrors concert last Saturday was nothing like the first time. I should know. I was there four years ago, sitting at the patron’s section, stuck with the worst kind of concertgoers. They had their butts glued to their seats, complained whenever I attempted to stand up or sing along, and knew no other songs than You and Me and the band’s post-’90s rock anthem Hanging by a Moment.
Hoping to avoid a repeat of that, I chose to sit near the makeshift mosh pit by the stage. It was occupied by ladies in their early thirties, who acted like teens and raped my ears with their high-pitched shrieks and shameless declarations of love for the charismatic Mr. Wade. His lean frame wrapped in a half-sleeve button-down shirt and jeans, blonde hair, and green eyes were so photogenic, that by the time he jumped on stage, everyone’s Androids and iPads were on him. This was definitely not like their first time, and Lifehouse was definitely no longer the band it was.
The moment Ben Carey began his assault on lead guitar, I knew instantly that something was amiss. Somebody had taken the corpses of Daughtry, Kris Allen, and some other pop-rock band and created a Frankenstein’s monster on stage. This was their new sound, the more current and more accessible Lifehouse, a band whose present songs were in danger of becoming soundtracks to toothpaste or ice cream commercials. It then occurred to me that there were dozens of tweens in the audience, kids too young to have heard “No Name Face” when the album first came out. I grew old, and apparently so did my favorite band. I guess musical facelift was a better option for them to take than obscurity, or worse — early retirement and relying on the pension of best-of albums and tours.
Though Lifehouse’s new material was safe and generic, the band’s performance that night was the complete opposite. Carey, who I once loathed for being the new guy, was an attraction by himself. With his long, untamed black hair, sleeveless white shirt, and crazy riffs, he looked to me like rock star Jesus. The image actually makes for a funny tip of the hat to the band’s subtle Christian roots. Bassist Bryce Soderberg, at one point, got promoted to lead vocals and showed off his singing chops on Wrecking Ball. The highlight, though, was still Wade, who took around 10 to 15 minutes on acoustic guitar playing some of their old tunes by request. Crowd favorites were Blind, Sick Cycle Carousel, and Breathing, all of which prompted coliseum-wide sing-alongs interspersed with more screaming and cheers. Glow sticks were swayed from side to side, from the foot of the stage all the way to the packed nosebleed seats up at general admission. This was the closest to the first concert it got. It was raw. It was real. It was personal. This was the Lifehouse music I knew and loved. This was Jason Wade singing from the bottom of his heart, telling honest stories slurred by his manner of speaking. Free from the bondage of an SLR or camera phone, I was able to take it all in.
The band rejoined Wade and played a couple more songs from their old and new records. They were invigorated throughout the latter half of the show, feeding off an audience who ultimately led them back to Manila for the second time. After a two-song encore ending with a lengthy and emotional Everything followed by a hefty applause goodbye, the band sank back into their dressing room. A few minutes later, I saw Wade standing by a platform backstage, looking tired yet equally satisfied. I walked up to him and shook his hand. I thanked him for a great show and wished that it wouldn’t be the last.
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Special thanks to Dayly Entertainment.
