RICHARD THOMPSON
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The juxtaposition of two songs near the end of Thompson’s recent two-hour, 23-song set at the Riviera highlighted the difference between his merely entertaining material and the frighteningly intense emotions he can extract from his ancient sources. “Shoot Out the Lights”–perhaps his most acclaimed song–is a gripping account of an urban killer on the prowl; it’s constructed like a medieval dirge, each line framed with modal chords crashing against each other like tolling cathedral bells. Thompson’s chords and drummer Dave Mattacks’s drums pounded mercilessly; Thompson and multiinstrumentalist Peter Zorn’s elongated harmonies (“waaatching the daaarrk”) sounded like a call to judgment. Amid the clamor, Zorn’s mandolin solo initially seemed incongruous, but his slicing, frenzied playing aptly suggested the inner turmoil of the song’s subject. And Thompson’s devastating solo on electric guitar created a sense of carnage.
After the rage and horror suggested by “Shoot Out the Lights,” Thompson understandably may have wanted to lighten the mood. But the trifling “Valerie” was a poor follow-up. A Cajun-flavored rocker in which a man laments his lover’s conspicuous consumption with broad sarcasm, “Valerie” can be energetic and enjoyable heard on its own. But next to “Shoot Out the Lights” it just seemed silly, even inappropriate, like a lewd joke concluding a eulogy.
