MTS vs. CSNY

Not to be confused with CSI: NY

EVAN JOHNSON STAFF

Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young shuffled onstage of the MTS Centre shortly after 7 p.m. on Friday, June 15 for the fourth show of their “Freedom of Speech ’06” tour. A sold-out crowd comprised predominantly (but not exclusively) of balding quasi-hippies was clearly delighted by the performance, or, more specifically, by the presence of local favorite Neil Young — who used to live here, as we will never, ever tire of reminding ourselves.

Young, ever lovable and ever snarling, fresh from being awarded the Order of Manitoba (a ceremony which unceremoniously took place in the Manitoba Moose dressing room), clearly dominated the band both physically and musically: he looked the most comfortable on the stage and the gargantuan set list, when not democratically focused on CSNY songs, was full of rollicking numbers from his recent Living with War album, including opener “Flags of Freedom” and personal favorite “After the Garden.”

Young’s newest material was also accompanied by video screens featuring assorted Iraq-war imagery: portraits of fallen soldiers, tanks rolling into Fallujah and spoof-CNN-style graphics. For “Impeach the President” the band was backed by video (and audio) of George W. Bush saying, as he tends to do, an assortment of stupid things. Though the presentation wasn’t subtle, there was a certain satisfaction to be had in witnessing the outpouring of Young’s ire. In light of all this, CSNY classic “Ohio” felt genuinely relevant, though it also led some credence to the belief that without Young, CSN would be a nostalgia act and little else.

Nash was planted quite firmly in his role as the Brit of the bunch: he was all stiff upper lip and sensible moderation. Taking to the piano, he played the pleasant but twee CSNY classic “Our House,” but not before dedicating it to “Joni” (Mitchell, that is).

Crosby, for his part, was difficult not to love, benevolent cartoon walrus that he is, and while he had difficulty remembering the words to many of the songs, he seemed always to be enjoying himself. Even the way he casually and contentedly sang along to some of the angrier protest songs suggested that singing about war is, for him, an act of the fondest nostalgia.

Stills, looking quite a bit worse for the wear, was intent on proving that he still has “soul,” that elusive quality that’s often accompanied (as it was here) by phlegmy vocals and the cir-cumvention of melody. The band’s rendition of Buffalo Springfield megaclassic “For What it’s Worth” was rapturously received by the audience, but the song’s iconic sixties flavour made me feel uncomfortably young.

Youth is my sole hipster credential, so I plan to take as much cruel advantage of it as possible: these guys are old. During the show I had Stills and Crosby pegged for a solid 80 years, though it turns out they’re only 61 and 64 respectively (though I’m sure Crosby is much older in walrus years); the average age of the band is 62.5. For the most part they were lively enough that when they congregated in the middle of the stage to play off each other’s solos I was able to resist imagining that they were comparing prescriptions.

On a final, grouchy note, I don’t like the MTS Centre. Take that civic pride! It’s ugly, uncomfortable and the sound is bad. This is fine for hockey games, monster truck rallies and perogy eating contests, but for the elitist and discerning concert-goer, arena shows suck. Disagree with me and I’ll be forced to arrogantly dismiss you as an ignorant redneck, unattuned to the delicate requirements of a fine cultural sensibility.