E-Mail This Article to a Friend Seeing is believing (continued)

The Jam, THE COMPLETE JAM (Universal), Paul Weller, TWO CLASSIC PERFORMANCES (Ype-Roc). Led Zeppelin’s double DVD got all the attention, but this Jam set may rank as the definitive example of a great band’s getting the obsessive treatment they deserve. A pair of two-hour-plus discs contain all the Jam footage that could be found: all their promo videos, two short documentaries on the band and their ’70s fans, and more than two hours’ worth of live TV appearances. This last is the meat of the set, showing how the Jam progressed from rough and punkish to polished and soulful over a mere five years. A 20-minute concert clip from right in the middle features the definitive "Going Underground." As a bonus, you get Paul Weller doing a hilariously cranky interview for Swedish TV. (Interviewer: "In Sweden, jam means jelly, but that’s not what you meant, is it?" Weller: "No.")

The disc also offers one explanation of why British punk arose: late-’70s England had some of the best music television in history. Most of us have seen the Sex Pistols’ notorious TV clip where the soused, middle-aged Bill Grundy goaded them into swearing for the cameras, but the Jam’s disc reveals that much British TV was far hipper. On one clip, they’re introduced by a glammed-up Marc Bolan of T. Rex, who had his own series just before his death. And the first clip comes from the 1977 youth-culture show So It Goes, whose sharp-dressed host opines, "A lot of people knock the Jam for being too popular and not avant-garde enough. That’s the kind of snobbery slouching into punk these days — elitists!" It speaks volumes about how important punk was at the time.

Weller remains a god in England, but most American Jam fans are taking a pass on his solo career, having found it slicker and more retro. Which it is, but he’s maintained the urgency of his Jam-era songwriting — or at least got it back after the Style Council fiasco — and he’s a far better singer nowadays, as recent live versions of "That’s Entertainment" prove. The three-hour Two Classic Performances (which is actually two recent performances) finds him in both electric and acoustic mode, favoring his recent solo catalogue and exuding smarts and soul throughout. And a recent interview proves that Weller, bless ’is ’eart, could still use a translator.

— Brett Milano

Avril Lavigne, MY WORLD (Arista/20th Century Fox). A couple of highlights you won’t find on Avril’s first DVD: her rhymes-with-Howie screw-up at the Grammy announcements; her pre-fame triumph at a Shania Twain–sponsored talent contest. Everything else is in the bag. A full concert shot the last night of her first and only headlining arena tour, during which she performs everything on Let Go, throws in Green Day’s horniest/catchiest tune and Dylan’s most morbid ("Basketcase" and "Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door," both also included on a six-song bonus audio disc, along with her cover of Metallica’s "Fuel" live at MTV), and debuts one new song of her own ("I Don’t Give," as in "I don’t give a shit what they say about us," her most Punky Brewster tune since "Sk8er Boi"). All five of her videos, including her skate-ramp bubblegum classic "Complicated" and the flashmob-inspired street-riot vignette for "Sk8er Boi." A half-hour featurette in which the 17-year-old star is seen to drink, drive, skate, cuss (bleeped), pick her nose, flash the camera, cry when she gets locked in the bathroom, and get sick on a roller-coaster.

On stage, she’s never more excited (and often far less) than the Matrix’s scripts call for. She cracks her biggest smile when her dog makes a surprise visit and seems most disappointed when accepting a Canadian Music Award for album of the year. Through it all, she displays her signature ambivalence: she’s less skater than bored. Her inability to hide this is one of her charms. The same hazy indifference she brings to Metallica — it looks about as exciting as homework — also imbues her tomboyish sad-and-lonely songs with heartbreaking pathos: when she tells you, "I’d rather be anything but ordinary," you may wonder whether anyone could sing with such exceptional mundanity.

— Carly Carioli

Pearl Jam, LIVE AT THE GARDEN (Epic). Earlier this year, Pearl Jam made headlines when frontman Ed Vedder decided to have a little fun with a George W. Bush mask during the incendiary "Bushleaguer" on the first night of the band’s latest tour. The funniest part of this new two-disc set is the "Bushleaguer" montage, which reveals that Vedder not only slammed the mask onto the stage but also mischievously serenaded it while wearing an outrageous Vegas-style outfit. That’s just one of the loads of DVD extras here; an unlisted performance of Temple of the Dog’s "Hunger Strike" with Sleater-Kinney’s Corin Tucker on guest vocals is another.

During the three-hour Madison Square Garden gig itself, the most political statement Vedder makes is about how the band oppose tax cuts even though "you’ve made us rich motherfuckers." He says that during the encore, right before he invites two members of Buzzcocks on stage for exuberant covers of Dead Boys’ "Sonic Reducer" and the Who’s "Baba O’Riley." The rest of the encore is more relaxed but just as emotional: Vedder shines on the group’s classic take on Victoria Williams’s "Crazy Mary," then duets with Ben Harper on the smoldering "Indifference." Live at the Garden is an old-school technical affair: the cameras focus primarily on the stage, and the only real prop is a giant disco ball that appears during the riveting "Wishlist." But Pearl Jam let the music speak for itself, and Vedder is a charming host as he switches on and off guitar and prowls the stage with a bottle of wine. Guitarist Mike McCready looks the most punk; his fiery solo on "Even Flow" is the show’s most genuine rock-god moment. As Buzzcock Tony Barber says after "Sonic Reducer": "These guys are the bollocks."

— Sean Richardson

The Pretenders, LOOSE IN L.A. (Red Distribution). Pretenders fans will attest to the continuing validity of the band’s shows and the quality of their slow but steady output over the past 20-plus years. But until now, the only legit live material available was 1995’s "unplugged" Isle of View, an uncharacteristically subdued set. Filmed in February of this year at the Wiltern Theater, Loose in L.A. showcases a catalogue rich with pop expertise and delivered with punk-veteran know-how. What the show lacks in spontaneity it makes up for in tightly rehearsed professionalism, and Chrissie Hynde’s singing is spot-on throughout despite her admitting to being under the weather. The 26-track set list covers the best of what 2002’s Loose Screw had to offer ("Time," "Complex Person," "The Losing"), leaving room for a few hard-rockers from the debut ("Precious," "Tattooed Love Boys") and including all the radio-friendly hits en route. Although Hynde has worked overtime to establish herself as a hard-drinking tough cookie of a gal, a closer look at the emotional range of the material she’s penned reveals it’s her tender side that appeals the most ("Kid, I’ll Stand by You," "Don’t Get Me Wrong").

Hynde is entertaining to watch alongside her cohort, versatile lead ax man Adam Seymour and founding member/underrated drummer Martin Chambers (bassist Andy Hobson looks as if he’d rather be napping at the hotel). Zeben Jameson does a commendable job of filling in on keyboards, percussion, and harmonies. And director Brian Lockwood makes excellent use of the Wiltern’s bright and expansive stage with unusual camera angles that, along with bonus interview footage from both backstage and the tour bus, make Loose in L.A. a memorable snapshot of the Pretenders in action.

— Christopher John Treacy

Steve Reich/Beryl Korot, THREE TALES (Nonesuch). This collaboration between composer Steve Reich and video artist Beryl Korot weds music and image in a moving meditation on the ways technology has changed our lives over the past century. Using digital editing technologies to manipulate and fuse words, film, and music, the creative duo explore three iconic moments in the history of technology: the crash of the Hindenburg, the A-bomb test at Bikini atoll, and the cloning of Dolly the sheep. The music, which is also included on a companion CD, conveys only a portion of the full work’s meaning and impact. Reich and Korot find countless ways to marry audio and video into a single multimedia union. Portions of libretto appear as a visual elements in the video; text alone adds meaning to piano motifs in "Bikini"; visual rhythms clash or flow with the music, as the subject demands.

Each artist makes outstanding individual contributions as well. Korot uses the terrifying film of the Hindenburg explosion and somber footage of the burnt wreckage to bookend a passage of manipulated video that turns zeppelin factory workers into graceful dancers and offers footage of the magnificent vessel in flight. Reich’s music in "Bikini" grows by turns elegiac and stern as it alternates between military technology and the people whose home is destroyed by the nuclear test. Korot’s painterly treatment of the footage of the islanders creates a lovely, vulnerable counterpoint to the stark footage of American military might. In "Dolly," Reich’s motor rhythms set in motion sampled quotes from scientists and academics to convey the sense of giddy excitement and foreboding uneasiness that accompanied that particular technological advance. The interplay of ideas, music, and visuals suggests a future rushing too quickly forward — these developments should "give us pause," as one academic warns. Reich and Korot have taken big ideas in this elegant and haunting marriage of music and video and given us that "pause" about our technology-dominated world.

— Ed Hazell

Rush, RUSH IN RIO (Zoë/Rounder). At last, through the miracle of technology, a chance to bring 50,000 Brazilian boneheads into your living room — and Rush are apparently on this DVD as well. The Canadian trio have come off well on the handful of live albums and long-form videos they’ve done in the past, but their first DVD is a surprising botch. Instead of showing you what the musicians are doing, director Daniel Cutuollo III keeps cutting away with show-offish camerawork and sticking crowd shots — mostly the same dozen guys shouting the lyrics, shaking their hair, and raising goat horns — into practically every verse of every song. Worse, the audience is mixed almost as loud as the band (and usually louder than Alex Lifeson’s guitar), so it’s just like a real concert where the jerk next to you won’t shut up.

Rush fans tend to be serious musos rather than headbangers, so it’s a bad call to present them like this. Even in "Distant Early Warning," one of the most thoughtful songs in all of arena rock, you get a distracting round of cheers whenever they navigate a key change. The wrong people get photographed during solos — no small feat when a band have just three members — and you barely get to see the videos and projections, like the dancing skeleton in "Roll the Bones."

Which is too bad, because Rush were in prime form when this show was filmed last year, after a five-year layoff caused by tragedies in drummer Neal Peart’s family. The three-hour set list is heavy on chestnuts (including a few that weren’t done on most tour dates), but some good album tracks sneak in as well, like "The Pass" and "Bravado" from their prog-pop period. The second disc’s extras wind up being more enjoyable than the main program; you even get to watch Peart’s drum solo from three different angles. And an hour-long documentary presents the trio as likably self-effacing, with Lifeson proving the only guitar hero who’d berate himself on camera for going off his diet. By the way: remember when Rounder-associated labels used to put out alternatives to major-label music?

— Brett Milano

TENACIOUS D: THE COMPLETE MASTER WORKS (Sony Music). Fat guys are funny. Especially fat guys who like Dio better than Ozzy. But watching Tenacious D: The Complete Master Works, specifically the ripping live set recorded last year at London’s Brixton Academy, you’re reminded that Jack Black and Kyle Gass aren’t just funny — they’re better songwriters than many of those whom they parody. And between the mock metal machismo and the sophomoric sexist shtick, you notice that these two doughy devil worshippers, striding the stage like rock-and-roll colossi and arpeggiating their acoustics with extreme prejudice, are monstrous musicians. KG is a bravura classical guitarist; JB — moaning like Robert Plant in heat, busting some Bobby-McFerrin-on-brown-acid mouth sounds, or unleashing some frenetic "saxaboom" skronk — is frontman as pure id. As the crowd sings along in unison to songs from their homonymous record ("Explosivo," "Karate") and a few that aren’t on it ("Flash," "The Cosmic Shame"), it’s clear that the D aren’t lampooning the majesty of rock and the mystery of roll. They’re living it.

As great as the live set is, the real draw for most fans here will be the three über-rare ’99 HBO episodes (six shorts, at 15-minutes each) that introduced the Greatest Band in the World to the world. A second disc — prohibitively labeled "for psycho fans only!" — sweetens the pot. There are videos for "Fuck Her Gently," "Wonder Boy," and "Tribute" (with making-of’s for the latter two), clips from guest spots on Conan O’Brien, Mad TV, and Crank Yankers, and documentary footage from in the studio and on tour. Best of all are three gut-busting, gut-churning short films directed by Liam Lynch, who’s also helming the band’s upcoming feature, The Pick of Destiny.

This is not the greatest DVD in the world. But it’s close.

— Mike Miliard

U2, GO HOME: LIVE FROM SLANE CASTLE, IRELAND (Interscope). "We don’t deserve this — nobody does," says Bono, like the humble Christian he strives to be. In a split second, the rock star catches up, relenting, "But we’ll take it anyway." At that, 80,000 Irish lads and lassies roar their approval. It’s September 1, 2001, almost a year after the release of All That You Can’t Leave Behind, and U2 are closing the European leg of their Elevation Tour with a homecoming celebration of their 21st year in the public spotlight. Very few rock bands shine that long; none has risen to the year’s coming-of-age symbolism so triumphantly. Capping that triumph is this concert, the second of two Saturday-night performances outside the same castle where these Dublin boys opened for Thin Lizzy 20 years before, and where they later joined Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois to record parts of The Unforgettable Fire.

The question is, two long years later, does this triumph still deserve to be revisited on the band’s first live DVD? Well, if U2’s balancing act between the pain of "Sunday Bloody Sunday" and the release of "Beautiful Day" is too finely calibrated to withstand the cataclysm that came 10 mornings after this innocent evening, that only adds an external layer of poignancy. The close-ups and swooping crane shots underscore the swelling music, and the careful editing undercuts a lot of the primping that marred the concert I saw on the first American leg of the tour. True, the slow, stripped acoustic segment still feels a bit flat — most of the band’s music rides on the force of its rhythmically propelled harmonic undercurrents, after all. But the five songs from All That You Can’t Leave Behind, U2’s most sublimely melodic album, are spaced to pick up the slack. And if nothing else, the DVD’s biggest bonus — an amateurish documentary of the Unforgettable Fire recording session — reminds you how much flatter a live-music DVD can be.

— Franklin Soults

Various Artists, ONE NIGHT WITH BLUE NOTE (Blue Note Records). According to producer Stephen Reed, this is a complete re-editing of both sound and music from the 1985 Blue Note "reunion" concert held at New York’s Town Hall and first released on VHS. But he apparently still had limited footage, and so he runs into the usual vocal-versus-instrumental problem: as camera subjects, singers have all those words pouring out of their mouths, but jazz players tend just to stand there bent over their instruments. Which in a club is fine. But watching some of the these performances (and constrained camera set-ups), you might be tempted to go back to the original (and better) audio performances of Herbie Hancock’s "Cantaloupe Island" and Joe Henderson’s "Recorda Me," where your attention and your imagination aren’t diverted by static visuals. Weren’t there more than a couple of good angle shots on Bobby Hutcherson’s vibes or, heck, any of the pianists (none of whom seems to play with two hands at once)?

That said, this is Blue Note records, which in the ’60s with artists like Art Blakey and Horace Silver helped foster a new jazz sound, hard bop, that was both progressive and popular. Silver isn’t here, but Blakey is, leading one of the better segments ("Moanin’," with Freddie Hubbard, Johnny Griffin, Curtis Fuller, Walter Davis Jr., and Reggie Workman). Despite a handful of torpid Hancock/Ron Carter/Tony Williams–based groups, Jackie McLean and Woody Shaw, Charles Lloyd with Michel Petrucciani and Jack DeJohnette, and a very young Stanley Jordan make up the difference. And a varied, powerful, 12-minute Cecil Taylor solo piano piece is worth the price of admission.

— Jon Garelick