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Mr. Big Live At The Shepherd's Bush Empire

Mr. Big are back, and Paul Gilbert and Billy Sheehan haven't lost a step, but can the band contain their self-indulgent urges and please a contemptuous London crowd?

Thursday, 20. October 2011 - by David Hayter

: Photo courtesy by Taya Uddin - www.tayauddin.co.uk

The boundary between self-indulgence and satisfying your audience is never more obscured than at a Mr. Big gig. It’s a quandary. Few bands possess the raw talent and meticulously honed technical precision of Paul Gilbert, let alone the confounding versatility of legendary bassist Billy Sheehan, and hey, Eric Martin and Pat Torpey are no slouches either, but is that an excuse for turning a Mr. Big gig into a virtuoso showcase?

So where do you draw the line? Is this is a gig or an exhibition. It’s a tricky line to toe, and at times tonight Mr. Big find themselves falling foul of indulgence and pretension, while in other moments they are genuinely thrilling marrying stadium sized hooks to awe inspiring solos.

Mr. Big’s task is made no easier by the fact that the band are serving two very different but very demanding masters. There is, naturally enough, the power metal brigade; those guys and gals who love propulsive rhythms, slick shredding but most of all, smooth melodies and hedonistic hooks. They rapturously receive the slick harmonies of “Daddy, Brother, Lover, Little Boy…”, the inescapable anthemia of “Once Upon A Time”, and find themselves cooing along to the heartfelt smultz of “To Be With You”.

Then there are the musicians and guitar geeks who are clearly here to see Paul Gilbert and Billy Sheehan unleash hell. They’re more than satisfied by a series of extended instrumental shred sections that see Sheehan and Gilbert trading licks and arpeggios with astonishing ease. Well aware of this demographic (so much so that lead singer Eric Martin labels the crowd “a bunch of musicians”) they offer two special extended individual showcases for both Gilbert and Sheehan.

Gilbert’s solo feels somewhat predictable but no less thrilling as his flighty fingers have the guitar not so much squealing as ascending, as his warped tones exude a deliciously glitch, electronic flavour. A series of beautifully controlled blurts and fret board contractions give the feeling of a universe expanding and contracting inside of a Super Nintendo. As if a standing ovation wasn’t already assured Gilbert casually decides to play the final minute of the solo with his teeth, which unsurprisingly has the entire audience caught somewhere between stunned silence and impulsive guttural roars.

: Photo courtesy by Taya Uddin - www.tayauddin.co.uk

Sheehan on the other hand, showcases speed and pounding, soaring, riffage, his solo is frankly ridiculous, shifting tone at will, he plays with his elbow at points, before unleashing a bout of simply unfathomable Eddie Van Halen double handed shredding. As his solo migrates from three minutes to five and begins to creep closer to seven, the fans of Mr. Big’s actual back catalogue grow visibly restless, but are still gracious enough to heartily applaud Sheehan’s efforts.

They aren’t so kind to Eric Martin whose on stage banter induces cringes and groans more readily than it does cheers, and his “vocal showcase”, which is effectively a crowd interaction section, falls flat in front of a frosty London crowd who seem unimpressed by Martin’s playful lecherous sleaze act. It’s at this point that the set loses momentum; the extended jams, failed crowd interaction and huge solo portions, while at times impressive, have completely disrupted the ebb and flow of the set, squandering the early momentum that had the crowd wilfully fist pumping and bellowing along.

Thankfully, the band get their act together in and around Sheehan’s solo, as “Around The World” re-engages the crowd with it’s all encompassing chorus and squirrelly guitar-bass showdowns. It’s perfectly pitched satiating Mr. Big’s broad church, it’s a trick repeated by the quick fire hedonism of “Addicted To That Rush”, and the heady rush of the irony laden “Colorado Bulldog”.

Having scraped through a rocky mid set lull, fully recovering momentum lost, it’s now time for Mr. Big to send everyone home happy, and this is a task they’re more than ready to master. A cover of “Smoke On The Water” is well chosen, unifying a divided crowd with its unshakably accessible chorus. It’s also a perfect chance for the band members to change places, Gilbert gets to drum, Martin takes the bass, Torpey the guitar, and Sheehan leads the crowd in song. It’s a touching moment that is as much a concession to the crowd as a chance to show off.

The crowd now fully onside, take control of the set, the usual set closing cover of “Baba O’Reilly” is ditched as tonight’s audience tellingly call out for Racer X and Gilbert standard “Scarified”. Martin graciously acknowledges that he doesn’t know how to sing Gilbert’s solo material, and instead takes an alternate request. “Shy Boy” closes proceedings; a mess of cries and yelps, it’s a rush, shared by band and audience, its conclusion draws a tumultuous roar and the band are duly given a lengthy standing ovation.

It was troubled, awkward, disjointed, and at times misguided, but considering the divergent demands of the Mr. Big audience, the band can find solace in the fact that they came good in the end, ending on a genuine high. Ultimately, a Mr. Big gig remains a contradiction, the meandering indulgence and mindless shredding that would sink so many gigs is not only required but demanded by the Big faithful. Sadly at times, you feel, Mr. Big spend too long catering to the musicians and those there to gawp awe stricken, when a lean, propulsive and riotous straight rock and roll set is what the majority truly crave.

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