"We're gonna do a little Airplane, a little Starship, some Kantner, some Balin, and some others" - that was part of Paul Kantner's preamble for the first Jefferson Starship set Sunday night at B.B. King's. One wouldn't realize how literal his words were until almost four hours later when the show finally concluded with a burst of the same raucous energy that had opened the show. It was a long and sometimes exhausting trip through their musical past, highlighting all the previous incarnations of the band, and then some. Billed as "4 sets covering 4 decades," the band sampled from almost 40 years of music, with some periods and incarnations sounding far stronger than others.
The show's first 45 minutes, the furthest trip back in time with a set consisting of vintage Jefferson Airplane songs, was the strongest part of the show. The band now touring is made up of Paul Kantner on guitar and vocals (playing strong and singing blithe and throaty); Marty Balin on vocals and guitars; David Freiberg on vocals, percussion, and an occasional guitar; Slick Aquilar on lead guitar, and Diana Mangaro on vocals. Prairie Prince, a former Tubes drummer and the band's regular drummer since the early 1990s, had to be replaced for the evening with a local player.
Starting with a sneaky quick hook from "Who Do You Love" by Quicksilver Messenger Service, the fellow Sixties San Francisco psychedelic band that included current Starship member David Freiberg, the Starship opened with a surpassingly strong "She Has Funny Cars," followed by "Somebody to Love." Indeed, the first 45 minutes of the show vibrated with the edgy energy that characterized the Airplane's early music. Diana Mangaro had huge shoes to try to fill in revisiting Grace Slick's searing, distinctive vocals, and while she never quite filled them, her voice blended well with Kantner's, Freiberg's, and Balin's, providing that distinctive Airplane contrast of voices. Songs like "Today," "Won't You Try/ Saturday Afternoon," "3/5 of a Mile in 10 Seconds," "Lather," and "Plastic Fantastic Lover" sounded almost as good as the originals, and if you squinted and forgot the relatively luxe surroundings and ignored the graying ponytails, you could imagine yourself back in Sixties San Francisco.
That image was lost when Diana Mangaro helmed the songs. Whereas Grace Slick's wickedly sneaky vocals would build to a heart-pumping crescendo, Diana is more simply a belter, her version of "White Rabbit" leaving one craving the original. She shook her long hair and swayed her hips, but she came off as more an admiring head of a cover band rather than the band's wicked, driving lead. Balin joked that Diana was 15 when the Airplane recorded "She Has Funny Cars." Actually, she wasn't born yet - and her take on Airplane music seemed almost a little too sunny, maybe from her not having experienced the turbulent Sixties. The Airplane set concluded with their version of Dino Valente's "Let's Get Together," a huge hit for the Youngbloods under the title "Get Together."
Marty Balin sounded as strong and full as he did in his original days with the band, especially during "Today." But during the set highlighting his music, following the Airplane set, his songs and performance veered dangerously into Vegas crooner territory. He had a distinctly different look from the rest of the band, tanned and fit with short blond hair, like a young Carl Wilson. And while he still croons like a total professional, this evening only accompanying himself on guitar with backing keyboards and drums, he almost seemed to be performing a classic rock-lite version of himself, sounding smoothly bland on songs such as "Run Away," "Hearts Beat as One," and "With Your Love." I found myself missing the minor chords and leering images of the Airplane.
After the second set, the band broke, and a pointless, rambling Quick Time film, complete with Mac toolbar, ran and ran, apparently documenting Paul Kantner's recent visit to Ground Zero. One wanted to find a point in their visit to a FDNY firehouse, and the many close-ups of FDNY license plates, but there didn't seem to be one. As it was already two hours into the show, the film just got boring.
Returning from the break, Paul Kantner, looking like a 21st century version of his Sixties self and playing strong, led the band, minus Balin, into his featured set. When Balin returned, he got one of the evening's biggest hands by announcing that they would "now feature Diana" on Starship songs, though it was hard not to remember Grace Slick's hushed, evil whisper as Diana sang. She simply lacks Slick's wicked subtlety that would crawl from a whisper to a howl. Diana giggled as the band performed "Martha," kissing Kantner's cheek when they finished, announcing it was her favorite song. Even her white sandals seemed ironically perky against the backdrop of Sixties psychedelia that was the Airplane/ Starship.
David Frieberg looked like some benevolent hippy grandpa, stoned and happy. There was no set of his music per se, as he has always been a group player, but he alternated between different percussion and an occasional guitar, always filling in with lush vocals. His voice sounded soft but strong on "Back to You."
The stage was stripped down - just a Pennsylvania Dutch hex sign haphazardly propped up from the floor against the bass drum. Once in a while, a few random lighting projections of bubbles and stars would drift around the band, as if to remind us that "this is psychedelia."
As the evening drew to a close, Diana swayed and sang, pointing and waving to the band's loyal followers, who seem, from what I could detect in overheard conversations, to follow the band religiously around the country. Long-haired women in their forties and fifties danced in the corners, arms above their heads, and men with craggy beards and older-guy bellies jumped into the air and pumped their arms enthusiastically, calling out requests.
By the end of the show, which had stretched to almost four hours, the band tightened back up to perform a rousing finale of "Volunteers." The crowd danced gleefully, waving their hands above their heads with fingers forming peace signs.
With the four guitars and five vocals soaring over each other, the band showed their strength in numbers. As the appreciative crowd danced and sang along, you could almost feel the counterculture ghost of the past overcoming the banality of the present.