Ani DiFranco, Palace Theatre, Albany, N.Y., 4/10/98
Success breeds new challenges for Ani DiFranco

by Seth Rogovoy

(ALBANY, N.Y., April 12, 1998) -- By now Ani DiFranco's story doesn't bear repeating. But a little context can't hurt. Two years ago she was playing before audiences of a few hundred at places like North Adams's Night Shift Cafe. Last August she spent a month opening shows for Bob Dylan at places like Tanglewood. Last Friday night she was the object of veneration before a sold-out crowd at the 3,000-seat Palace Theatre. This month she is on the cover of Spin Magazine for the second time in a half- year, and this summer she will reportedly be headlining a tour of summer sheds like Great Woods and the Saratoga (N.Y.) Performing Arts Center.

That DiFranco has accomplished all this, as well as selling over a million of her self-produced albums while thumbing her nose at the recording industry, is truly phenomenal -- perhaps the story of the decade. But the extent of DiFranco's impact can only be fully appreciated by seeing her in concert, a phenomenon which up until now can only be matched by having seen one of Bruce Springsteen's legendary performances in the mid-'70s.

There were more than a few moments on Friday night that reminded one of the Boss in his heyday. The comparison only goes so far, but DiFranco shares some of the best qualities of the Boss of old, most notably the uncanny ability to perpetuate the illusion of intimacy while performing before thousands of semi-crazed fans.

Sometimes it was just the quick turn of the head, the occasional phrase tossed off with a hint of self-mockery, or the sense of drama that comes from turning one's back to the audience to present a silhouette bespeaking trust and comradeship. More often, it was simply the casual ease with which DiFranco addressed the crowd of true believers between songs.

Of course, none of this would amount to a hill of beans if DiFranco, like Springsteen before her, weren't a performer of near-heroic proportions, a fiery singer and guitarist delivering her finely-wrought anthems of personal and political displacement with dynamics worthy of one of those state-of-the-art, mega-stadium shows. Except in this case, the pyrotechnics weren't courtesy of fireworks or inflatable dolls or mechanical lemons, but old-fashioned, rock 'n' roll charisma.

What is odd, however -- and what at times made for some discordant moments -- is that unlike Springsteen, DiFranco is not really coming out of rock 'n' roll. She calls herself a "folksinger," and while her phat, folk-funk would hardly warm the hearts of a Peter, Paul and Mary fan, it has more in common spiritually with Woody Guthrie than Elvis Presley. (Ironically, it's the opposite in Springsteen's case, hard as he tries to be the modern-day Guthrie.)

In other words, there is a dilemma at DiFranco's core, one that until now she has been able to paper over by sheer dint of her infectiously engaging personality. But as DiFranco gets "bigger," in terms of her celebrity and the size of her audience, this inner contradiction is going to become more like an exposed nerve. How long can she maintain the illusion of intimacy and sincerity with her surroundings increasingly arguing against that illusion?

The illusion was tested in a number of ways on Friday night. There was the annoying lighting design, reflecting the prevailing trend of shrouding the performer in varyings degress of darkness, presumably in the belief that literal obscurity equals profundity. (Wrong. It equals an extreme lack of consideration for those who paid to see the performer.) Her band, now grown to three pieces, has yet to find the proper role for its new keyboard player. Pacing -- taking the audience through a series of peaks and valleys -- becomes more of an issue in a larger venue, and there were too many valleys and not enough peaks.

So far, DiFranco's greatest success has been her ability to rewrite the rules in the service of her singular art. But each new success brings on greater challenges. Experience suggests DiFranco will find new ways to conquer those, too.

[This review originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle on April 13, 1998. Copyright Seth Rogovoy 1998. All rights reserved.]