Dump Truck Vs. Guitar-Face

To the people who drink with him, he’s known as Dump Truck – or Dump for short. This moniker is supposedly evocative of his innate ability to remain on his feet when repeatedly punched in the head by the doormen of whatever seedy bar he’s being kicked out of. He is remotely civil if you catch him before 8 pm. Otherwise, he’s a mean spirited drunk with a missing top incisor, and enough tattoos to keep him out of the military. So, when I mentioned, at 1:30 am, that I was going to see John Mayer live at GM Place, Dump’s opinion of me wasn’t surprising.

I am not ashamed to be a Mayer fan. And Dump’s disdainful snorting and recommendation of Slayer – if I wanted to see “a real show” – was not the most scathing of rebukes. But it’s not just drunken metal heads who dismiss John Mayer. Upstanding citizens alike, tend to think of his songs as sorority bedtime music, and thus devoid of artistic merit. And this, to put it delicately, upsets my musical sensibilities.

Forgetting for the moment that he is one of the most talented guitarists alive, Mayer is a monster songwriter. He is a wealth of catchy melodies, and has the ability to flesh them out with clever and memorable lyrics. Most of his verses could pass for hooks, and the bridges and choruses themselves are usually pop magic. Not to say that John Mayer is The Beatles, but that last sentence could easily describe either Lennon or McCartney.

Now, about that guitar playing: on every one of the fifteen guitars that he rotated through during his set, Mayer displayed masterful control and ease in experimentation. He mouthed along with his playing like it was a forgone conclusion his fingers should accurately produce the sound he desired; as if his brain was directly wired to the guitar. The show as a whole, with the help of a group of industry pros – including legendary drummer Steve Jordan, and a rhythm guitarist, who when given a chance on the mic, sang like Marvin Gaye – progressed at a perfect tempo. Not to mention John Mayer’s signature comedic interludes. When they lit up the audience, seeing a cardboard banner that read “7,157 miles just to get here,” Mayer quipped, “Sorry ladies, I’m gonna need that in kilometers.” He managed to be funny and give a nod to the Canadian audience at the same time; the reaction was one of the biggest of the night.

Any performer with a little tour experience knows that giving praise to the great crowd and insinuating that their being great has something to do with the town they live in, is an easy way to generate energy. Any regular concert-goer will tell you how contrived these moments always seem. But there was a moment during this show where I thought we got an honest compliment. Instead of the usual chant or simple hooting and hollering, when it came time to call Mayer back for the encore, the crowd began singing a refrain which we had earlier been asked to sing during the call and response part of the show. GM Place was serenading John Mayer. When he came back out all he said was “You guys are incredible.” And I believed him.

I’ve been going around saying that the John Mayer show was as good as, if not better than, Jay-Z. (If you really want to see something cool, Youtube the pair of them performing D.O.A. together. Even Hova gives up a little stink face upon Mayer’s entry into the main line.) But when it comes to Mayer, most people are like Dump Truck. You beat them over the head with evidence of his prowess as a performer, his catalogue of first-rate pop tunes, or even acclaim from other respected musicians – but they never get down.

– A. Vice