Concert review: âWelcome to my cultâ Josh Groban rules at American Airlines Center
Shortly after I arrived at American Airlines Center on Wednesday evening for the final show of Josh Grobanâs 23-date âIn the Roundâ tour, a couple of older women took their seats next to me. The one sipping from a plastic cup of white wine introduced herself by asking, breathlessly, âHow are we going to contain ourselves tonight?â While my half-mumbled âI donât knowâ didnât exactly match her enthusiasm, she served as a representative for most of the others in attendance.
In the 12 years since Grobanâs debut album set him on the course to multi-platinum success, heâs become an unlikely heartthrob for women of all ages. Not only can he sing like an angel â with an impressive range he himself described during the show as âbaritone-ishâ â but heâs wickedly smart, outwardly considerate, and genuinely funny. Heâs the kind of guy youâd want to bring home to Mama â if you werenât afraid of Mama stealing him from you.
Now 32, the Los Angeles-based vocalist has six hit studio albums under his belt, including Noel, one of the best-selling holiday CDs of all time, and years of experience playing every kind of venue from concert halls to Olympic stadiums. So he thought heâd have a little fun this fall â shake things up by performing in the round.
The concert Wednesday played more as a victory lap than a sprint to the finish line. Constantly moving around his oval-shaped stage, featuring a raised center platform with pits on both sides for his band members, Groban created an atmosphere as laid-back as his sit-and-listen classical material will allow. Instead of giving him hushed reverence, the sections of fans surrounding the stage occasionally broke out into rock ânâ roll cheers and even catcalls.
âI like the catcalls,â Groban remarked after opening with âBraveâ and âFalse Alarms,â songs he co-wrote for this yearâs album All That Echoes. âI appreciate them, because I was a nerd in high school. ⌠Treat me like a piece of meat, Dallas.â And the jokes just kept on coming, highbrow and lowbrow.
The Grobes got his biggest laugh when a woman referred to his best-known hit by yelling out, âYou raise me up!â He didnât skip a beat: âThank you, maâam. That is the least expected thing anybody has ever shouted at me.â
While an in-the-round setup might be awkward for performers who hog the spotlight, Groban seemed happy to let his trumpet player, violinist and guitarists share in the crowdâs love on the outer catwalk. When the production called for extra arena drama, starry lighting displays and other elegant set embellishments were lowered on command.
Groban brought in members of Dallasâ Turtle Creek Chorale to assist him on âYou Raise Me Upâ and employed local string players to round out the pit orchestra. Multifaceted opening act Judith Hill, who excelled in Michael Jackson: This Is It and as a contestant on The Voice, joined the headliner on âRemember When It Rainedâ and âThe Prayer.â
But what truly made the ladies to my left and everyone else so happy to be there was Grobanâs money maker: his voice. The low, booming verses and surprisingly soulful falsetto refrains helped slow-burners like âTo Where You Are,â âFebruary Songâ and Don McLeanâs âVincentâ come alive, so much so that the husbands and boyfriends who were dragged there probably left with a new man crush.
âWelcome to my cult,â Groban joked at one point. âYour robes will be passed out at the end of the evening and your souls now belong to me.â
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