Her name is Ani DiFranco.
Her rhythms are so ripe, it should be Ani Di-funk-o.
But for Arizona crowds, she'll probably be changing it to Ani Di-fuck-you.
The dread-headed, bongo-beating, rhyme-dealing diva of alternative folk sang, rapped and pleaded to a less than civil crowd at Celebrity Theatre in Phoenix last Thursday.
"I'll be your folksinger if you just humor me for one second," the 31-year-old musical maverick said in between guitar strums and amid the incessant screaming of fans.
Seeing this "righteous babe" perform live for the first time should have been a memory in itself -- the way she merges funk, poetry and politics on stage is intoxicating. And yet, all I can think about are the Arizona imbeciles that couldn't keep their mouths shut or their hands to themselves.
The show started off promising enough. After a sedative performance by a wispy yet endearing opening folk act, Noe Venable, the sold-out crowd in the intimate venue (with only three-fourths of a 2,100 seating capacity being used) buzzed with anticipation for the empress of indie folk-rock to take the stage.
The diverse audience -- a meshing of alternative teens, headstrong businesswomen, slightly uncomfortable men, moms and dads, and yes, plenty of lady lovers -- was electrified with a unifying notion that everyone there knew Ani deeply and personally through her music.
The thrill was intensified when the stage went black and the beats of dueling bongos erupted into the air, transforming audience murmurs into unyielding shouts and screams.
A spotlight revealed a smiling, hyped-up DiFranco, faced off with drummer Daren Hahn, inching toward each other in rhythm as they smacked down the intro. to "Freak Show," off her 1999 album, To the Teeth.
DiFranco then turned to her master of keys and long-time friend, Julie Wolf, who stood next to her with a microphone, and mouthed, "You ready? Let's go."
The crowd was appropriately enthusiastic at that point, dancing to Ani's staccato-type singing and cheering louder every time she spoke. When Ani lamented, "It seems like we've been here before, haven't we?" the crowd lost control, giddy at the thought that she would remember lil' ol' us.
Well, she'll definitely remember us now, but not for the reasons we should want.
It was when DiFranco brought her set down a notch that the crowd stepped up to its full idiotic potential.
The shrill cries of fans continued through her first slower melodic track, "Marrow" (off her 2001 double album Revelling/Reckoning) and into her next poetic song, "Out of Habit."
As she strummed the beginning of "Habit" (off her first, self-entitled album), she politely asked for the screaming and clapping to cease just for one song.
"Surprise me," she said. It was clear that DiFranco simply wanted to be heard.
Apparently these instructions were too difficult for fans, who continued to clap and shout, "We love you Ani," during the beautifully harmonic melody.
The tension eased within a few more songs, but it was evident that DiFranco wasn't putting on the show she really could. She rushed from song to song, skipping clever commentary and sticking to routine, jumping right to the band introductions.
This part of the evening no doubt taught Ani never to turn her back to an audience in the dark again, at least in Arizona.
As DiFranco spun around to introduce Hahn, and the spotlight focused on his drum solo, a freak from the front row jumped on stage and grabbed DiFranco from behind in a bear hug-like fashion.
It didn't take long to rip the giddy girl from Ani, who gave a nervous giggle as she was set free, but I'm sure she didn't enjoy the experience of being attacked in the dark.
DiFranco didn't let her frustration show, most likely having given up on controlling the crowd, because her actual performance climaxed with her final piece, a lengthy musical poem/rant about Sept. 11 and the bullshit of politics and the media.
She spewed out the lyrics on life and lies and war without taking a breath, adding inflection to just the right words, cocking an eyebrow at the just the right moment, hushing and raising her voice in a way that finally shut everyone up.
"On the day that America fell to its knees, after strutting around for a century without saying thank you or please," she sang. "Take away our Playstations and we are a third world nation."
It didn't matter if you were liberal or conservative at that point -- you were hypnotized by her laugh-like voice, the way she angled the beats around her words, placing passion and intensity where it belonged.
DiFranco came back for one encore performance -- "Sick of Me" (Reckoning).
"How sick of me must you be by now," she sang in a slightly ironic manner.
I wonder if this was really her choice of songs, or if she was sending the audience a twisted message, implying her disdain for Arizona fans and her intention to never return.
When asked if DiFranco would be making any special post-show appearances, a security guard whispered in a cautious tone, "Ms. DiFranco is gonna wait until the entire parking lot is empty, then she's gonna come out and have a smoke. She doesn't want to talk to nobody."
DiFranco and her energetic ensemble represent live performance at its best. Unfortunately, it was the obnoxious Arizona crowd that defined the show.
Reach Ashlea Deahl at ashlea.deahl@asu.edu.
