Maybe the woman filing out of Avalon Sunday night didn't quite understand what had just happened inside. "I don't know if he's trying to start a punk band or what," she said with obvious frustation.
Clearly, she owns just one (if any) of Manu Chao's albums. But then, it's also easy to get the wrong idea about this French-born singer-songwriter who has ignited a fervent following much like the timeless musicians who have influenced him, Bob Marley and the Clash chief among them.
Manu Chao is a punk musician, starting with his roots in Mano Negra, the seminal hard-rock band he formed in the late-'80s. Yet he's also everything else you can't fit neatly into a single category. He's the "Other" box you'd check for genre: Latin rocker, reggae crooner, tender balladeer, hip-hop beatmaster -- singing in Spanish, French, English, and Portuguese (often just on one song).
Already beloved in Europe and Latin America, the 46-year-old Chao is now making serious inroads into the US market, in advance of a new album in September. His Boston gig was a major event, selling out more than a month ago.
Avalon was a snug fit for a show of epic proportions (and duration: 25-plus songs in a little more than two exhausting hours). You can't get too comfortable at a Manu Chao show. He doesn't allow it. As soon as you settle into the easygoing reggae melody, the one-two pummel of drums careens the song into overdrive and into brawny punk-rock that flames out in a blaze. That explained the sea of fist-pumping young people who had to contend with crowd-surfing amid fans' hoisted images of Che Guevara's mug.
With a mix of hits ("Bongo Bong") and Mano Negra classics ("Mala Vida"), it was an evening of surprises, too. He turned the boozy, horn-driven "Welcome to Tijuana," which addresses illegal immigration, into a closing-time ballad on acoustic guitar against a backdrop of twinkling lights; "Clandestino" and "Desaparecido" got similarly stripped-down treatments.
He exhorted everyone "to be what you are" ("sean lo que sean"), which came with a slogan that also doubles as one of his album titles: "próxima estación: esperanza" ("next station: hope").
Whether that idea is punk, reggae, or rock, who cares? You don't need labels or genres with a message that clear and an audience so eager to embrace it.
