If anyone remembers the concerts given by Perfume Genius a few years back, they were quiet, small affairs. Not in terms of audience per se, but the band was a two member affair, and the main focus was Mike Hadreas sitting behind the piano singing his personal, heartfelt songs. These moments are still there, but what he has added is a breakfast full of variety. Variety in terms of pace, attitude, and performance. It’s like a Jean Genet prophecy, on stage the guy has basically become the sashaying Queen from his most recent album, including lipstick, a women’s suit, and a pinstripe-yet-see-through shirt. The moves he is making are almost dares, and you can almost hear the sweet transvestites in the back whipping their snapping fingers saying You-Go-Girl.

Some of the television performances felt a bit awkward, or at least they were not quite convincing to the point that here’s the second coming of Elvis. In the context of a whole gig, it seems to be a more natural fit. The real gain is that the show-- running a bit under the scheduled hour-- isn’t a one-trick affair. Not only the performance has been upped, the variety in terms of music as well, with the addition of all kinds of instruments and influences. The setlist definitely is doing them (the four man band Perfume Genius has become) some favors, with new and sassy material bookending and mixing with the smaller and personal tracks from the man’s earlier work.

If one is afraid that the older material might sound sparse or archaic in comparison to the more daring newer songs, then they will be pleasantly surprised by the fact that perhaps the two best moments come when he plays songs off of his debut. When Alan takes a seat next to Mike on the piano, and this lovely, shy smile appears on the to that point extravagantly performing singer’s face, one has to acknowledge how sweet the sight is. Musically, the track ‘Look Out, Look Out’ is still a dagger through ones soul as he warns to indeed look out, look out, for there are still some quite menacing things about.

Far less endearing and far more alienating is Dean Blunt, who is doing a sort of Beat poetry & jazz session that has a lot of raging saxophones, spoken word, and which provides little in terms of structure. It is as intriguing as it is hard to really warm up to. Some of the playing is expert, some of the lines read out are quite worthwhile, yet most of the time it is so far out of the realm of what one can call a musical performance that it is hard to know when to clap, admire, laugh, thank, praise, or feel like the butt of an elaborate prank.

On stage there’s a drummer, two horn players, a pianist, and the performer du jour, who has printed out a four page essay to read to us. The spot turns on him as the others are playing some free jazz in the background, and when he stops, the spot disappears and especially the guys on the horns go absolutely crazy. After a loooong while the spot turns back on again, with the next part of a tale about music culture, money, living on the street, and chasing your dreams. As Dream chasers, so he says, feel like a higher class, it’s just that they are in a different tax bracket. Certainly, there’s some art to be found here, and it’s quite sure that something is being performed, though the meagre applause at the end of it all indicates that a large portion of the audience just isn’t quite sure what that exactly is. It comes close to DuChamp’s Fountain, with the audience not confident if this is an essential critique on the state of music/art/life, or if they are at the other end of someone laughing.

Blues is one of those genres that we connote to the years of yore. Luckily, some of those old dogs are still touring around (or have been up until recently), so you can still get to see a fair few who’ve contributed to the heydays of the blues. Some of those I’d consider must-sees, like a Buddy Guy for instance, who still has the music running through his veins and who can still perform the heck out of his guitar. Old doesn’t have to mean ragged or deluded per se (cue comments by people who’ve seen Guy four to five decades ago and how awesome he was back then). Though, admittedly, the crowd at Dr. John’s performance has an urgency to dance that’s only rivalled by their inability to still smoothly do so.

Dr. John and the Nite Trippers are hot, apparently. Yours truly ran into them as they were playing Primavera this year, and here they’re performing in front of a sizeable crowd as well. So there’s the good doctor, with a huge band backing him with the organ, the horn section, the guitarists, and with the man himself behind the piano. What I love about these kinds of set-ups is that, theoretically, a blues band like this can play a song that lasts forever. Because first you can get the intro before they get to the first part of the song, then every band member takes a turn soloing, and then you get a call-and-response between the band leader and either the audience or the other band members. Usually, the band leader isn’t satisfied with the response, and will halt the song to try again, and only then does the last part of the song actually begin. You gotta love that blues kind of theater.

Unfortunately,  Dr. John and his Nite Trippers aren’t really showing off all the loveliness that the ol’ school blues has to offer. Most of it sounds kind of insipid, uninspired, and rather by-the-numbers. Dr. John’s voice surely doesn’t fit into the line of that of other blues power houses anymore, and the hoodoo and the voodoo that is promised by the skull on the piano doesn’t really transpire into something that really transports you to a New Orlean’s woman hanging over a cauldron and putting a spell on you (because you are hers!). And so all kinds of old staples are being played, but none in such a way that you’re happy that you’re hearing them live again, and if this show is anything to go by one has to wonder why Dr. John and his band are suddenly such a hot commodity amongst festival bookers. Today surely isn’t cementing his status as someone who is still at the top of his game.