It’s a hot, sticky mid-week summer afternoon in Oregon in 1991, and I am delivering auto parts to a nearly deserted Sears Auto Center. Without air conditioning, the windshield acts as a magnifying glass and the sun begins to bake my drenched skin. Just two more hours to go and I’ll be able to peel my body off these vinyl seats for the last time today and go home to wash this day off my skin. Spending eight agonizing hours behind the wheel of a Toyota truck in weather conditions that ranged from 90 degree summers to cold, wet springs to snow covered winters, was only made bearable by the after-market cassette player my boss had installed in the company car. It was during this 3-year run as a parts delivery driver that I first discovered and came to love some of my favorite artists. I absolutely wore out Tori Amos’ Little Earthquakes, Pearl Jam’s Ten, Stone Temple Pilot’s Core and last but certainly not least, Queensryche’s Empire. It was not just the incredible songwriting and dramatic production of Empire that so enthralled me, but Geoff Tate’s unbelievably rich voice that compelled me time and time again to pull that tape from my glove box and slide it into the player. Soon after, I discovered the band’s 1988 release, Operation Mindcrime and became a fan for life. Somehow during the next decade I had managed to miss every chance to see Queensryche live. So, needless to say, when my editor called me to ask if I could cover Geoff Tate at the House of Blues, I jumped at the chance.

This was the second night of a solo performance by Geoff in support of his self-titled debut CD released on Sanctuary Records. The crowd was littered with die-hard fans whose love for Geoff Tate kept them firmly planted in their hard-won spots on the floor at the House of Blues. I had arrived in the middle of the opening band’s last song and tried to position myself near the stage in hopes of snapping some candid photos. I approached a petite blonde woman and asked her if I could slide in front of her for just two songs but she dismissed me with a wave of her hand and sneered, “Go over there.” Ever the diplomat, I managed to make friends with a group of adoring fans that were leaning against the barrier in the center of the stage.  I asked them if they would allow me to get up front for two songs to shoot for the magazine and, luckily, they were more than happy to accommodate me.

The first thing I saw when the huge patch-work curtain was drawn back from the wooden stage was a bass player dressed in a bright red, skintight shirt and matching plaid pants. Though, I had not heard the new material yet, my editor had warned me that I would not be seeing Queensryche tonight, and he couldn’t have been more right. The band of hired-hands was like a patchwork quilt of different styles and ages, from R&B to Punk to Metal. The music they expertly played was an eclectic mix of jazz, R&B and pop.  However, in all honesty, it was not the band I was interested in seeing on this night but the singer whose work I had admired for years. Geoff’s incredibly distinctive voice and powerful, yet tasteful rock-opera inspired delivery were absolutely hypnotic. Despite the stylistic differences between Queensryche and Tate’s current project, the core of his musical persona remains intact. In fact, you could put a high school marching band behind this dynamic performer and you would still experience the same moving performance that defined one of the best metal bands of all time. In the end, it is Tate’s honesty and his ability to communicate on stage that will guarantee him success in whatever musical genre he chooses to delve into.

On this particular night, most of the songs in the generous two-hour set were straight off of his solo album. However, Tate did manage to squeeze in a few well-loved Queensryche tunes as well. Most incredible of all was Queensryche’s biggest hit of the 90’s, “Silent Lucidity.” The band had no trouble recreating the lush aural landscape of this classic metal lullaby, and the crowd passionately sang every chorus. Tate’s ability to employ the deep, dark resonance of his lower range and lead the listener through a journey into the nature of reality is an amazing feat even in the studio, but to see it live is indescribable. Simply put, he is a master storyteller whose talent is otherworldly.

The only part of the show that I did not enjoy was Tate’s version of “Thin Line.” I recognized the telltale bass line right away, but was shocked to hear the band break into a pleasant, yet bland up-tempo version of the once sexy, brooding song. Much to my dismay the tune had been de-fanged and reworked into an indistinguishable end of set blues-based jam. Despite this lapse in judgement, the crowd demanded Tate come back for what turned out to be a five-song encore.

While I do not think Tate’s solo effort will garner much commercial success, I have no doubt; his live shows will remain a must-see event for the rest of his noteworthy career.

-Mindy Pye