Clarence Greenwood, a.k.a. Citizen Cope, did not seem to mind, or perhaps notice, that the Marquee Theater was only about half full for his June 6 performance in Tempe, AZ. Only the tallest people in the crowd, who could turn around and see the definitive line where the audience stopped and the empty portion of the room began, really had a sense of the sparse attendance. Perhaps the end of the college semester was to blame, or maybe Cope remains part of the urban underground here in the West, but many missed out on an entrancing performance in which Cope filled the theater with his laidback hip hop beats, southern blues flavor, and peace and love-laced lyrics.
Alice Smith, an up-and-coming soulful vocalist from Brooklyn, opened the show for Cope. Smith entered the stage looking dazed, only barely remembering to take off her sunglasses, which hung from the collar of her thin gray t-shirt. Her discomfort was apparent as her arms swung stiffly by her sides and she stared well above the heads of her audience. Yet her voice was confident and robust, as if her minimal body movement had allowed her to harness a deeper energy and carry it through her lips. People in the crowd could be seen looking at each other and nodding, with the tacit understanding that this woman should be kept on the music radar. Her impressive octave range hinted at the blues while combining elements of jazz and pop. Smith’s performance of "The Gary Song," from her debut album Lovers, Dreamers, and Me had fans reaching for their wallets to buy the CD.
The same band returned to stage as Alice was replaced by the headlining Citizen Cope, who shuffled out languidly in red Timberlands and baggy jeans. The small yet vociferous crowd was glad to see him. He began the show as he had entered, with a slow, lingering song set, including "Friendly Fire" and "More Than it Seems," from his 2006 album Every Waking Moment. Cope’s repetitive reggae-inspired lyrics were easy to sing along to, and the crowd was audible, though seemingly awaiting a more upbeat jam session. It was not until "Bullet and Target," about five songs in, when Cope cranked up the energy and the crowd really began to stir. Cope kicked his legs out wide and stomped around the stage, singing "Now what you’ve done is/put yourself between a bullet and a target/and it won’t be long before you’re pulling yourself away. . . " Subtle head bobbing turned into swaying as the hard drum beats infused the room.
Cope played an equal medley of songs from The Clarence Greenwood Recordings and Every Waking Moment, throwing in the politically-conscious "Let the Drummer Kick," announcing, "We never play this song." The band left the stage after over an hour and Cope returned alone for a crooning acoustic song set, which included the lullaby-esque "D’Artagnon’s Theme." For "107," perhaps the most memorable song on Every Waking Moment, Alice Smith joined him with smoky backup vocals. Both Cope and Smith looked more comfortable performing in a shared spotlight, and their similarities in demeanor may have begged questions for some about the nature of their friendship.
Though still subdued in manner, Citizen Cope is now infinitely more polished on stage than he was two years ago. He still, at times, turns his back to the audience during interludes, as if looking to the band for reassurance or perhaps trying to find a momentary escape. Yet for those who enjoy his unique sound, with languorous lyrics and smooth, rhythmic beats, the live performance brings intensity and fervor to the album recordings and makes a Citizen Cope show well worth seeing.
