PREFER BANDS inspired by 2000 Maniacs instead of Neon Maniacs, ...

NDS inspired by 2000 Maniacs instead of Neon Maniacs, but that Slipknot show was pretty cool. Besides, there's no helping what those suburban kids stumbled across on cable back in the early 90s. At least it's easy to believe that the members of Slipknot can be killed by water. Those jumpsuits look like they haven't been washed in years.

I also prefer A Face in the Crowd to A Star Is Born, and a George W. Bush press conference to American Idol. Still, it seems kind of important to follow up the showbiz of Slipknot with the showmanship of Ruben Studdard. Part of this is simply hometown pride as a Birmingham, AL, native—but that's mainly because Studdard is one of the few pop stars to ever publicly complain about not getting enough action for his payola.

To be fair, Studdard's Soulful was a strangely diverse debut album. A lot of little old ladies were looking forward to some Neil Sedaka covers. Instead, Ruben went and augmented his shiny r&b by going slightly ethnic. He even brought in Fat Joe, which makes the album's carefully crafted pop songs seem even more baffling.

The crowd at the Beacon Theater is baffling, too. Most people would consider this to be an urban audience, which is a major triumph for the marketing machine at the J Records label. It's just not a typical urban audience. By any race or demographic, it's a strange mix. There are a lot of kids and teens that look like it's their first concert, along with an older audience whose idea of old-school soul is likely Melissa Manchester.

The show gets even stranger with the opening act. I'm expecting KEM to be some boy band composed of Kevin, Evan and Majal. I've forgotten that not even his record label can keep track of how to consistently spell KEM. This quiet soul guy is the best indie act to come out of Detroit this decade, and certainly the only decent one to get picked up by a major label—in this case, a surprisingly savvy Motown.

KEM's confident enough to announce that he's "a songwriter first," and that his debut with Kemistry is selling pretty well "for a guy who writes grown folks' music." That's bold talk for a musician who's opening for a pop star currently padding the running time of Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed. The audience doesn't seem to mind, most likely because they appreciate how he's even more of an anachronism than Ruben. KEM notes that people compare him to Al Jarreau, but that's like comparing him to Officer Larvel Jones. KEM's smooth delivery is more reminiscent of the ladies of Love Unlimited. The percussionist even keeps a birdcall handy for those idyllic moments.

And while KEM looks to be 24 years old, he announces that he's "been sober going on 14 years." Man, Detroit rocks!

It's a shame that KEM's soulful classic pop is condensed to a tight 40 minutes. The assumption is that the American Idol crowd needs to be home by 11 p.m., so there's not much waiting before Ruben takes the stage. He seems to have put on some weight, which is as likable as when the newly famous Carnie Wilson did the same. And since Ruben's press machine will need a bit of Personal Drama in a few years, setting up some stomach stapling is a smart move—assuming my investment in the Dead Pool doesn't pay off first.

Ruben can afford to be massive. He doesn't need to have any cool moves. His ability to make it around the stage is impressive enough. Besides, he's here more as a television personality. Ruben's got a truly great voice, but the night mirrors Soulful as sunny r&b mixed with classic pop as seen on tv. There's also plenty of talk about Ruben. He cashes in like a good rap star by announcing his own label, and a backup singer takes a solo turn as the first signing.

Ruben then announces that he's getting on his soapbox, but only to state that voting is a good thing, and he's started a foundation to support music programs in high school. There's a lot of time spent shaking hands with the front row. It actually makes sense when all this climaxes with an epic ode to Ruben's own great success. One rushed couplet gives Ruben a chance to mention that he's "a restaurant owner." It's not easy to rhyme "restaurateur," you know.

This tribute then closes with his lengthy refrain of "If it wasn't for you/There'd be no Ruben." The amazing thing is that he's stating a fact. The audience is invested in this guy, and not in any sense of a deep cultural meaning. We want to be sure Ruben has a good time. It's like we've all gathered to believe in Tinkerbell, and the little fairy isn't even sick.

It's no wonder that Ruben's carried on about his restaurant and his record label and his tax breaks. It's the least he can do to show his appreciation. Ruben doesn't get indulgent with the opportunity, though. He politely closes with the inspirational anthem of "Flying Without Wings," which is the same move Jim Nabors would've made back in 1966. I am—seriously—expecting an American flag to unfurl during the final verse.

I shouldn't have any complaints about a concert that's been exceptionally free of attitude. Nobody minded when KEM went on about his love for God, either. KEM explained that some people didn't like it when he got preachy, but he didn't care because he'd already gotten paid for the night. The crowd thought that was kinda cool, too.

It must be a great show if I'm the only pop geek that I have to tolerate. Nobody else cares about what's become of the definition of a pop star, or if I'm equally displeased about the current status of "bubblegum." The audience goes along with the sentimentality. Everyone's just as inspired by the instant encore of "Shining Star," as heard in the previously mentioned Scooby Doo 2. It's another happy ending, if only in the sense that we're all assured that—even if he's crazy enough to have invested his own money in any of his new projects—Ruben would be able to coast into a wealthy retirement just from tacky corporate bookings.