REVIEW: Josh Groban seduced men and women alike at the American Airlines Center

Josh Groban

In an era when autotuning has effectively masked the tone-deaf caterwauling of countless numbers of pop “vocalists,” it’s nice to hear a singer who can, you know, sing (are you listening, Ke$ha?). When Josh Groban breaks out that creamy baritone on a squishy pop ballad like “You Are Loved,” you stop caring that his style is perhaps too adult-contemporary for serious music fans, too popera for classical music lovers, and you just rinse in the rich glow of his voice.

Groban can still pull in crowd, as he showed to a well-attended concert at American Airlines Center on Monday night. What’s fascinating about his demographic is, there is no demographic; we sat next to another gay couple; a middle-aged straight couple sat in front of us; teenagers squealed at the 30-year-old mophead from floor seats; and an 8-year-old attended with her mom, a Hispanic woman in her 30s. Guys and gals wore Groban T-shirts (they pawed at him so much as he worked his way repeatedly through the throng, I thought he might wanna rename himself Josh Gropin’). It was an ecumenical musical experience, with everyone there knowing what they were getting and walking away satisfied.

It’s been almost exactly 10 years since Groban burst on the scene, rehearsing with Celine Dion at the Grammys then getting a features role on Ally McBeal, and going from gangly kid to romantic star almost overnight. Groban gravitates (he admits this) to sad, slow songs that showcase his deliberate, fully rounded vocal chops. He’s a bit Vegas showman, moving his performance space several times from an elevated platform at center court with an upright piano to his full band at the end of the arena, slapping hands as he moves through the audience.

—  Arnold Wayne Jones

BOOK REVIEW: ‘Unbearable Lightness: A Story of Loss and Gain,’ by Portia de Rossi

Atria Books (2010), $26, 308 pp.

There’s a fine line between “want” and “need.” When you were a kid, you didn’t need another cookie, or that creamy glass with holiday garnish. And definitely, you didn’t need the calories. But oh, you wanted them.

So imagine denying yourself those and almost all other foods. Imagine living on 300 calories a day. Then read Unbearable Lightness, Portia de Rossi’s remarkable memoir.

Amanda Rogers was a smart kid who aspired to become a lawyer in her native Australia, until the modeling bug bit her and she quickly decided that the runway was the way to run. She convinced her mother to drive her to an interview, and she convinced executives that, at age 12, she could handle the world of high fashion. Though she felt uncomfortable and self-conscious about perceived body flaws, she persevered, changing her name to Portia de Rossi.

Later, when given the chance to be in a movie, de Rossi was surprised that she loved acting, though she wasn’t confident about her beauty. She thought her face was too round, her cheeks too fat, her thighs too chubby. Her weight yo-yoed. Wardrobe tailors on the Ally McBeal set were kept busy with alterations. De Rossi was mortified.

But that wasn’t her only source of personal loathing. She had always known that she was gay, but it wasn’t discussed. She married, but the union ended when he learned the truth at couple’s therapy. Co-workers weren’t told because de Rossi feared for her job. She denied her feelings and lived in terror of being outed.

Embarking on a nutritionist-recommended low-calorie diet didn’t quell the diet demon in de Rossi’s mind, so she went on a program all her own.

She meticulously weighed each ounce of food, fretted over “hidden calories,” and obsessively avoided anything that might add to her daily intake.

On the day she hit 82 pounds, she said that celebration was in order but, “first I had to silence the drill sergeant that reminded me of that extra inch of fat. First I had to get rid of that.”

As with many memoirs like Unbearable Lightness, I had two very dissimilar feelings while reading it. First, this book reeks with pain. De Rossi is very clear about the bruising thoughts and negativity that she felt in hiding so many personal aspects of her life, and though this book has a make-you-grin, wonderfully happy ending, getting there hurts.

Second, it hurts to read not just because of the pain de Rossi relays, but because it can be slow. In the end, de Rossi’s pantry held a paltry handful of items, for instance, and that fact was hammered home in many ways, many times.

Still, if you’ve ever lived too long with a secret that ate you alive, read this. You won’t just want Unbearable Lightness, you need it.

— Terri Schlichenmeyer

This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition March 18, 2011.

—  John Wright