Ronan Keating concert: Boyband-hater confessions

Joseph Mangga, Contributor, Jakarta

Boybands, ugh! Make that double-ugh!! A very touchy and controversial subject in this country indeed!

First there was Menudo, followed by the New Kids On the Block and Take That. Then the floodgates of the questionably talented were opened, captivating the prepubescent girls of the world, and their less than welcoming boyfriends, with the sights and sounds of the Backstreet Boys, Boyz II Men, 'N Sync, Westlife, F4 and 5ive.

This is not to forget Boyzone, that Irish brood of flashily synchronized teenage derriere-wagglers, who from 1996 to 1999 took the world by storm with hits like Picture of You and Baby Can You Hold Me Tonight. These, and other boy bands, have together helped stimulate the pheromones of countless sex-starved homebound virgins, to the point where near-spontaneous female gratification occurs whenever these heartthrobs shake their cutesy booty on MTV.

But even millionaire boys have to someday grow up into millionaire men, and to maintain their wealth and fame, a few of the more resilient boy bands have cracked and split, to later spawn a new mutant strain of pop-star, best referred to as "band solo crooner".

Now here's where things get a bit tricky. Even though I irrefutably loathe any and all boy bands, some of these crooners have gone on to become what I consider to be pretty darned good and talented performers, exhibiting tons of natural flair and charisma. Take Robbie Williams for example, the former "bad boy" of Take That, whose solo career has totally eclipsed the accomplishments of his former boy band. He is a man of versatile appeal who has more than demonstrated that he alone is far more than the sum of his former boyband's parts. He has successfully carved an impressive musical career beyond the mountains of choreographers and songwriters that Boyzone or Take That had to employ (even though mega-star Robbie probably now employs even more).

With this frame of mind, I took on the odd assignment of checking out Ronan Keating - the 24 year-old ex-boyband crooner from Boyzone - who played live in Jakarta at Plenary Hall last Sunday night, Feb. 9. I had never previously watched or listened to Mr. Keating much, other than repeatedly hear the song When You Say Nothing At All, from the Notting Hill film soundtrack. This was a massive hit, flogged to death so mercilessly on MTV and elsewhere, that I think a single person on this planet hasn't yet been exposed to it. So putting all my boyband prejudice aside, I walked into the festival seating area of Plenary Hall with a mission to fully report on exactly what this ex-Boyzone crooner kid was all about live.

I arrived a bit before 8 p.m., just as the opening act - the Indonesian pop group Element - was finishing up their closing track. Fifteen minutes later, Ronan Keating, and his seven-piece back-up band, casually took their stations on stage. The girls screamed with delight, as a 50-foot long TV-camera boom swung dangerously-low over my head, nearly decapitating several abnormally tall Indonesians nearby. He was wearing a white long- sleeved shirt, one shirt-tail left hanging-out for effect, and some faded bell-bottomed blue jeans. The toes of his cowboy boots were also incredibly long, and banana-bowed upward at a ridiculous angle. The exact reasons for this are unknown, other than some possible genetic correlation between shoe size and another more part of one's anatomy.

Mr. Keating laid into his first number, The Way You Make Me Feel off of Destination, his second and latest solo album. This was followed by a long list of other songs, including his hits If Tomorrow Never Comes, and, Rollercoaster which was performed much later as part of a four-song encore. The concert also featured the two aforementioned Boyzone tunes, as well as cover-versions of several other artist's songs, including Westlife's Joy and Pain, Someday We'll Know by The New Radicals (most famous for their hit You've Got the Music In You), and -- a surprise song by The King himself -- Elvis Presley's ancient ballad, In The Ghetto that Ronan specially dedicated to Indonesia's poor and less fortunate.

I was standing there, very patiently listening and waiting. All of Ronan Keating's Indonesian fans were happily singing along to the songs they knew and loved, slowly rocking side-to-side, with their hands occasionally up in the air. But other than one slightly-swinging version of Van Morrison's early 70's classic, Brown-Eyed Girl, the entire two-hour performance was just one soft-cock mushy love ballad after another. I kept wondering when in the hell Keating and his band of anti-Barbarians were going to crank things up and play at least a couple of numbers that rocked and moved a little; but that unfortunately never happened. His onstage moves were also pretty subdued and swishy, confined mainly to the immediate radius of his microphone stand, which he passionately embraced like it was some long-lost and limp-kneed anorexic lover.

Of course, Mr. Keating's voice in itself is very smooth and pleasing, and often tinged with a subtle affected country-western twang -- sort of like a less dynamic and raspy Bryan Adams, when that rocker is in his absolute mellowest of musical moods. Keating's songs and lyrics are also quite pretty and poetic, but monotonously one-dimensional, and -- at least to yours truly, completely lacking in real substance. I do not mind a little MTV female-oriented commercial poppycock, just so long as it is entertaining and keeps me awake while my girlfriend or date enjoys herself (e.g. Robbie Williams' Rock DJ or Millennium).

For many young girls and lovers of slow sweet ballads, Ronan Keating may be your man, but he certainly wasn't mine.