Nothing like unseasonable weather to test the limits of a car deemed luxury — particularly when the luxury segment is being turned on it’s head by the stormy perceptions of the moment. These are the make or break entrants — the hybrid SUVS.
Time again extreme weather is the real test of comfort, durability and sensibility — which is the real measure of new luxury. In these times, luxury is no longer about cache, but more about cozy — the indulgences worth investing in. And so the weekend wave of sweltering heat that took over the tri-state area proved to be a good measure of the new prototype Lexus RX450 h. By our estimation, RX450h passed the test. [click to continue…]
As I log in for the day’s recap, the last of the media are unwinding from the annual product assault that is part of the Detroit Auto Show. If they’re still lingering at the Volkswagen party at the Guardian Building vibing to the sounds of ex-pat Clark Warner, I hope they’re not driving far, because it all starts again bright and early tomorrow morning.
Covering an auto show hurts. Perhaps it has something to do with the misleading carpet at Cobo Hall that rests upon hard concrete, but after a day of vehicle debuts, everything hurts starting with sore feet, down to the crick in the back of throat from too much talking. The glaring difference from years past is the lack of glitz. No more heady haze, trying to keep all those opulent product debuts sorted. Though this isn’t a banner year for the adorned concept car there’s still a lot to reflect on in much more cerebral terms. Here are a few of the day’s highlights:
• GM employees exiting the building, still carrying their signs under their arms, “Game Changer.”
• Our upcoming wacky conversation with BMW Design Director Chris Bangle.
•Designer Ralph Gilles’s sleek Chrysler 200C EV sedan.
• The camaraderie among journalists and car company people happy to come together in honor of an industry and still collecting a pay check.
• The delicious decadence of Bentley GTC Speed, and the hint of big beautiful saloon on the horizon. The sinewy Z4 Roadster was cause for ooh and ahh.
• Carroll Shelby marking birthday 89 with another bad-ass Ford Shelby GT 500.
No photos were allowed, so you’ll have to take my word for it. Alicia Keys was at her best last week in an intimate concert in the Allen Room, the glorious small theater over looking Central Park at Jazz at Lincoln Center in the Time Warner building last week. Just a few days before nabbing American Music Awards for Best Pop/Rock and Best R & B and Soul Album, Keys paused in New York to acknowledge her tour sponsor Lexus.
Clad in a simple sunset orange sparkly top, coordinated stilettos and snug denim, Keys ran through an hour-long set list including “Superwoman”, “Fallin’” and “A Woman’s Worth.” While Keys rocked arenas this summer, she was more natural in the intimate concert setting, playing to the crowd with sincerity and with the polish of a well-rehearsed performer, confidently working the groove. She also showed her courage, with backup singers that could out sing her with natural talent on most skat and improvisations. Keys kept her vocals more in the pocket, concentrating on skillful keyboard and piano arrangements of her biggest hits, sending the nod to her band leader who built the jams and added to the musicality of the evening. With only a few hundred people to please from the Lexus and XM guest lists, Keys pranced to salsa drums, but did not attempt showy dance routines that seemed force. For one brisk evening, Keys was a sophisticated lounge act, seemingly carefree and loving her music, and sharing it with a well-dressed after work audience. A native New Yorker on her home turf, she seemed in the mood to spread the good cheer, even proclaiming, “We’re all New Yorkers.” She ended with a warm, organic composition of her latest hit “No One,” as people cheered and rushed in Manhattan style for the coat check off into the blustery night. Keys played JALC in 2005 in a fundraiser for AIDS charity Keep a Child Alive.
The U.S. Open quarter final match pitting sister against sister isn’t a bad way to start out watching professional tennis. From title sponsor Lexus digs, I watched the sweaty throw down between Venus and Serena Williams in absolute awe. The 124 mile serves executed by Wimbledon champ Venus crashed against the wall and Serena’s grunts and cries echoed on the Arthur Ashe court, as the thick suspense between the siblings captivated the crowd.
It was an epic evening since the match didn’t begin on time as the afternoon battle between Andy Murray and Juan Martin Del Portro lasted while into the evening. When Murray ended his note on a victory, the stands emptied and the full capacity evening crowd filtered into see what promised to be the greatest match of the quarters.
The Williams sisters seized the court, and from the sense of their body language early on, it was evident that match would be played with feverish intensity. Venus wiped her palms and the sweat poured, but when it was said and done it was a defiant and disciplined Serena who would take top honors. Hard to believe that there’s still more rounds until they name a ladies’ champion.
While I wasn’t tough enough to stay for the Nadal and flying Fish fry late night dual, the evening ended on a perfect note as I was introduced to Billie Jean King on the way out, who congratulated me on my own internal player development while I waited for my driver to pull around.
While Ms. King climbed into her Lexus SUV, I knew it was really time to leave as a stretch limo pulled up and Donald Trump climbed in. But, I will be back next year, with perhaps a little tennis under my belt.
Granted, I don’t know much about tennis, but after covering tennis players and their cars for Forbes Autos, I am considering picking up a racket soon. Kudos to my accompanying tennis expert Rosie who broke down very aspect of the score keeping, the tough technical moves and the players to watch.
The men strapped in safety harnesses, climbed into cantankerous contraptions. In tandem, the swings moved to the top of the auditorium suspended for two hours time. They were the light guys for the Alicia Keys arena tour, crew members in a full-scale blown out production, trained to follow cues enhancing the dancing, singing and piano playing extravaganza.
Lexus, the title sponsor of the Alicia Keys ticket, graciously offered me two tickets for the final sold out date of her tour, not far from where Ms. Keys grew up in Hell’s Kitchen. I accepted without knowing that the seats would be stellar — row M, main floor. For any Alicia Keys fan, this would be a dream come true.
There’s something about the energy of a soldout crowd in the anticipatory moment. It’s been sometime since I last attended a mega arena concert. I suppose it was Jay-Z at the Meadowlands for the Best of Both Worlds, minus R Kelly who dropped out and was replaced by a super concert roster of rap stars. My fondest concert memories are locked in my Michigan childhood — Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation Tour, U2 and the Pixies, Madonna for Who’s that Girl and Depeche Mode. Then there are the more odd ball — Def Leppard, the Grateful Dead, and Pink Floyd. My all-time favorite concert was Prince at the Fox Theater, but that was intimate compared to the arenas — the Palace (home of the Pistons) and the Silverdome (former home of the Detroit Lions). What these concerts did was make me a fan, swept up in the blaring sounds, flashing lights, as I patiently waited for the hits that might not come until the encore.
Much has changed in concert production — better sound, bigger up close video, and no more lighters, replaced by cell phones glinting in a sea of swaying arms. Now the openers are often big stars in their own right. I missed Jordin Sparks but caught enough of Neyo to see why he is the new generation voice of r n’b, enchanting the young crowd with a cameo Rihanna appearance.
What made this show distinct from others I have seen was the dual persona that Keys carried off as an r n’b soul pop star. To set the drama, an elaborate short film delivered her from the Pulpit center stage to her hungry fans. The sassy 20-something strutted with her mic in unapolagetic tight black jeans, and an equally tight bodice, surrounded by a b boys and back up dancing divas. She might not be Janet or Beyonce, but she did her best to prove that she could play the part of pop star.
It wasn’t until her co-star – a shiny grand piano — emerged on stage that Keys found her pocket in the groove. She was already sweaty with melted makeup, but seemed not to notice or care, as she settled into her reportoire — entertaining ” Prince’s Why Don’t You Call Me?”with flirty winks and pouty nods in a sultry diva voice, recreating the hit from her 2002 album. At the moment, we all loved Alicia. Let’s set things straight –I am not a true Keys fan. In fact, I reluctantly find myself liking a few of her songs. However, I’m a sucker for a true performer going for the gusto — and at her piano she did — a songbird with light fingers tracing the keys. Keys won me over in these moments of musicality.
Then, it was back to the choreography — and the energy lulled for up-tempo songs that only her hardcore fans know. I noticed that she switched mics – and I suspect she may have lipsynced a song or two, unless there was a delay on the reverb. Hmm. But back to the keyboards and pianos, and she was in her element again, breath audible — and her timing was impeccable. Another cover was a show stealer “Tender Love,” originally performed by the Force M.D.S and composed by Terry Lewis and Jimmy Jam in 1986. Her performance of recent hits, “Superwoman” and her showstopping closers “Fallin’” and “If I Ain’t Got You” were commanding. “No One” had the crowd standing and I swayed, though this definitely is not my favorite song ever. That’s what happens in a mega-concert moment.
Keys, the virtuoso, who just wanted to play her piano and sing her heart out to her fans, was far more convincing and endearing than the stilted diva. While she can move, swivel and strut when she feels like it, she doesn’t need to, and the NY Daily News critics agree with me. Keys, herself, seemed unconcerned with visual — no makeup touch ups and minor changes of sweaty clothes, wet hair hanging in her face. What’s wrong with a young talent jamming with her band and interacting with an adoring audience? That’s old-fashioned, good entertainment.
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