Janet Jackson a Slick Replica of Her Videos

With Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation” show, what you’ve seen is what you get.

Jackson’s concert Saturday night at the Pacific Amphitheatre fell right in line with a growing, dauntingly conservative and unimaginative trend in pop music: the live concert as long-form video, replicating as closely as possible what fans already have seen on MTV.

The 90-minute show featured kinetic dance steps and costumery straight out of Jackson’s videos. Along with her 14-member ensemble of singers, players and dancers, and a good deal of digital-electronic sound goosing, Jackson was able to offer to-the-note replications of songs from her two quintuple platinum albums, “Control” and “Janet Jackson’s Rhythm Nation 1814.”

The proceedings were so tightly choreographed, lit and mounted that there was no hint of looseness or spontaneity, no room for the sudden leaps of passion, inspiration, silliness, crazy risks or unguarded moments that can tell you something about a performer that you never could have known without having bought a ticket for that night. You knew going in that Janet Jackson is a sweet-looking singer with some terrific dance moves, a dab of PG-rated sexiness and a streak of socially minded idealism. That’s precisely what you knew walking out because the show had conveyed no extra depth or dimension.

(You would think that a performer whose current album has an anti-racist pledge printed on the cover and songs restating the ideal of a color-blind society might want to take a moment to note the significance of Nelson Mandela’s triumphant arrival in the United States. But Jackson’s conveyor belt of a show didn’t allow for even as slight a departure as that.)

That isn’t to say there wasn’t entertainment value in this concert-as-clockwork. Jackson’s dance routines worked as well on-stage as they do in her videos. Most of them were ensemble steps in which she moved in unison with a crew of up to five dancers. Singers who can’t dance usually look dwarfed and silly when a row of hoofers go to work behind them. But Jackson most assuredly can dance. Except for a couple of ballads, her performance was nonstop, with a twitch or thrust or twirl to accentuate every beat. The Prince sound-alike “Escapade” was a highlight that turned into a lively dance party when Jackson introduced a crew of street dancers for some impromptu moves that brought a trace of spontaneity to the show.

With Jackson pumping out energy, providing spectacle and offering sound-alikes of her hits, the near-capacity house could hardly have been better pleased. At the concert’s first pause, she basked in the spotlight--a bit longer than necessary--and beamed while the audience greeted her with several minutes of show-stopping applause. Jackson’s funky stuff kept ‘em dancing all night long.

So what’s the problem with that? Just that a well-oiled machine like Jackson’s elaborate juggernaut doesn’t require a performer to think of what can be done to make this night, this moment, different--to give live performance a dimension that doesn’t exist elsewhere. A rock concert should not be like a Broadway musical, where following the script is all that matters.

As the show pumped to a close with the massive funk of “Rhythm Nation,” one couldn’t help thinking how neat it would be if Jackson and her band gave a nod to the song’s similar-sounding precursors, Sly & the Family Stone’s “Dance to the Music” and Stevie Wonder’s thunderously grooving “You Haven’t Done Nothin’. “ That would have been a rich surprise. But the point of this show was to replay for the folks what they’ve already seen and heard--and liked--from a vastly popular performer. Not a note of this concert wasn’t already available on disc, LP or cassette.

“Replay” is a loaded word where Jackson’s live show is concerned. As with other dance-pop acts, such as Madonna and New Kids on the Block, questions have been raised as to whether Jackson really sings all the notes, or rides along with the aid of backing tapes. Jackson may be a cardiovascular wonder capable of dancing almost nonstop and never missing a note, but there was an exaggerated fullness to her singing and the backing vocals that suggested lots of electronic enhancement, if not actual backing tracks. Jackson and her backup singers may well have run the race with actual singing instead of taking taped shortcuts, but they were likely doing it with the help of digital steroids.

At moments when she didn’t have effects bolstering her tone, such as the ballad “Let’s Wait Awhile,” Jackson’s voice sounded more cautious and delicate, but it was still appealing. At 24, she obviously has some of older brother Michael’s famous work ethic, so maybe touring and hard work really have turned Jackson into what she seemed to be at the Pacific: a better singer live than she is on record. She could prove it decisively by stepping outside the machinery of her show and pulling off some music that takes her onto less sure ground.

Chuckii Booker, the keyboard player who serves as Jackson’s musical director, opened with a half-hour set that was more a warm-up for the headliner than a showcase for his own talents. Booker spent a lot of time on uninspired clowning that may have helped loosen up the crowd but killed the set’s pacing. His voice, definitely not augmented by electronics, wavered between a solid, creamy falsetto and moments when he overreached his range and grew screechy.