POP REVIEW : Chicago Blows Hot, Mostly Cold at Amphitheatre

A lot can change in 25 years. And not always for the better, as came to light Saturday at the Pacific Amphitheatre where Chicago celebrated a quarter-century of existence with a nearly two-hour retrospective.

Half of the band members who were there at the beginning still are on the roster (a claim that can’t be made by many rock conglomerates reaching their silver anniversaries). But much of the band’s life is gone.

It was a blessing the group didn’t stick to its more recent material. Without such songs as “Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?” and “25 or 6 to 4” (both written by keyboardist/singer Robert Lamm), this show could have been tediously long. The crowd seemed to agree, taking to its feet for the numbers longest in the tooth, settling back into the chairs for those no older than a Little League player.

Even before the exit of lead singer Peter Cetera in the mid-’80s, Chicago had turned away from its signature brassy arrangements and quirky subject matter to concentrate on synth-backed ballads. The characteristic vocal mix--led by Lamm, keyboardist Bill Champlain and bassist Jason Scheff (who has taken Cetera’s role)--is still intact, but squandered on stilted love songs with embarrassingly silly lyrics.

Worse, the tunes that are 10 years old or less seem to exclude the horns, or to use them only as embellishment--they might as well be synthesized. The three-piece brass section (all original members) spent a lot of time off stage, or with different instruments.

When given a chance to blow, they added punch and depth to the proceedings. Though not as funky as the Tower of Power section or as inventive as the Memphis Horns, saxophonist Walt Parazaider, trombonist James Pankow and trumpeter Lee Loughnane added plenty of needed spark.

Tunes such as “Just You and Me,” “Saturday in the Park” and Chicago’s version of “I’m a Man” stuck pretty close to the originals, though Scheff’s clipped bass work and newest member/Orange County resident Tris Imboden’s heavy-hitter drumming brought a sharper, more funky edge to them.

Guitarist Dawayne Bailey also brought the kind of aggressive, zingy attack to his playing that fixed his sound firmly in the here-and-now. But all that was lost on the weakly romantic material.

Representative of the newer tunes was “You’re a Hard Habit to Break” from “Chicago XVII” (this group has gone through more numerals than a Roman accountant), a maudlin melody with an assertive chorus from which hung the most saccharine of lyrics. Parazaider added some flute to the keyboard-heavy mix; for the most part, the horns stood back until the piece’s soupy climax.

Even members of the band seemed to realize the disparity in the quality of the old and new material. Lamm, introducing Pankow’s “Just You and Me,” said it had been written by the trombonist in his “better days.”

The opening act, the Eldos, are an a cappella quartet with a sense of humor, a kind of goofball version of the Bobs.

Using everything from rubber chickens and nun’s habits to a life-size inflatable doll (during “Under the Boardwalk”), they embellished their competent performance with twisted arrangements: The opening medley included parts of Richard Strauss’ “Also Sprach Zarathustra” as well as John Lennon’s “Happiness Is a Warm Gun.”

Outfitted in wigs, beads and tie-dye, the foursome brought barbershop harmonies to Donovan’s “Hurdy Gurdy Man,” complete with psychedelic warbles and gurgles. This is one group we can’t wait to see in a smaller venue.