Rolling Stone’s recent profile of Phil Collins seems to suggest this a man going through a three-quarter life crisis. He’s suffered three failed marriages, constant ridicule from music critics, and a number of career-altering physical ailments (besides losing partial hearing in one ear, he’s also suffered from crippling nerve damage that’s left him unable to play drums…and…well, other things), all of which adds up to a healthy recipe for self-deprecation and extremely low self-confidence. What’s worse, the Rolling Stone feature paints Collins as potentially suicidal. It was with this frame of mind that I inserted Going Back: Live at Roseland Ballroom NYC into my DVD player.
Going Back, the album, was simultaneously a step forward and backward for Collins as an artist, with the often misunderstood balladeer opting for a slightly new (old) direction: an album full of Motown and soul covers. Critics unsurprisingly questioned his choice, pondering why the release even needed to exist, particularly when Collins specifically sought to "bring nothing new to the recordings". I’ve always been a stringent Collins defender (I’d go as far as to claim he’s one of the most underrated artists in rock history, nearly unrivaled as a drummer), and while Going Back works surprisingly well, proving to be more than a curio piece for Genesis freaks, Live at Roseland is actually better: fleshed out with live energy and dynamics, managing to inject Collins’ personality more directly into these beloved song relics.
Yet, as the concert opens with a snippet of Stevie Wonder’s "Signed, Sealed, Delivered" gracefully segueing into the Temptations classic "Ain’t Too Proud to Beg", I still can’t pry my mind from the dark, depressing vibes of the Rolling Stone piece. And for awhile, Collins’ stage presence doesn’t provide any mood lifting—at first, he’s awkward, looking slightly uncomfortable fronting his gigantic soul revue megaband (which includes original Motown session players Bob Babbitt, Eddie Willis, and Ray Monette, collectively known as The Funk Brothers, as well as touring Genesis mainstays Daryl Stuermer and Chester Thompson). Despite the groovy stage set-up, with the band completely clad in bright, unsubtle purple, Collins shows little emotion, often singing with his eyes closed (even on the funkiest numbers), frequently turning his back to the audience during group member solos.
Concerning the song choices, Collins tells the audience, "These songs were the backdrop to my life when I was a kid". By the time the lights go blue and moody for their sexed-up version of The Temptations’ "Papa Was a Rolling Stone", he finally seems to be in a spirited enough mood to embrace his inner soul child. On album, Collins and company did a bang-up job, revving up the wah-wah guitars and boomy bass of the original, but at the Roseland, they manage to one-up themselves, bathing the audience in pitch-perfect Motown reverence. As the evening progresses, Collins appears to grow more comfortable in his skin. By show’s end, he’s clapping and strutting the stage with the confidence of a Motown veteran.
During one burst of audience applause, Collins tells the audience, "No, I don’t deserve that". It’s hard to tell if he’s just being humble or if he’s simply pissed away every bit of self-confidence he had left.
Momentarily side-tracked, I think again of the Rolling Stone piece. Glancing up, I find Collins, eyes closed, not out of a guarded discomfort but of a trance-like passion, belting the words to the album’s nostalgic centerpiece title track as if his life were at stake. And maybe it was. If Live at Roseland proves to be his swan song (as the bonus feature interview seems to suggest), then it’s a fitting, heartfelt close to a misunderstood, undervalued career.
