TO PREPARE for an evening of Amy Grant and "Christian contemporary music," I ate a pre-concert, cheese blintz dinner at the New R. Gross kosher dairy restaurant on Broadway. This, I felt, would add an element of ecumenical fairness to my perspective.
The scene at about 8 p.m. in front of Radio City Music Hall was a tableau that might have been leftover from Easter. Little girls in peach-colored dresses posed in front of an Amy Grant poster while mommies flashed Kodaks. Men wore suitcoats and there were women in furs.
"Who needs Amy Grant tickets?" a scalper offered along Sixth Avenue. A concertgoer in a white sweater, passing by, stared daggers at the scalper. "Don't you know that's against the law?" white sweater huffed. The scalper, stunned, had no reply.
Inside that great Art Deco lobby, waiting for Grant to go on, the well-dressed crowd mobbed the concession stand, gobbling up Amy Grant sunglasses at $8 a pop. Security guards dozed. John DeLorean was there. He strode though the lobby, spiffy in his double-breasted blue blazer. "I've been a fan of Amy's for years," he said, tucking in his tie. "I've got all her records."
As it turned out, the blintzes weren't necessary, and it wasn't just because of the heartburn: Amy Grant's Christian contemporary music is a lot like rock and roll. Amid a dazzling array of multicolored lights and laser beams and an almost sold-out audience that was drawn to her as though she were Mecca, Amy Grant pumped like a piston for two hours, her hands and arms up and down like valves, and she threw off a heat that warmed the balconies.
Whatever appeal Grant has as a Christian and a gospel singer with a message, it was clear Tuesday that the message does not preclude the music. While you wouldn't confuse the Amy Grant band with the Meat Puppets or Black Sabbath, she is backed by musicians who hit hard and play strong, and her material is bubbly and spirited.
With the superb music hall sound system doing some of the work for her, Grant let her earth-angel voice go full-throttle for two hours, mixing her more obvious songs, like the moody "El Shaddai" and the upbeat "Love of Another Kind" with crackling tempo of "Wise Up" and "I Love You," which is Grant's first hymn to her human love, husband/guitarist Gary Chapman. She knows how to take control of a stage, both physically and with her floaty, effortless soprano; she'd be terrific in a Broadway musical.
Grant has been hounded lately by some folks who suspect she's sold out to rock and roll, forsaking faith and conviction for drums and guitars. It's hard to tell how many folks, expecting a sermon, walked out early with ears numb from the volume. Most didn't.
With her recent music from her best-selling "Unguarded" album, Grant has apparently made a commitment to go for the broader audience. The danger in that is that she'd end up in limbo, alienating both the Moral Majority and popular plurality. What I can tell you is, Amy Grant and cheese blintzes aren't bad together.
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