Jen Martensen Writing

Nikka Costa
Everybody Got Their Something Tour
Live at the Park West, Chicago

All hairs on end, every last one of them, full-on goosebumps. This petite woman's enormous, powerful voice brought on that glorious head-to-toe tingle from the first time she stepped up and belted into the mic. Super(mega)fly, ass-shake funky, rafter-raising soulful, hip-shimmy groovin', balls-out rockin', yes indeedy. The badass Miss Nikka Costa is finally on tour.

Postponed due to the September 11th terrorist tragedies, the Everybody Got Their Something road show was rescheduled to at last let the fans of this un-genre-able songstress get their something-something in real time. Usually, it's good things that come to those who wait. In this case it is wicked cool, excellent things.

Accompanied by an eight piece band that rolled through the house like a column of Tiger tanks, Nikka was not fucking around. The groove juggernaut consisted of two phenomenal backup singers, a keyboard player, electric guitarist (Nikka doubled up on that instrument as well), smokin' bassist, a saxophonist/flautist/tamborine shaker/timbale player, a trumpet player/singer/DJ, and a total monster eastern-world drummer who made the massive jump from hard-kicking grooves to delicate tabla and back again with the grace of a cobra - and to whom they presented a birthday cake on stage. Maybe he wished for this awesome gig to go on forever?

Then there was Nikka herself: a pint-sized dynamo combo of Janis Joplin, Chaka Khan, Tina Turner and Aretha Franklin. All flaming tresses, hip-huggers and vocal chords, she ran the gamut from whisper to wail and finessed all points in between.

The set list consisted of most of the songs from her genius "Everybody Got Their Something" album (on Cheeba Sounds/Virgin). The "Like A Feather" handclaps were thunderously supplied by the audience, and a heavily-tweaked version of the title track encased the band member introductions, where the guitar solo was Radiohead and drums Led Zeppelin.

She took a moment to state her case against the journalistic pressure she is regularly put under to define her music as one particular, pre-existing genre. Obviously influenced by, well versed in, and a fan of gospel, rock, funk, blues, jazz, acoustic songwriting and dance music, she evidenced the fruitlessness of trying to pigeonhole her material by transforming her band into Sly And The Family Costa with a killer cover of "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)." Nikka expressed her Inner Visions with an encore of Stevie Wonder's "Jesus Children of America." She is one of the only people with the pipes, panache, and audacity to cover a Stevie song and pull it off.

Nikka is a tightly packaged atom bomb, and the band, her Enola Gay, but what is missing in her firestorm is the fallout that usually accompanies such heavy ordinance... There is a refreshing lack of masturbatory over-singing, look-at-the-white-girl-go attitude, and cocksuredness. She is not a gimmick, she's not a game, she is a grown-up whos heart is connected directly to her throat and who means what she sings too much to waste time waving flags. Nikka is warm and inviting, at times nearly meek, and her lack of hubris makes it very easy for a crowd to stare into the raging, blinding fire that she and her band set to the stage. Nikka does not seem to think that she's such hot shit.

Nikka Costa is incredibly hot shit.

Oh, and they sell $5 magenta panties with a silver star on the front and "Nikka Costa" on the butt at the merch booth. Supremely hot shit - lick a finger and touch your ass...sizzle.

Do NOT miss this show. You need Nikka. Bring a fire extinguisher.