Dashboard Confessional auteur Chris Carraba is a chick flick with a guitar, providing the gateway from Judy Blume to Fried Green Tomatoes as he reduces his lyric-mouthing training-bra set to salty pools of mush.
The staggering gulf between Carraba’s bubble-boy sensitivity and a quality singer/songwriter such as Elliott Smith is like the mileage separating a Tori Spelling Lifetime movie and Casablanca, or the glitter-addled theatrics of Adam Lambert and Ziggy Stardust. Sniffing the envelopes of old love letters, and creating emotionally arrested romance porn, Carraba still wanders the yellow brick road in search of courage, a brain and a solution for his congenital heart defects.
From the foot of the turnip truck this overwrought sentimentality might seem like emotional revelation, but after an hour of “Your kiss might kill me” and “Life is hard/ Let me dry your eyes,” anyone possessing a Y chromosome is either looking for a gun or a strapless gown. ■
Sat., Dec. 12, 8pm. $24. Trocadero, 1003 Arch St., 215.922.5483. thetroc.com.
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