Let me try to describe the pose that Jason Mraz strikes so that perhaps you can understand why it is so cloying. He sings out the side of his mouth like Groucho Marx delivering a one-liner. He points his head forward but has his eyes looking skyward much of the time, as though slightly bored with the attention he is getting. He gives huge winking smiles while delivering impossibly happy ‘make the cute girl with sweet smile down front believe that she can soar on the wings of eagles if she just will believe in herself' lyrics. He scrawls “I you” on his forearm. He throws the phone hand-sign to his ear when he sings about answering the phone. In short, he delivers his entire hour-long set as though it were a surprise for his college girlfriend's 19th birthday party, and there she is sitting down front with a melty heart and all her girlfriends are there with her telling her how lucky she is in between their own screams and trips to the bar for more shots of Jag.

I wish I did not have to say these things. I appreciate that his style of music, the new Midwest college funk/pop/rock/folk/hippie drum circle jam (anyone seen my djembe?) in the vein of Maroon 5, Jack Johnson, and Martin Sexton, like Midwestern stalwarts REO Speedwagon before them, does not get a lot of critical respect. But when any of these bands hit on a good song, a good hook (and this most certainly includes REO), I can dig it better than anything anyone in New York ever did, so I'm not criticizing his music. It's just that, music aside, the dominant feeling I got from watching Jason Mraz was profound discomfort. Think of watching two adolescents nibble on each others' faces while whispering baby-talk back and forth. For an hour.

Which brings me to a good point: much like adolescent intimacies, I don't think I was actually supposed to watch Jason Mraz perform. I don't think it was meant for me at all. And, to be fair, if it were not for the three jumbotron screens at the Green stage, I would not have seen Jason Mraz perform, only those who chose to stand close to the stage would have. Tom Jones used to have a policy for his shows: only women, no men, were allowed in the first ten rows or so. Mr. Jones, apparently, did not want to look down and see a man's face while he was singing about Sex Bombs and 'his infrared semen running through' people, which I think is a perfectly reasonable policy and one that I think I too would enforce had I his sexual prowess. But new technology presents new ethical dilemmas, and like time travel and genetic engineering before it, the advent of the giant concert TV screen instantly broadcasting DVD quality video to people half a mile away demands that drastic measures be taken to preserve the intimacy proper to a particular show. To be blunt: If Jason Mraz wishes to continue performing in his current manner, he must ban all straight men from his shows. I know it sounds harsh, and I'm sure it will cut into his gross, but really it is the only right thing to do for a man who sings lyrics like "so that I can nibble on your ear" and so clearly expects everyone listening to want him to do it.

Aside from that, though, you know, the band was good, the songs were catchy. Lots of hit potential here.

-joe kern