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Carrie Underwood simply couldn't have picked a better neo-country star to hook up with on tour than Keith Urban. True, on the charts the "American Idol" champ may outsell the hunky New Zealander by at least a 2-to-1 margin, which may explain why the duo's outing, which delighted a packed crowd at Honda Center Thursday night, is technically billed as a co-headlining jaunt. But even in the country realm, where fans are traditionally more devoted to supporting every facet of their favorites' careers, selling records doesn't instantly equate to putting butts in seats. In Underwood's seemingly rapid but rather cautiously calculated rise to Shania-level popularity, the safest route to advancement as a live attraction is to do exactly what she's doing right now – delivering rousing, longer-than-normal opening sets for a proven success like Urban. Anything more than that might have overestimated the level of enthusiasm from her audience – a pitfall Kelly Clarkson is still yanking herself out of. Why this pair makes such a perfect fit, however, has less to do with market demographics than each performer's considerably rocked-up approach to country music – if what Urban and Underwood offer can even be considered country at this point. That crossover mish-mash speaks directly to the type of Big '80s material both Urban and Underwood concoct, eschewing fiddle flourishes and two-steppin' rhythms in favor of hearty arena-rock in the manner of Bryan Adams and Heart. Indeed, Underwood's tremendous belting – sustained high notes soar out of her effortlessly – reminds of no one so much as Ann Wilson, who surely would have stood in gape-mouthed awe at the robust wailing Underwood brought to Guns N' Roses "Paradise City" here. (That cover will kill when she helps close Stagecoach in May. Only in his dreams does Axl Rose sing it so well these days.) Underwood is so unassuming yet so clearly the new paradigm – her classic beauty an update on the sort of big-hair gracefulness of Dolly and Tammy and Loretta, her swagger pure Pat Benatar. (The stinging "Before He Cheats" couldn't be a more dead-on embodiment of that blend.) No wonder Urban taps her for a midshow catwalk stroll while blasting out a note-for-note remake of the Tom Petty/Stevie Nicks duet "Stop Draggin' My Heart Around." No wonder, too, that said spotlight generates almost as much heat as Urban and Alicia Keys did last summer singing the Stones' "Gimme Shelter" at Live Earth. Sure, sure – it's not all classic-rock moves with these two. "Jesus, Take the Wheel" and the heart-tugging "Don't Forget to Remember Me" are finely cut from the Martina McBride mold, and one suspects Carrie will always want to remind people that "I Ain't in Checotah Anymore." Yet already the squeaky-clean demeanor of this "All-American Girl" is clearly being melted by fieriness. Never mind the gams-revealing minidresses she dons or the killer red boots she strutted in during the duet. Check her tunes. Dig the juiced-up soul patter of "Twisted" or the grand sadness of "I Know You Won't" – she's not so innocent, nor as flawless as her photos. She is, in fact, unlike any other pop star of the moment, and her quiet radicalization of rock and country is starting to revolutionize both genres in ways Shania never could.
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