Is there nothing an umlaut won't fix? Queensrÿche is one of only dozens of bands intrepid enough to test this hypothesis. Since hitting their stride with 1988's Operation: Mindcrime, a rock opera that boldly confronted the hooker-turned-nun craze of the late '80s, that umlaut has had its work cut out for it. Wise enough to ride prog-metal's supernova to the furthest galactic reaches, but not so wise as to unhitch their Airstream when the form began its inexorable collapse, Queensrÿche find themselves at the overcrowded singularity of a sonic black hole. But clearly, nobody ever told Geoff Tate that, in space, no one can hear your falsetto. With nebulous, celestial solos, Tate's kajillion-octave vocal range, and the lyrical courage to venture where Jovi feared to tread, Queensrÿche are here to prove that their sound can still fill an arena, even if their fan base can't. 18+.
Sat., Jan. 26, 6 p.m., 2008

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