James McMurtry Rockshow

HARBOR DOCKS FRIDAY NOVEMBER 13, 2015

Jen and I had a date night.  We get a lot of date nights now that the children are older, but our favorite thing to do is travel either to Pensacola or Mobile, or in this case, Destin to see James McMurtry.  I was hoping he'd play outside but no such luck.  He was going to play inside, downstairs, behind a mask of overflowing olfactory sensitive seafood guts, oyster shells, and scallop shells.  It can be nauseating to some, but I think it's part of living on the Gulf.

I had the utter joy of seeing McMurtry in 2013 when he played at the same venue.  It was March 2013, and I think they were looking for the terrorists that blew up the Boston Marathon finish line. It was raining, and chilly, and the venue got moved downstairs.  I'd been able to have the joy of seeing Jason Isbell play TWICE with his band there a few years ago.  Those days are long gone, but they were both incredible shows, so Harbor Docks has a piece of my music-loving-seafood-loving heart.

The show in 2013 with McMurtry wasn't great.  The sound was AWFUL, and the band seemed tired.  They'd been touring for a LONG time and needed a break. I was able to get my neighbor Joe out of the house for a show that night too back in 13, but, as usual, I think he was disappointed.  This was the second time I let him down at a show. As enjoyable as the songs were, they seemed to be playing without much enthusiasm.  The first bust was a sold out DBT show at Vinyl Music Hall, which made me swear I'd never see em again.  (I've since changed my tune about them as I saw them last month and it was possible the best I've ever seen them play. I've seen them at least 10 times and have left bummed at dropping cash for the shows.)  They needed a break like I did from them at the time, I guess.

The times changed.

McMurtry was re-energized from taking time off to record what I think is the album of the year--Complicated Game.  Yep I said it.  It's better than Something More than Free from Isbell.  Lyrical Genius.  Every song is a beautifully written prose of magic, that touches (at least my) heart.  It's exceptionally well written and plays like listening to a good book.  I started listening to it one rainy Saturday in June as we were doing chores--eh, ok.  Decent stuff.  Good background music.

I then found out he was coming to play again.  Do i go see him?  Do I want to spend $100 for dinner for the two of us with a concert after?  Of course.

So I started delving into his older albums-again-beauty and poetry in motion.  I played more songs on Complicated Game, listened a little more intently, at work, through headphones.  Songs that talk to me, about places I live, about forgotten Coasts of FL, the places I relish and camp.  NOW I'm playing it on a daily basis, and not just once, but up to 4x a day.  I can't stop.  It's Southeastern listening all over again with a new line and new thinking on every listen.  I tear up during Carlisle's Haul--a song that fisherman would only understand.Sandbars and lights-federal regulations, bad fish hauls, living in a different time, a better one.  "A string of Croaker for the Sunday meal; a String of Croaker makes a meal"--best line on the damn CD, but that'll change, I'm sure.  Listening to "You got to Me" and instantly wanting to share that song with my wife.  Almost lost her a long time ago by making bad decisions and hanging with wrong folk early in the relation.  SO glad I stuck it out.  Wifey sings "Long Island Sound" in her head every morning--Every song is just damn.  It's just damn amazing.

Jen and I were able to sneak in a wall spot near the bar before the show-glad we did as the place got pretty packed.  Got us a Lagunitas--the show started not long after. The sound was impeccable--SO much improved over last time. The band was rocking.  I always sing along, whether it be lipping a long or actually singing. I sometimes like to look around to see who really KNOWS this icon.  Are they there for the music, or are they there because there was nothing else to do on a friday night in Destin for $16.

A lot of them didn't sing.  Jen and I did.  Then we noticed a couple dancing in the front.  To about every song.  I tried to get pics without flash, but the dancers didn't come out. I was able to take one good one though.




I wanted to dance so bad to Choctaw Bingo, but I was a little taken back by the amount of absolute drunks this evening.  Thought one dude was going to knock all the mics over and fall into the amps and stuff. Luckily he didn't.  There were others too. Older men talking Alabama football, (which I SO don't talk about at a music venue) to my wife as I am at the bar grabbing another Lagunitas IPA.  I was there to listen.  It was a magical time. Especially the solo songs.  Yes James, sometimes you can just flat ROCK AND ROLL. A lot of the times, you Rock.  It was an absolute privilege seeing you.  Thanks for coming back.  Although, I'd much rather see you at Callaghan's in Mobile with a crowd that respects the artist more.

As badly as I wanted to get a selfie with him, after seeing him put up with drunks and selfies, and even funny British women with accents failing to get him to smile post show,  I decided I just wanted to commit this show to memory, along with the dancing couple that night and 'having us a time'.

Trace(s) Son Volt

Twenty years ago.

The best album I ever heard was reissued today.

Jay Farrar killed it.  Son Volt. Trace. This album, which I've listened to religiously over the course of the last 20 years.  Twenty damn years.  Really?

There is something about an album that is in your blood, that is where you're from, that takes you  to a time when you were, and still are. It's so hard to explain, yet so easy to.

The album Trace is, still, my favorite album of all time, and I have a pretty good track record of what is awesome.  I'm not sure if it's the lyrics, the getting into Alt Country and having it defined to me through this record, living in 'sin' with my now wife in younger days, or just the absolute awesomeness of it.  It just damn IS.

Like a national tragedy, or a defining moment in your life that is pure bliss, you remember exactly where you were when something stuck, and oh, boy, this album did just that.  Going back--

It was 1996 (of course I know it came out in 95) and I was a little bit of a late bloomer in the day and picking up everything that SubPop was still putting out at the time, even if the quality of Subpop had gotten less than perfect.

I can't explain it, but I remember exactly where I was when I first heard it.  My 'pre' brother-in-law just kind of brought it up to me as we were house-sitting for him in his East Hill rental in Pensacola. ---the dog that died from eating ladies underwear fetish overdose not long after. The hardwood floors. The neighbors that shared the duplex that we never really saw--He said simply, 'Rob, check out this album and let me know what you think' (while they were on vacation). I kinda put it in the home stereo and had a listen as I was doing shit, getting ready for work, etc.  All of maybe 25 years old, with nothing on the agenda other than 'where were we going to have drinks tonight?"  going through my head.  Then, another listen again when I got home from work---a dinner date with (my now soul-mate) wifey (who I give total credit to for the billion re-plays as I hung out with her--lucky me).  A burned tape that could play in the Geo Tracker.  A tape later converted to CD and played at work while the monotonous mail inserting machine clicked along. The driving lyrics of every. single. song.  Something new picked up after every listen, on every song. Now a store bought CD to play in the tracker.  "Southbound you can taste the weather--feels like home".

Songs my five year old daughter sang with her now-uncle ten years later.  I remember my brother in law playing Windfall flawlessly on the guitar and my kiddo singing along right with him.  The best days.

I remember smoking cigarettes while listening (now 18 years quit), drinking beer while listening, just doing damn EVERYTHING, while listening.  This album CONSUMED me for about two years, until I found others (i.e. Whiskeytown, Old 97's, Wilco, etc) sign of the times...but there was always the staple.

Shows in New Orleans, after seeing them the night before in Austin--the finally a show in Pensacola--Sorry Jay, I know the sound guy was an asshole idiot.  I wont complain if you play at least within a 60-200 mile radius of here.  Vinyl Music Hall will treat you right though--promise!

A year later, I was lucky enough to have my best friend living in Austin-those great times when tickets to SXSW were only $40 and you had to rush to see Bottle Rockets, right before or after Son Volt and Blue Mountain.

Yep.

I got a ticket and was able to see Son Volt the next year too at the now defunct Liberty Lunch.  I didn't know it at the time, even after I bought all the older Uncle Tupelo CDs but we were waiting in line for the show and I let this older dude step in line next to me on his way to get in.  Friendliest guy i'd ever meet-standing in line anyway-I gotta say this dude got preferential treatment and I couldn't understand--"dude! this guy just butted in front of me--maybe I should raise some hell and get him sent back to the end of the line--But later I knew.

Doug Fucking Sahm.  OMG.  How did I not know that? Well, I sure as shit realized it when I was watching Son Volt on stage an hour later killing it on the Straightaways tour-my ear drums (almost) bleeding-thank God for dollar earplugs (well played liberty lunch), then this guy comes out--the same guy that butted in front of me and played with Son Volt doing a cover of "Give Back the Key to my Heart".  I was humbled and felt stupid at the same time.  OMG.  What. A. Night. I'd let you cut in front of me ANYTIME--what I'd give for him to still be around!

The best albums don't have to be the singing, the melodies, even the perfect lyrics that kick you in the balls.  They just have to be.  They have to take you to a place that you were, whether it be a time, or a collection of events that make it perfect.

Trace does all that, and sharing it with friends over the years that now love it, or kids that you've had that you've bred it into with continuous plays or just a time when life was 'better'.  These are the things that great albums are made of, and for me, still the absolute best memories are ingrained with this disc.  May it never get old and shelved.  It sure won't in my house! Bring on the NEW memories.
"Seein Traces of the scars that came before--hittin the pavement, still asking for more."