Sunday, June 20, 2010
Tell Yer Mama Your Daddy Ain't Quittin' Drinkin'
I last traveled the stretch of road between Oklahoma City and Dallas in January. The last of the ice I’d accumulated in Chicago flew off of my car somewhere on that road. Things had changed.
Hell, when I did Rogtober last year I had absolutely no idea that Rogapalooza would have even been an option. Not because I wouldn’t have wanted to hit five shows in nine days, but because I wouldn’t have had any idea why I’d be doing it in Texas and Oklahoma. But there I was, baking away on the velvet back interstate, a mere seven inches from the mid day sun.
One of the things that continually strikes me when I get out of Dallas/Fort Worth is just how mind-bogglingly huge this part of the country is. In all of my travels across Illinois and Wisconsin I never got the sense of enormous endlessness that I get when I crest a hill and look to the horizon. I try to take pictures to convey the distance but they simply can’t capture anything. I’ve never understood David Hockney’s opinion of the traditional photograph better than I do now.
OKC, at least the part I was in, gives off a bit of a Madison, WI vibe to me. This was tremendously enhanced by the fact that the Wormy Dog Saloon reminded me of nowhere in the world more than the world famous High Noon Saloon in Madison. Except the Wormy Dog is bigger. And had a stupid crowd control barrier in front of the stage. And rather than drinking New Glaurus Spotted Cow, as is my wont in Wisconsin, I consumed more Mustang Golden Ale than was probably entirely safe. Especially after my new friends convinced me to try that wonderful beverage known as the Irish Car Bomb.
Also, saddles. The bar stools were saddles.
Otherwise, it felt like home. There’s something about Peacemakers shows that just does that.
We compared notes and the opinions of people from Friday’s show in Denton confirmed my suspicions. Friday’s show was just a bit…off. It was the first show since Circus Mexicus, the Stallion had blown a head gasket, so the guys are making their way through the Texas borderland area with a borrowed van and borrowed equipment, so I don’t think they were quite comfortable yet. Also, there was some weirdness in the crowd on Friday. All in all, it was just…off.
Not so much last night. The band was comfortable. The crowd was in to it. Life was good.
And the music…that was pretty neat, too. Boots opened with an extemporaneous set list (that included a cover of “Birds Sing” of all things…). Then a band called Sons of Bill followed and pretty much kicked ass. Actually, between Sons of Bill and Friday’s opener by American Aquarium, the openers have been great.
So here’s the main event:
Yahoos & Triangles
Your Name on a Grain of Rice
Tell Yer Mama
Maybe We Should Fall in Love
Jack v. Jose
I Know You Know
Sleep Like a Baby
I Don’t Need Another Thrill
Blue Collar Suicide
Hello New Day
Green & Dumb
I crossed the state line on the way back to Dallas just in time to almost fall asleep at the wheel. So my first lesson from last night is this: next week I’m going to sleep somewhere around Austin or New Braunfels, then drive back from the show.
I woke up this morning with a sunburn on my left arm, the left side of my neck, and the top of my left knee. So my second lesson is this: wear sunscreen.
*The encore was interesting. Towards the beginning of the main set a bunch of people started shouting, “Green and dumb!” after which Roger said he’d play it later. Right after they finished “Green & Dumb” a bunch of people started yelling, “Switchblade.”
Roger said, “Really? You want to hear two melodramatic, six minute songs in a row? Okay, then. But you’re forcing us to show all of our tricks.”
After “Switchblade,” then, about half the room started shouting, “Suckerpunch!”
Democracy. It works, bitches.