DBTs on Cabarrus Street
Enjoyed the hell out of the outdoor concert down in front of the Lincoln Theater last night. The Truckers didn't come on until nearly dark and most of the wine-sippers watching the festivities from their condo balconies had given up on the night. I'd estimate there were a couple of hundred people in the street proper, graybeards in Jerry Garcia t-shirts and serious-looking men with shaved heads and goatees dressed all in black. A couple of hipsters, a couple of reversed ballcaps (most were thankfully right way forward), and a brigade of solidly built women wearing shapeless minidresses and blouses; that was the crowd that I saw.
It was a tighter show than the last time I saw them, one that played more to the current lineup's strengths. Briefly put, that can be summed up as "assault the audience with guitar-heavy crunch of Southern-laden doom and sweep them along with you", and that was just fine with me. Opener "Bulldozers and Dirt" was one of the quietest songs all night; "Hell No I Ain't Happy" and "Dead Drunk and Naked" and "Gravity's Gone" and a bunch of others tore the figurative roof off. The expected highlights from "The Big To-Do" album were in there, "Birthday Boy" and "Drag the Lake Charlie" sounding good and comfortable in with the older material in the set. Patterson Hood looked like he'd dropped a bunch of weight; Mike Cooley was constantly underlit with a white spot and looked like something unearthly and vengeful. And Shonna Tucker mostly hovered around the back of the stage, except for one song she took lead vocals on. Apart from Hood's rhythmic thrashing around, there's not a lot of movement on that stage. Then again, there doesn't need to be, not with the grumbling power chords shaking the light scaffold.
I spent most of the show leaning up against a fence by the Lincoln's parking lot. From there, I could see the stage well, though my view was bisected by a telephone pole that pretty much split things between Hood and Cooley. Ahead and to my right were a couple of older couples who knew every word and every song, constantly shouting for "18 Wheels of Love" after every song, except when they were chanting "D! B! Ts! D! B! Ts!". Later, a bunch of State kids would start that chant timidly in hopes of incurring an encore. They faded out after a few repetitions, looking nervously from one to the other, ashamed to commit to the moment. Then the old-timers seized on it with a howl, and the kids nodded and smiled and told each other about how THEY'D started it, so they were cool.
There was a couple slow-dancing to "A Ghost to Most", throwing in whatever dips and spins they could remember from a ballroom dance class. Space appeared for them on the street; they never bumped into anyone, nor came close.
There was another couple standing next to me throughout most of the concert, taking turns leaning on a "No Parking" sign. She sucked down cigarettes like they were oxygen; he mostly had eyes for the stage. Once, she stalked off in the direction of the beer tent. "Baby?" he said, but didn't turn around.
Me, I tapped my foot. Sang along occasionally. Wandered out into the middle of the crowd for the encore, just to get a little closer to the sound for no real reason I could think of. Then again, you don't need a reason for something like that, not if everything's working the way it should. Last night, it was.
It was a tighter show than the last time I saw them, one that played more to the current lineup's strengths. Briefly put, that can be summed up as "assault the audience with guitar-heavy crunch of Southern-laden doom and sweep them along with you", and that was just fine with me. Opener "Bulldozers and Dirt" was one of the quietest songs all night; "Hell No I Ain't Happy" and "Dead Drunk and Naked" and "Gravity's Gone" and a bunch of others tore the figurative roof off. The expected highlights from "The Big To-Do" album were in there, "Birthday Boy" and "Drag the Lake Charlie" sounding good and comfortable in with the older material in the set. Patterson Hood looked like he'd dropped a bunch of weight; Mike Cooley was constantly underlit with a white spot and looked like something unearthly and vengeful. And Shonna Tucker mostly hovered around the back of the stage, except for one song she took lead vocals on. Apart from Hood's rhythmic thrashing around, there's not a lot of movement on that stage. Then again, there doesn't need to be, not with the grumbling power chords shaking the light scaffold.
I spent most of the show leaning up against a fence by the Lincoln's parking lot. From there, I could see the stage well, though my view was bisected by a telephone pole that pretty much split things between Hood and Cooley. Ahead and to my right were a couple of older couples who knew every word and every song, constantly shouting for "18 Wheels of Love" after every song, except when they were chanting "D! B! Ts! D! B! Ts!". Later, a bunch of State kids would start that chant timidly in hopes of incurring an encore. They faded out after a few repetitions, looking nervously from one to the other, ashamed to commit to the moment. Then the old-timers seized on it with a howl, and the kids nodded and smiled and told each other about how THEY'D started it, so they were cool.
There was a couple slow-dancing to "A Ghost to Most", throwing in whatever dips and spins they could remember from a ballroom dance class. Space appeared for them on the street; they never bumped into anyone, nor came close.
There was another couple standing next to me throughout most of the concert, taking turns leaning on a "No Parking" sign. She sucked down cigarettes like they were oxygen; he mostly had eyes for the stage. Once, she stalked off in the direction of the beer tent. "Baby?" he said, but didn't turn around.
Me, I tapped my foot. Sang along occasionally. Wandered out into the middle of the crowd for the encore, just to get a little closer to the sound for no real reason I could think of. Then again, you don't need a reason for something like that, not if everything's working the way it should. Last night, it was.