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Review of the Moorhead MN show
Review of the Moorhead , MN show by JD Provorse:
October 28, 2008 - Tuesday
Joe Buck Yourself @ Rascals 10/25/08
There are a few dozen people in the F-M area who already know what I'm about to tell you: if you were not at Rascals in Moorhead last night (10/25) for the Joe Buck Yourself show, you missed the show of the year. People often ask what would drive a musician to continue striving in relative obscurity for years on end with little or nothing tangible to show for it. Shows like this one are the answer to that.
Before I forget, let me mention that there were three other performances on the bill for the evening. Local newcomers The Hot Button opened the show. This was my first taste of them, and they didn't disappoint. Their sound is definitely rock, but is otherwise hard to pin down. Light hints of country, blues, and punk find their way into the recipe to make things interesting. And let me say how welcome it is to see a band that actually puts it's second guitarist to use, rather than existing simply so the rhythm guitar doesn't have to disappear during leads or just to add the occasional hip-cliché guitarmony. If you haven't seen them yet, make it a point to do so.
Up next was hometown favorite Blind Joe, who I've seen several times before but had the pleasure of meeting for the first time last night. Brief aside: Joe and his wife, Riki Lynn, are two of the nicest people you will ever meet. While Joe seemed to think he may have had one or two beers too many before hitting the stage, those of us on this side of the speakers would hasten to disagree. I don't think Joe knows how to put on a bad show. An array of original tunes blended with a well-timed cover or two and what more could you ask for from a redneck country boy? Bottom line, if you call yourself a country music fan in the F-M area and you don't like Blind Joe, you're a fake and a liar. You probably still appreciate Nashville.
The Goddamn Gallows are a band I'd never even heard of until this show came along. I have to admit up front that psychobilly is a style of music I've been aware of but have no familiarity with whatsoever. I bring that up because if there are many more bands this good to be found there, I've made a grave mistake that needs to be corrected immediately. Fantastic songs and a killer presence made for one of the straight funnest (no, I didn't mean 'most fun', you grammar nazis) times I've had with a band in a long time. Halfway through their set, their merch guy gets on stage, straps on a washboard, and rips it up with them for the rest of the set. Christ, I want to see this band play a show at least once a week for the rest of my life.
So I was outside Rascals in an RV at this point, talking with the guys from The Goddamn Gallows and meeting Joe Buck's dog, and we can here the Joe Buck Yourself ball get rolling so we wrap up our conversation and head back inside. It's important to note at this point that I know who Joe Buck is but I've never had the Joe Buck Yourself experience before. So I walk headlong into Joe Buck Yourself ripping through a song that I was later able to identify as "Rage in the South".
I was not prepared for this at all.
Joe Buck Yourself, in case you're confused, is the one-man-band musical personality of Joe Buck, who you may know from Th' Legendary Shack Shakers, as well as his work with Hank Williams III. You can know all of that going in. What you can't know is that Joe Buck Yourself is a force of nature. Here is one man with a guitar and a kick drum; but here is one of the most intense musical experiences you will ever be a part of.
The image itself is eerie, ominous, and threatening, yet strangely inviting. A tall, lanky man with an unkempt mohawk is hunched over an old, battered, abused guitar, wailing the hell out of it. He kicks the shit out of an equally old, battered, and abused bass drum. Smoke fills the room, illuminated by red and blue lights, and while there are only maybe thirty people in the room at best and it's below freezing outside, it suddenly feels hotter than hell in this place and you could swear you were watching the devil himself. Joe Buck's face has that uncanny quality of seeming simultaneously wracked with pain, furious with anger, and ecstatic with perverse glee all at the same time. I imagine this is what terrified parents saw in their mind's eye when they looked at all those early rock & roll musicians and swore up and down that it was the devil's music.
Every single song becomes anthemic, and performer and audience feed off of each other, rising like feedback out of his amplifier. Chants ring out throughout the small but fervent congregation: 'the devil is on his way'; 'die, motherfucker, die'; 'music city's dead'; 'hate… hate… hate'. And then there it is... that moment where you realize that, for this short moment in time, you're a part of something that's as close to transcendent as you can get. You disconnect from the presence on stage that's dominating your awareness completely and gaze briefly at the people around you: rednecks, hipsters, punks, metalheads, rockers, all brought together in a pure celebration of the rampaging force of the human spirit that is Joe Buck.
That's what you missed if you weren't at Rascals on Saturday night. If you ever get any kind of reasonable chance to see Joe Buck Yourself live in concert, do whatever is required to take advantage of that opportunity.
October 28, 2008 - Tuesday
Joe Buck Yourself @ Rascals 10/25/08
There are a few dozen people in the F-M area who already know what I'm about to tell you: if you were not at Rascals in Moorhead last night (10/25) for the Joe Buck Yourself show, you missed the show of the year. People often ask what would drive a musician to continue striving in relative obscurity for years on end with little or nothing tangible to show for it. Shows like this one are the answer to that.
Before I forget, let me mention that there were three other performances on the bill for the evening. Local newcomers The Hot Button opened the show. This was my first taste of them, and they didn't disappoint. Their sound is definitely rock, but is otherwise hard to pin down. Light hints of country, blues, and punk find their way into the recipe to make things interesting. And let me say how welcome it is to see a band that actually puts it's second guitarist to use, rather than existing simply so the rhythm guitar doesn't have to disappear during leads or just to add the occasional hip-cliché guitarmony. If you haven't seen them yet, make it a point to do so.
Up next was hometown favorite Blind Joe, who I've seen several times before but had the pleasure of meeting for the first time last night. Brief aside: Joe and his wife, Riki Lynn, are two of the nicest people you will ever meet. While Joe seemed to think he may have had one or two beers too many before hitting the stage, those of us on this side of the speakers would hasten to disagree. I don't think Joe knows how to put on a bad show. An array of original tunes blended with a well-timed cover or two and what more could you ask for from a redneck country boy? Bottom line, if you call yourself a country music fan in the F-M area and you don't like Blind Joe, you're a fake and a liar. You probably still appreciate Nashville.
The Goddamn Gallows are a band I'd never even heard of until this show came along. I have to admit up front that psychobilly is a style of music I've been aware of but have no familiarity with whatsoever. I bring that up because if there are many more bands this good to be found there, I've made a grave mistake that needs to be corrected immediately. Fantastic songs and a killer presence made for one of the straight funnest (no, I didn't mean 'most fun', you grammar nazis) times I've had with a band in a long time. Halfway through their set, their merch guy gets on stage, straps on a washboard, and rips it up with them for the rest of the set. Christ, I want to see this band play a show at least once a week for the rest of my life.
So I was outside Rascals in an RV at this point, talking with the guys from The Goddamn Gallows and meeting Joe Buck's dog, and we can here the Joe Buck Yourself ball get rolling so we wrap up our conversation and head back inside. It's important to note at this point that I know who Joe Buck is but I've never had the Joe Buck Yourself experience before. So I walk headlong into Joe Buck Yourself ripping through a song that I was later able to identify as "Rage in the South".
I was not prepared for this at all.
Joe Buck Yourself, in case you're confused, is the one-man-band musical personality of Joe Buck, who you may know from Th' Legendary Shack Shakers, as well as his work with Hank Williams III. You can know all of that going in. What you can't know is that Joe Buck Yourself is a force of nature. Here is one man with a guitar and a kick drum; but here is one of the most intense musical experiences you will ever be a part of.
The image itself is eerie, ominous, and threatening, yet strangely inviting. A tall, lanky man with an unkempt mohawk is hunched over an old, battered, abused guitar, wailing the hell out of it. He kicks the shit out of an equally old, battered, and abused bass drum. Smoke fills the room, illuminated by red and blue lights, and while there are only maybe thirty people in the room at best and it's below freezing outside, it suddenly feels hotter than hell in this place and you could swear you were watching the devil himself. Joe Buck's face has that uncanny quality of seeming simultaneously wracked with pain, furious with anger, and ecstatic with perverse glee all at the same time. I imagine this is what terrified parents saw in their mind's eye when they looked at all those early rock & roll musicians and swore up and down that it was the devil's music.
Every single song becomes anthemic, and performer and audience feed off of each other, rising like feedback out of his amplifier. Chants ring out throughout the small but fervent congregation: 'the devil is on his way'; 'die, motherfucker, die'; 'music city's dead'; 'hate… hate… hate'. And then there it is... that moment where you realize that, for this short moment in time, you're a part of something that's as close to transcendent as you can get. You disconnect from the presence on stage that's dominating your awareness completely and gaze briefly at the people around you: rednecks, hipsters, punks, metalheads, rockers, all brought together in a pure celebration of the rampaging force of the human spirit that is Joe Buck.
That's what you missed if you weren't at Rascals on Saturday night. If you ever get any kind of reasonable chance to see Joe Buck Yourself live in concert, do whatever is required to take advantage of that opportunity.
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