Last night at the Big Easy here in Boise, ID, a double bill right out of my Texas past offered too much to miss. The Reverend Horton Heat headlined, with the opening slot filled by none other than the Supersuckers. 10 years ago, these bands were right near the top of my list of rock shows that make a weekend great. I've seen each of them at least a dozen times in my life, likely more than that, and they constitute a big part of a memorable and important step in my own development as a music freak.
(Note: Portland act I Can Lick Any Son of a Bitch in the House opened the evening, but as I could give a flying fuck about them, I missed them. I've seen them a few times here in Boise, and while the first experience was enjoyable enough, the novelty wore off quickly, and the music came into focus as the boring and uninspired batch of basic cowshitpunk that it is.)
So, with all that history aboard, I made my way to this show--ticket price a mere $7.50, due to advance purchase by a friend--wondering if I'd be horribly let down or re-connected to a big part of my past. In a way, neither of these things happened, but it was revelatory in other ways.
The Supersuckers started slow, haltingly almost. It was loud, and they were into it--sort of--but there was something missing. They all looked a little fatter and slower than in years past, but aren't we all? That wasn't it. Different drummer, but he proved more than capable as the night wore on. And that's the thing--the night wore on, the beers went down, and the band rose to the occasion. Eddie Spaghetti rallied the crowd with all the charm and charisma I've ever seen out of him. I was reminded how, the first time I saw them, at Emo's around 94 or so, I thought he had to be THE coolest motherfucker ever to strap on a bass guitar. Last night, he was that guy again. The Supersuckers keep tongue in cheek without turning to parody and without losing the edge in their music. A few new tunes seemed not quite up to snuff, but it's difficult to say whether that's because they took time to warm up or because the songs just aren't very good. Likely it's a little of both. But whatever--by the time they stormed through Creepy Jackalope Eye at the end of the set, and then especially during encore Born With a Tail, I was convinced. These guys SHOULD still be doing this thing. They are still, in many ways, the greatest rock band in the world.
The RevHo, however, was a different story. He's a showman to be sure. He's gone through some less-than-impressive attempts at change in his music and his live show, but what it comes down to is showmanship in the shtickiest sense. It's all routine by now, and it's been wearing thin for a while. Every song sounded as familiar as if it were stuck in my carousel shuffle for years, and this applied even to songs I knew were new. Martini Time grated as ever, and when he got to the lengthy introduction of band members, which now includes The Jimbo Song complete with audience participation, I knew it was time to go. The Rev is stuck in a velvet rut--he packs houses with his shtick, but the crowds are not the same as they used to be. The people there were not so demanding as I. The new was not important. The people wanted the same show they saw last time. And they got it.
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