The Experience of the Rock Show

It was a heavy, humid Sunday afternoon in May of 2003, one of those days where the heat hangs heavy and weighted like a burden you can't lift. Most sane folks would spend this day in air conditioned or shaded spaces, comfortably letting the day let loose to the temperate, clear spring evening. Afterall, this time of year, there is little to do, that is, unless, you were at Music Midtown. My family and I braved the unshaded streets of Downtown Atlanta with an open schedule of great tunes and assorted music-related adventures. As the weeks had approached to Music Midtown, we all began working out our show schedules, and early on, my Sunday consisted of meeting my friend Nathan to see Aimee Mann, and then meet up with the folks for South Side Johnny, Bob Weir and Ratdog, & the finale set from Gov't Mule. Just two weeks before the date, a last minute addition to the Music Midtown roster had my Dad more excited than most, a little band out of Athens known as the Drive-By Truckers. Of course, this had no real effect on me at the time; they were playing at the same time as the talented Aimee Mann. So that Sunday afternoon, I met up with Nathan in front of the Fox 5 stage to get a good spot for Aimee while the rest of my family headed off to see these Trucker fellows. As 4:10 neared, they made an announcement from the Fox 5 stage that Aimee Mann had not made it to the festival site yet, but was en route. She finally took the stage around 4:35, leaving me just about 30 minutes before I had to get to the Z93 stage for Southside Johnny; I have a habit for trying to get as close as possible (see picture). Aimee was alright, though not really as impressive on stage as her albums would have let on. Around the beginning of the next hour, I parted ways with Miss Mann and high-tailed it to see Johnny in all his Asbury Juke glory. Following their set, I met up with my dad and my brother Nick, whose faces sparkled with a rejuvenating glow that I can only expect would come from meeting Elvis, Jesus, or Bruce Springsteen. "You don't know what you've missed," my dad said with a grin. When I asked my brother what he meant, all he could say was, "You just don't understand." In the matter of an hour, there was now only one band that mattered in the mind of my dad and Nick, the Drive-By Truckers. It was a rock and roll testimonial, similar to that of talking to an excited Christian on the night they were born again. There were no words for the experience, only the certainty that the event happened.

This is the experience that I missed, the party I wasn't invited to, the joke I didn't get. Why did this unknown band from Athens have the effect on my family that Nirvana had on me at the age 9? How could a rock band so powerful be so hidden? I ccouldn't wrap my self around it at the time. Consider it mixed priorities musically, or perhaps just supidity, but needless to say, Aimee Mann became an unlikely butt to the unending joke that "Jon skipped out on the Truckers to see Aimee Mann."

Needless to say, I was interested. I wanted this same experience. I didn't get it completely, but I was trying, because musically speaking, my dad had a sick sense for what was good, bad, and awesome. If my dad loved them, there was no way I wouldn't. It's a genetic science of sorts; a strand in my DNA picks up on good taste only in the way that my dad does, only weakened of course. I went out in the following weeks on a hunt for some Truckers tunes so maybe I could hear on speakers, what it was that was felt at Music Midtown. While doing my usual casual shopping at CD Warehouse, I happened upon an early-promo-release copy of the Truckers' New West Records debut Decoration Day. I took to my car and urgwently slid it into the player, with the curiosity and wonder only felt when you gamble. You could win, but there's just as big of a chance that you could lose. The first thing I heard was the raspy, slightly off-key voice of frontman Patterson Hood singing these words a cappella:

By the time you were born,
There were four other siblings
With your momma awaitin'
Your daddy in jail
And your oldest brother was away at a home
And you didn't meet until you were 19 years old.

So started what stands as a somewhat timid introduction to the Drive-By Truckers. On album, sure the songs were strong and from the heart, but it felt much more tame than this band my dad described. Certainly this collection of songs about suicide, death, and economic strife was not the extent of which this band had influence. I still couldn't understand. It was good, but was it that good? Was it?

The month of July moved out with storms and rain, along with the announcement of a one-night-only stay at the 40-watt Club in Athens, Georgia with the Drive-By Truckers, in celebration of the release of Decoration Day. After some quick consideration, the whole family planned on a weekend stay in Athens, as to witness this monster of a rock band within their natural lair, the 40-Watt Club, a legend in its own rite. The weeks led up with nothing but anticipation. For my dad and Nick, it was another dose of their newest flavor of choice, and for me, it was to be the deciding factor. Part of me was worried that this would be the next Aimee Mann moment. Surely these questions about this band would be answered soon enough.

From the get-go, Lester Bangs' mold of the ridiculous, egostical monster of the rock and roll star was shattered. After an afternoon of lunch and shenanigans in downtown Athens, we drove towards the old Days Inn, roughly a block from the club. We decided at the last minute to stop off at the little record shop next to the 40-Watt. While browsing through the store, a recognizable face walks out the 40-Watt's front door. He was a tall, scruffy fellow in a green trucker hat. It was Patterson Hood himself. He was walking towards the van to retrieve some extra chords. As he walked back by the other way, I figured I'd grab his attention with something to say to a rock star in passing. The only thing that came out was, "I love the album, Patterson." He stopped, turned around, and with a smile shook my hand and said, "Thank you so much, man. We'll see you at the rock show." Certainly, this was much different from the gritty, cold southern man that permeated the albums I had heard. This was only further reealized a few minutes later when Patterson's partner in crime, "The Stroker Ace" Mike Cooley, came waltzing out with a bag in hand, ready for a quick meal before showtime. As he appeared, my dad, who through the website was more knowledgable on the band's happenings than I was, congratulated Cooley on his new baby boy. Certainly the way he reacted was that of any other working man with a new son, so proud and happy to be raising his new family. He then took time to take a quick picture with me and Dustin. Shortly thereafter, Mom and Dustin headed out and about while Nick, Dad, and I waited at the front of the small line forming at the door. Bassist Earl Hicks actually came out and chatted with us for nearly 15 minutes, giving my Dad helpful hints on the correct way to play bass. I had never been to a show before where the band was so in touch with their crowd, even before the show. They opted to do tthier own thing instead of being the reclusive poet in the back of the bar. They had no hesitation about them; they were playing to their people, and they knew it from before the show even started.

Skip forward to the end of opening act David Barbe's set. By this time, the essence of the 40-Watt club captivated all the senses. The sheer volume of bodies in this small space had you sweating heavily while standingin one place. Circling over the crowd was the musty smell of the smokes in nearly every hand. It was a baptism by fire and you could only breathe nicotine. Led Zepplin's newly released live collection 'How the West Was Won' roared through the house; Robert Plant screaming out in agony and glory as if to say "Turn back if ye are faint at heart." Not me. I was camp out on the railing by the stage right at the feet of Mike Cooley's pedal rig. I could feel some energy I can't even describe now. Most concerts I have gone to knowing the band fairly well, and here I was at the edge of an answer to the uncertain question. There were no promises with this, only anticipation.

The band finally hit the stage at 10:30 and did a quick tune-up as the hometown crowd cheered the soon-to-be-heroes like a hillbilly pep rally. With the swoop of three guitars, bass, and drums, the band hit a united open D chord. All in this one unspecified minute was the answer to the puzzle, this was the rock show. THE ROCK SHOW! Made more evident as through the feedback, Patterson kicked into "Lookout Mountain", a song written about a friend who met a tragic end in Chattanooga. In this song was the soul of Neil Young, the mouth of Joe Strummer, the heart of Bruce Springsteen, the snarl of the Replacements, and the spirit of Ronnie Van Zant. All I could do was stare blank at this monster of rock on stage. Finally understanding, the infused influences of the music created a whole new original sound through this, the greatest rock band around.

"...and the rest as they say is history."

I am looking forward to November 26th, as I will be celebrating the Thanksgiving weekend with my 7th Truckers show in two years time.