"Gloriously Unceremonious"- Willie Nelson Live at Starlight Theatre

(From Kansas City Star/Roy Inman)

Aside from the house lights fading down and cheers erupting into the cool summer night air, country legend Willie Nelson's on-stage entrance at Kansas City's Starlight Theatre was gloriously unceremonious. Coming after a riveting set from rising alt country artist Jason Isbell and Alison Krauss' nostalgic bluegrass affair, Nelson's work was austere from the start. Opening with "Whiskey River", he firmly stood in place with his weathered guitar Trigger and nasally sang "whiskey river don't run me dry" before his Family Band had set up on stage. Rather than dwell on the slinky vamp of "Still is Still Moving to Me", he spit out lines like they were last rites. At 81 years old, Nelson has every right to play up his legend. He could coast on past glories and no one would blame him. But not once in his near two-hour show to a sold-out crowd did he kick up his cowboy boots. 

When classics came, Nelson never lingered on them for long. Most artists would anchor sets or close with a song like "Funny How Time Slips Away", not Willie. He has enough songs for 20 shows and is blessed with the luxury of tossing out greatest hits like they were garbage. He didn't afford the bluesy ballroom number its proper denouement; choosing instead to leapfrog into the aching "Crazy". I personally prefer Nelson's effort to the Patsy Cline affair and last night reminded me why. His punctured whine fully conveys the desperation of "I'm crazy for trying" and live the line is devastating. But even "Crazy" wasn't allowed to luxuriate at Starlight. Nelson and the Family obliterated it into dust with the walloping "Night Life". Mickey Raphael's harmonica wailed and Nelson soloed with the steely-eyed intensity of a contract killer. The admission "it ain't no good life" would've been toothless without their full-committal. 

While Nelson and the Family's allegiance to the material was mesmerizing throughout, the show's middle was the most spellbinding. "Georgia on My Mind" brought the crowd to a reverent hush with just the wobbling incantations of "Georgia, Georrrgia." Bobbie Nelson's work on the keys was punctuated, affording Willie room to sweetly sing his old song. In the right hands the number has the power to stop anyone in their tracks and it was clearly in the right hands with Nelson.

It was "Always on My Mind" though that truly won the night. If the phrase "hindsight is 20/20" didn't exist before Nelson cut his version of the Brenda Lee song in 1982, it would've been invented shortly after. Few song narrators have ever sounded as wrecked as Nelson in "Always on My Mind". Everything he should've done was blindingly obviously, but he ignored all of it. Watch Nelson in the song's rudimentary video. Around the 1:40 mark his eyes repeatedly look away after he confesses "I just never took the time." It's the look of a man who knows he'll never get her back. She had every right to leave and fully executed said right. Despite the song being set to a slightly slower tempo live, Nelson kept in that nervous flitting. More than his defiant soloing in new track "Bring It On" or picking in the eerie border town tune "I Never Cared for You", his nervousness was the most bone chilling. For a master wordsmith, it's oddly hilarious that what left the biggest mark was a simple action.

"Odd" is what has best described Nelson since the beginning though. Crossing over from Nashville songwriter to singer in the early 1960s was "odd." Releasing an insular concept album about a murderous preacher and having it go double-platinum is "odd." Ending the night with the one-two punch of goofy pot ode "Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die" and Hank Williams country gospel standard "I Saw the Light" is "odd." He's not "The Red Headed Stranger" as has long been suggested. He's genuinely strange. And without his peculiarities, country music would be far less interesting.

Setlist:
1. "Whiskey River"
2. "Still is Still Moving to Me"
3. "Beer for My Horses
4. "Kansas City"
5. "Funny How Time Slips Away
6. "Crazy"
7. "Night Life"
8. "Me and Paul"
9. "Shoeshine Man" (Tom T. Hall cover)
10. "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys" (Ed Bruce cover)
11. "Good Hearted Woman" (Waylon Jennings cover)
12. "Help Me Make It Through the Night" (Kris Kristofferson cover)
13. "Georgia on My Mind" (Ray Charles cover)
14. "I Been to Georgia on a Fast Train" (Billy Joe Shaver cover)
15. "Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground"
16. "On the Road Again"
17. "Always on My Mind" (Brenda Lee cover)
18. "Nuages" (Django Reinhardt cover)
19. "Bring It On"
20. "Band of Brothers"
21. "I Never Cared for You"
22. "Will the Circle Be Unbroken?"
23. "I'll Fly Away"
24. "Roll Me Up and Smoke Me When I Die"
25. "I Saw the Light" (Hank Williams cover)

Jason Isbell Live at Starlight Theatre

NPR.com/Michael Wilson

I'm ignoring all the distractions I can as Alabama native Jason Isbell takes the stage at Kansas City's Starlight Theatre. I pay no mind to the Sun beaming down out of the west or the small beads of sweat slowly rolling down my beard. Sitting next to me, my dad is slightly less attentive. He's never heard of Isbell, so when the former Drive-By Truckers singer/lyricist/guitarist arrives he's still fiddling with the turquoise jaguar head of his wooden cane. Isbell himself is entirely nonplussed setting up; amiably saying he and backing band the 400 Unit hail from "Muscle Shoals, Alabama." 

When the first song "Codeine" comes wafting out of the speakers, my dad perks up and immediately asks me "this is pretty good huh?" I only half hear the question over the warmly piping accordion and leisurely running guitar. They exist to temper the disappointment that nags at so many of Isbell's songs. In the case of "Codeine" those sedate runs betray the mildly venomous repetition of "if there's one thing I can't stand," which ends with contempt for half-baked cover songs and the earsplitting sound of a heart breaking. 

"Live Oak" follows and burrows far past disappointment, into true despair. It’s a number that's hard to shake; replete with plinking piano that casts a ghostly pallor. In the verses, an empathetic woman is fooled by the pleasant shadow of a Pre-Civil War murderer and soon her empathy lands her six feet in the ground. Strangely the despair doesn't come from the woman who realizes her mistake, but the murderer. He wonders aloud "would I ever find another friend?" as he walks away from her fresh grave. You can hear loneliness creeping into his voice as he wipes flecks of dirt from his hands. Love and romance are untenable with the life he's leading, a fact he has to know but refuses to concede. Though murder's an obvious extreme, we all have things we think can coexist with love and romance. Frequently we want love to come on our own terms, which isn't the way it works.

While "Alabama Pines" picks up the tempo, it retains much of "Live Oak"'s want. This time however, Isbell's stuck in a dingy motel room with no A.C., looking to get back to the Heart of Dixie. The steely caress of guitar and trotting drums can't quell his yearning. Like anyone who has been away too long, he's not looking to see anything special. I can identify. Any time I'd make my three hour drive back to Kansas City from Kirksville when I was in college, the first thing I'd want to do was lie in my own bed or walk around my neighborhood block. What Isbell wants is to grab a libation from Wayne's: the only liquor store open on a Sunday.

Returning home or dwelling on the past isn't all good though and "Cover Me Up" adroitly proves that point. Opening Isbell's marvelous 2013 record Southeastern, the echoing acoustic track recalls "days when we raged," and had the vocal bite to match. Dabbed with lavender stage lights Isbell howls about flying off the handle and the damage that "was done." While the moment felt intensely personal, its message is universally relatable to those inside and outside of Starlight’s brick walls. Sometimes what you've done can't be corrected and all you can say is "mistakes were made" and move on. Of course the ugly truth of making so many of the same mistakes for so long is that you run out of friends willing to keep forgiving you. Set closer "Traveling Alone" woefully acknowledges this. Underpinned by eddying guitar and near silent drums, Isbell is looking for anyone who will hop in the car with him and drive. "Won't you ride with me?" he asks with desperation hanging in the summer evening air. Knowing where to go doesn't mean a damn thing if you have no one to go with.

Though I wanted to hear the heart-rending cancer story "Elephant", I'm not disappointed when the set ends without its inclusion. Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit are unwaveringly committed to their muse and even if they chase it through pitch-black valleys, I'm happy to follow. And in the future, I'll have someone to follow along with me.