On The Bus w/ the Drive-By Truckers; the good, little bad and Taylor Hicks.

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Last night was one like I don’t have very often. An eat-drink-dance-buy the neighborhood wino a beer for the one he bought you last year-time. A been there, done that, bought yourself an XXL pigment dyed t-shirt . . . even give out your e-mail kind of affair. An everything went so right it’s almost scary kind of night. Actually I’m still recovering.

If you remember correctly Ten days ago the Irish cows were let out to pasture in a right of Spring. There is nothing like May to make you remember spring fever. This has been a good spring. A ride your bike to little league cause the car was broke kinda spring. My seeds area already sprouting. The cow had another cow so I had no problem eating his organic cousin. Some things are pre-meditated and some things are not.

From the second I blasted my Nudge-ish rental car up Parley’s I knew some-in was up. Well for one thing I actually had a car. I hadn’t had one for two weeks plus. And this Ford Taurus wasn’t 15-years old and shedding upholstery foam. It was a site for sour eyes and legs. Plus it had a CD player to listen to. I brought a great compilation of reggae covers of Grateful Dead songs. It was bought for me by a friend in New Jersey, the last week of June 1996. A Touch of Grey done rub-a-dub style ’seemed to fit.”

I was on a Mission and the engraved black plastic pocket protector read DRIVE-BY-TRUCKERS Summit County Mission. Here me now and believe me later. Or don’t believe me now and somehow go try to make money off that dis-belief later anyway . . . but . . . The Drive-by Truckers are the Greatest Rock and Roll Band in the world today.

Things began to work remarkably well. I slid into a slot right by the band’s amazing bus and road apperatus. This is where I parked last year. This is the place to park. I went over and knocked on the vault-like door. Some healthily side-burned Athens, Georgia roadie said that band wasn’t there that they were off eating.

Me too then. I decided I would try this Hapa Grill which is a pretty slick Asian-fusion place owned by a growing chain here in town. It is in a nice outdoor mall just off the Kimball Junction exit in New Park City. It was clubby inside, nice decor. Some good stuff. I had a calimari with Hawaiian sauce. The calamari served, was actually, mainly the head of the fish . . ah different . . . definitely not rubber bands, but not alot of tentacle action either. The sauce was killer sweet-spicy-peppery-mangooey.

This joint has been awarded the “Best Burger” in Utah title by the Salt Lake Tribune. It was $8.50. I went for it. It was fine but I can get a better burger in South Salt Lake. They violated one of my prime burger laws – “Lettuce must be shredded.”

It was different and as Google will tell you “different is good.” Desert was a thought but I am not big on Asian deserts. Too Insipid. Now give me middle eastern deserts – anything with phillo and pistacios or dripping in honey. Things to do in Denver When Your (seeing the band that used to be the) Dead.

A minute later I was back to my parking spot in the shadow of Suede. I grabbed the old kids-sized back pack full of journals. Pushed the remote key of my minty motown and headed for the tour bus, the chrome-plated castle of the Rock and Roll Road Warrior.

Though I got a chance to peak into their bus last year but, I have really been in one other nice tour bus, Chris Ledoux’s Rodeo Rose. It was memorable – “It’s not the years its the miles”. These things are built for partying like a rock star. You walk in there is this huge cooler filled with ice and drinks, sound, video screens.

If Chris’ Ledoux’s bus was a Bud Light, the Drive-by’s new rig is easily a bottle of Maker’s Mark. Dark and smoky with lots of rich woody notes, in a sparkling clean Manhattan glass. The shades of the main window were drawn and outlined against the screen was the bearded silhouette of band leader Patterson Hood. Perfect.

I knocked softly. I told their tour guy I wanted to give the band some more of my hand made record cover journals. That Alabama drawl was evident the minute I was waved past Oz’s curtain. “Would you like a cold beer” Patterson offered with the finest sweet tea-tinged Southern hospitality.

He went on to tell the band about the last batch of Journals I gave them. They all liked them. Songs were written in them. Some were almost all filled up. The Journals themselves are interesting. For many covers you won’t know the band. Being professional audiophiles they dug into the stack.

I hope I didn’t come off as fawning, but when you have been listeing to someone’s music for years and now have a lot of chances to listen-in to whole tours you get a wider appreciation of an Artist. I’ll just say that however talented, realistic and genius Patterson is, he has the hallmark of many great’s: humility.

I always assumed that Patterson’s “daddy’s” work as a recording engineer influcencing the Muscle Shoals soul sound was a huge boost to him. He learned the trade. You can see it the way he addresses the mike. Me I’m only a first generation artist, but I guess – luckily, a second or third generation sheister.

When I sat down on the leather sofa I was welcomed by the band’s drummer, EZB. It’s interesting how different players in a band can affect their audience through a combintation of looks. Does that make sense. Like every player can’t wear Bono Glasses.

Brad, his Christian name, looks about as Deliverance as you can’t get. A minimalist buzzed head and a moon-shiners beard. He’s almost like this hillbilly monk. Really nice guy – he stays in the grove. Cletus-chic. Last year I did get to meet one of the other founders of the band, Mike Cooley.

EZB looks southern but Mike sounds southern. He quickly picked a Conway Twitty covered journal, He said he once wanted to do an all Conway Twitty cover album, but decided it wasn’t a good idea. Hearing him talk is like listening to a cartoon voice. He’s way down there. His voice balances well with the band and is almost instrumental on other songs. Cool Guy – Cooley.

As Patterson knealt down and fished out a Corona from the ice. I told him I heard their third-gun, Jason Isbell had left the band. He seemed like a cool guy. Good voice. Filled up a large percentage of the sideburn quotient. My rhetorical remark got a decidedly ambivalent or neutral stance. As if shit happens. Patterson went on to talk about the groups additions. Maybe Isabelle had greater aspirations.

At which point I got a bewitched style twinkle off the cheek bone of Shonna Tucker. Shonna Tucker. Just sayin’ it makes you feel southern. Shonna Tucker. I guess if I believe certain blogs that Shonna and Jason were once married. I sensed the energy. She is a doll in a sort of Cindy Brady grows up to be the girl next door way. She could pass for a Dixie Chick but she pounds the bass like Flea. There was a Creedance covered journal that she eventually claimed.

Patterson went on to tell me about John Neff their new pedal steel god. Now I haven’t seen nor known of too many pedal steel players and this guy is good. He’s takin’ over for Jason on the pretty side of the stage. He was dressed like he was at a Logan, Utah frat party circa 1983. Feathered hair, collar, sweater and everything. He should get an endorsement deal from Converse. His boat kicks get quite the exposure when he is workin’ those pedals – who would of known.

It was at that point that the door ten or twelve feet from where we were sitting from opened up and a figured emerged, waving from side to side. Patterson went on, “And we got Spooner with us too.” Out walks the man with a snug longsleeve with sewn on letters CSNY. Yes this was him. Here is the official DBT language

Everyone has seen The Godfather (I hope at least a time or two) and knows that a man can’t turn down a request on the day of his daughter’s wedding.
With that said, last weekend I was in memphis attending the wedding of my dear friend Roxanne Oldham. Her father is Spooner Oldham, who has played keyboards on some of my favorite records ever made. Spooner and my father have played together off and on for 40 years. His is that incredible Wurlitzer part that begins Aretha Franklin’s “I Never Loved A Man (The Way That I Love You).” He also played on “Do Right Woman” and has co-written some of the greatest songs ever recorded. He has additionally toured and made records with Bob Dylan and Neil Young. Last summer he toured with Crosby Stills Nash and Young. He also played keys on “When The Pin Hits the Shell” on our Decoration Day album.

Yea, I have seen him on two different DVDs this year. The man with a prominent nose and a kind face sat down next to me and selected a journal. He was groggy but a very human guy. He’s burned with Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin and now me.

Excitedly I questioned “What is the derivation of Spooner”

Huh?

Slower this time.

“What is the derivation of Spooner?”

“You mean how did I get ma name?” Spooner slowely drawled back.

Yea. Aw Ha!

The story was the perfect kick-them-when-their-down remembrance. typical to knick names. In high school in my neighbor-hood name was “Porky” often shortened to “Pork” and occasionally “Pork the Dork – Pooh Bear.” Pork derived from the novel, Lord of the Flies and it’s character “Piggy” a fat boy not anything else.

Spooner re-lights and re-calls “When I was two I climbed up on the stove and ma ma was cookin’ some jam and I grabbed the spoon and it went right in ma eye here an blinded’ me.” The derivation of his name straight from Spooner. No – he did continue to say that he hated it in fifth grade but that it might have eventually taken on a different cachet sometime in the last 50 plus years. Spooner.

What? He eats alot of Ice Cream? He plays the Spoons?

No. He plays the organ. Transcendentally.

The tour manager had some medicinal looking bottles and offered one of the 16 oz party cups to Spooner. Inside he had a smaller glass with hot water and eucalyptus eccense for the pipes. Spooner gave me a hit. Reminded me of the Salt Lake Athletic Club, ca 1974.

So here I was on the Tour bus of the Greatest Rock ‘n Roll band in the World with a certified “Road Warrior” by my side, we was talking and drinkin’ and smokin’ (wearing our St. Willie medals) and I asked them about everything. Their career, Patterson’s kid. I told them I first heard of them was through Jerry Joseph. Patterson said that he had just seen him at one of Athen’s Widespread Panic Show piggybacks.

You know I am a chatty guy, and even charming at points. I have no problem talking with people and I can tell you that one-third of the year their is one really easy way to strike up a conversation.

“Do you watch American Idol?”

The response was actually very rare, but made for the hook of this short story. All of my rigs – my rehortic have certain moments of revelation that you can’t overlook. The Story. The Essence.

Like the early 70s at the entrance of Sea World when an immigrant father dangled his kid by the arm and screamed “We came here to be happy, Eh!” Smack. “We came here to be happy, Eh!” Smack.

Or more recently in Taos “You can’t go through life eating my kid’s food. That is not acceptable!”

Patterson Hood shook his beard in disgust and some else chimed in. American Idol? “He detests it”

“Yea just the other night we had to stop that one guy from getting on the stage”.

Actually it was a packed night at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco, and the singer, some Taylor Hicks, last year’s idol winner.

“Someone was saying he knows alot of songs, alot of the one’s you know”

Another one chimed in “Patterson said no. I practically had to tackle him from goin’ on”

Shit I thought. Hilarious. The idea of the big hook coming out and yankin’ on those wobbily legs of his. (I liked him but what do I know) Then I was struck by it. It was not more than 350 days ago that he was getting the ticker tape parade in Birmingham, Alabama. Now he can’t even jump onstage with a jam band. Well maybe Blues Traveler.

I repeated Patterson’s ‘Rock-on-touring’ “Fame is a fleeting thing.” I told them that the Rolling Stones had nothing on them. The brass-ring, Frye-booted Hood replied “Oh yes they do. Millions – on us”

Artistically Not. DBT is State of the Art. They were billing this show as a different “Dirt Underneath” show and had formal seats set up in front of the stage. Looking at the Truckers fans lined up I began to notice some similarities. Black T-shirts. Black Clark Kent Glasses. Tatoos. Lots of Ink. Lots. Betty Page style hair doos. Pale skin and bright red lipstick. Hip crowd. Back at Hapa another table had described the music as “Tom Waits-ish”. Hell the owner of Salt Lake’s Heavy Metal shop is a huge DBT fan. Go figure.

I don’t think there are really any apt categories except Rock and Muthafuckin’ Roll. The band has a huge repertoire, as big as the 1000 pounds of Polynesian muscle that bounces Suede. It was a special spring night. Standing on the deck outside I yelled “Heathens” the song that had been in my head for weeks.

In the bus I told Patterson that I liked the cover art Wes Freed was doing “You are building up a body of work. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” I said in my Mark Twain meets Mark Kostabi way.

Later Hood told the audience that Wes Freed sees alot of himself in the song Heathens. But don’t we all . . . don’t we all y’all.

It was a difficult delivery, now it’s growing up mean and strong
When you tell me that it’s getting a little bit tight, ain’t the first time I been outgrown
And I’m gonna push a little harder
She ain’t revved till the rods are thrown
I’ll walk away

And I don’t need to be forsaken by you or anybody else
and I never had a shortage of people tryin’ to warn me about the dangers I pose to myself.

Heathens.

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