This being my first all-ages show at Seattle's Showbox and indeed, my first in a while, I was surprised at all of the ID-checking and livestock herding that'd I'd not had to pay any attention to since riding the commuter rail after high school to get to shows in Philly. Once inside, with tickets torn and a black 'X' drawn on your hand, you were all set to get down in the front. I guess I'd never paid much attention to how tight a grip music venues keep on a crowd's good times. We 21 and over drinkers were shepherded and stamped through one particular doorway for purchase of $4 PBRs at a bar where cameras kept watch on employees. There was one select exit to the floor in case you have to use the restroom, also guarded by closed-circuit television, lest the event staffer let a few kids past.
Luckily, neither the event staff nor my paranoia could diminish the fun that took place on stage for the better part of the night. Hailing from a central Tennessee college town called Murfreesboro, Those Darlins are a three-piece consisting of Kelley, Nikki and Jessi Darlin, on bass, baritone ukulele, and guitar, respectively. Three adorable girls barely into their 20s, they stood side-by-side at the front of the stage like an old timey sister act at the Grand Ole Opry- only with hot pants and tattoos. The Darlins ripped through rough 'n' tumble country-rock songs like "Wild One," one of many tunes imbued with a particular kind of feminine fire that can only be found in the country genre, where the destruction of the preconceived notion that women are polite and obedient sounds so damn good (think June Carter Cash in "Jackson," or Neko Case in "Rated X").
Taking the stage next were four Tex-Mex boys with cowboy boots, big leather belts, vests and Mandarin collars. Hacienda, made up of three brothers and one cousin, sounded every bit like the family affair they are; there was a chemistry present in their rollicking '60s-era pop, that suggested these guys were born to what they were doing. Doing double duty that evening, as Dan Auerbach's backing band, the sound of these boys was actually a little rougher around the edges than the masterful golden tones Auerbach captured on his production of their first album, Loud is the Night. Starting off with their single "She's Got a Hold On Me," you got the impression that this was not much different than seeing a rock band in a small venue in the late '60s. Rene Villanueva wore his bass up high on his torso like a Merseybeater, drummer and brother Jaime was hardly seen without a wide grin behind his drum kit, and third brother Abe sat stoic behind the keyboards, elevating the punchy tunes with warm organ sounds.
Hacienda disappeared from their set only to come back in a fresh change of clothes, joined this time by My Morning Jacket's Patrick Hallahan, contributing additional percussion. Auerbach took to the stage to start things off with "Trouble Weighs A Ton," the first of his three quiet, slow tunes of the night. Before this tour in support of his first solo release, Keep It Hid, Auerbach stated no Black Keys songs would be in the set list, as "Patrick [Carney] wouldn't be there." So instead, the audience was met with a set list that included everything from the solo record, plus a handful of choice roots rock covers.
Though a few dates into the tour, it did seem that Auerbach was not exactly his normal self with a full band backing him. It's a wonder I've never seen him trip over his patch cables during a Keys show; his typical M.O. includes flailing, jumping up and down and throwing himself on his knees to twiddle with his effects pedals while Carney bashes away behind him. He seemed boxed in by a bassist to his left and a keyboardist and rhythm guitarist to his right. This also could have resulted from Keep It Hid's material, which is decidedly more personal than the Keys' songs, in addition to lacking the venue-quaking volume of one of their shows (at the last one I attended, a poor soul behind me shouted, "My face is melting!"). In fact, some of the churning blues pieces like "When I Left the Room," seemed to leave the audience in doldrums, as if something weren't connecting. Indeed, the Black Keys have often been two bluesy for the mainstream and too mainstream rock for the indie kids.
In addition to this disconnect, Auerbach's performance of the lullaby-gentle "When the Night Comes," lost some of the crowd to bathroom and bar breaks. His voice has a tendency to get hammy when his volume level is brought down, leaving him alone with his pathos. The final soft song came at the first encore- but this was different. "Goin' Home," the final song on Hid, began with a false start. Auerbach, alone on stage, apologized and began to re-tune his guitar making for a disarming moment before he began the tune, lit only by a string of white Christmas lights that extended from above the stage to the middle of the room. His guitar, outfitted with a rotating speaker effect, was the right accompaniment to his lyrics of the kind of yearning we do for hometowns once we've gotten sour on the thrill of leaving them behind. When he voiced the line "Forget about the things you want/ Be thankful for what all you got," the room and everyone in it was genuinely moved. A couple of kids held up lighters.
Now, I'm sure there are those among you roll your eyes at such a cliché. It needs to be reiterated, however, that nothing onstage that night ever seemed forced, ironic, or unfriendly. The two bands and one artist who played that night weren't out to change our lives or our fashion sensibilities. The three bands came off as seamlessly organic. These were roots-oriented musicians playing rootsy music, not laptop-wielding DJs making sonic jokes or hip East Coast art school kids toying with the Meta. When Hacienda ripped into the stinging guitar lines of "Officer," or helped power Auerbach through the obscure cover of Rockin' Horse's "Oh Carol, I'm So Sad" and the Willie Dixon-via-Link Wray closer "Hidden Charms," the fun these musicians were obviously having was contagious. Anyone who had the good fortune of being there couldn't help but exit the Showbox with a recharged joie de vivre.
by Chris Middleman
[Photos: Nev Brown]