Anyway, much of the first half of the week off was spent "enjoying" Country Music Week in New York City. I saw almost every country musician I despise, and even a few I like. Quite a time. I was gonna wait until the pictures developed, but why make you, the thirsty Tinsel and Rot devotee, suffer any longer? So, let 'er go, boys, let 'er go...
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Sunday, November 13--The Rodeo Bar--Live Radio Broadcast of The Front Porch Show, hosted by Justin Frazell, with guests Lee Ann Womack, Waylon Payne, Jack Ingram, Billy Currington, Joe Nichols, and Scotty Emerick (followed by a full show from Trent Summar and the New Row Mob, which is why I was there)
When "I Hope You Dance" came out a few years ago, I was a pretty healthy Lee Ann Womack hater. I just don't really like inspirational, warm and fuzzy country songs. I don't care if you dance, and I especially don't care that you hope I dance. I'll live my life, you live yours. Now sing me a song about heartbreak or cheating or something.
But now, I must admit that I really don't have much of a problem with Lee Ann Womack. I like the two songs I've heard off her current CD ("Twenty Years and Two Husbands Ago" and "I May Hate Myself in the Morning"), which are both pretty good country songs with a classic kind of feel to them, and they wisely focus on both heartbreak and cheating. Hooray for Lee Ann.
Now, if she could just ease up a trifle bit on the hair, the makeup, and the tanning, she might really be on to something.
Anyway, I though the radio show was going to be a full show from Lee Ann, interrupted intermittently by commercials. But it turned out to be "The Front Porch Show," a weekly radio show out of Texas that seems to play decent songs some of the time, but is hosted by a guy who screams most of the time in a thick Texas drawl. He was sort of like Larry the Cable Guy, but without the keen wit. And I stood through three hours of that while I waited to pounce on a seat for the Trent Summar and the New Row Mob show that was set to follow the radio program. Good times.
It was hard to find a place to stand, but I wound up with an OK spot between the two main rooms at the Rodeo Bar. And I was right at the bottom of the stairs that led to the VIP area, so I got to see the folks who were waiting to go on the radio show. Jack Ingram, who I actually like and respect, was the first guy I recognized. He's got a bunch of really good songs, seems to be making some inroads into the country music "establishment," and he's in one of Lee Ann Womack's recent videos, yet another reason why she might just be all right.
Then, a few minutes after I saw Ingram, I spotted a guy who I initially thought was Dierks Bentley, another Nashville hitmaker I don't really mind. But then I got a closer look and realized I was mere steps away from the man who set Manhood back at least 1,000 years--Billy Currington.
With any luck, you don't know who Billy Currington is. But you may know him from the most embarrassing video of all time, his duet with Shania Twain on "Party for Two." The song is, even by Shania standards, exceptionally and annoyingly awful. But it's the video that breaks new ground in hideous entertainment. It features the two of them prancing (and, really, "prancing" is the only possible word that can be used) around with the least amount of sexual chemistry I've ever seen between two human beings (and, believe me, I know plenty about a lack of sexual chemistry). It's like a really short episode of "Barney and Friends," but not nearly as entertaining. Every other song the man does could be jaw-droppingly brilliant, but I'll never be able to shake the image of him in that video long enough to appreciate them.
I debated taking a picture with him for a laugh, but I don't think I would've been able to deal with being that close to him. But I did wrangle him when it came time for his appearance on the radio show. During breaks, the host would call people to the stage, but no one could hear anything outside of the room. So, since I was between the two rooms, I took it upon myself to tell Billy he was being paged. Something to tell the grandkids about. I did the same, or tried, later on when Jack Ingram was being paged. I saw him by the bar and let him know that the host wanted him. He looked at me and said, "Really? Oh well," then grabbed my arm in a gesture of thanks and walked away to get a drink. And that's why I like Jack Ingram even more.
In the completely odd celebrity sighting of the night, former NFL quarterback Jim Kelly showed up a few hours into the show, apparently just to hang out. I guess he knew some people from the Front Porch Show, so he tried to get the attention of one of the guys working. And he did, because the guy yelled out, "Hey, Jim Kelly!" to which Jim Kelly responded, "Don't yell my name out, you dumb shit." Then, later on, right before he headed up to the VIP room, he looked at me and, for some reason, said what sounded like the following: "I know it's illegal, but that shit's killing me." I honestly have no idea what he was talking about. It could've been the scantily clad young lady standing near us. But, in any case, some sort of shit was killing Jim Kelly. Maybe it was Billy Currington.
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The Front Porch Show finally wrapped up a little after 11, and a little later Trent Summar and the New Row Mob took the stage. I had only seen them once before, and that wasn't with the new lineup that features Yayhoo/Georgia Satellite/All-Around Cool Guy Dan Baird. It was a really fun show, seen by a fraction of the people who sat through the radio show, most of whom followed the orange-tanned glow of Lee Ann Womack out of the room. The band doesn't really got up this way very much, but they're definitely worth checking out. With Baird and Ken McMahan on board, it's a real monster of a band. And Trent Summar doesn't hold back much, jumping on chairs, doing the Robot, flailing all around. Sometimes it almost seems like too much energy, until you realize that there's no such thing when it comes to good live music. And the thrashing cover of "He Stopped Loving Her Today" can't be beat.
NEXT: There'll be guitars and fiddles and banjo-pickin', too
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