Show Review

Less than 200 miles south of Manchester, TN an impressive gathering of notable musicians and tens of thousands of live music fans was taking place that same weekend in Atlanta. While Music Midtown boasts more asphalt and FM friendly acts than Bonnaroo, it still has that something-for-everyone appeal and the dreaded scheduling conflicts you’ll find at any summer festival. Oh, and of course there’s the guarantee of weather plaguing at least a portion of your experience. 2005’s incarnation was no different. From a line-up that featured the likes of Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers, Counting Crows, The Killers, Alan Jackson, Keane, and Robert Randolph and The Family Band I was able to avoid melting in the rain and catch several impressive sets during the three-day event. Here are the highlights:

Lou Reed

This was my first time seeing the indie-rock patriarch in the flesh. Another box checked on life’s to-do list. I don’t care if Mr. Reed only offered two Velvet Underground songs (opener “White Light White Heat” and closer “Sweet Jane”) during a sixty-minute set of mostly obscure songs. Nor was I bothered by the fact that he may have been reading the lyrics from a teleprompter and that his backing band seemed a bit lost or unsettled at times. The thinner than expected crowd, whose reaction to Reed can be summed up as lukewarm, at best, was a mix of diehards like myself and people waiting to hear “Walk on the Wild Side” so they could light a joint, and continue their walk towards the modern rock stage to catch Interpol. For a man that probably put a million dollars of heroin into his arms, he looked good in his hipster jeans and wine colored shirt. I had just spent six bucks on a 12 oz Heineken. The sun was setting behind the downtown Atlanta skyline, and I was watching an icon. Life was good

White Stripes

Admittedly, I do not own a single record from the Detroit power duo. I’ve never seen a music video, read an interview-- nothing. When I think White Stripes, the pair’s pasty mugs pop in my head and the “I’m going to Wichita” lyric escapes my mouth. Despite my naiveté I thoroughly enjoyed their intense performance. He coaxes greatness from his guitar and she provides an ample low end. From what I hear this was one of only a handful of dates the band will play in the US, despite the recent release of Get Behind Me Satan.

Mofro

Southern rock is the musical equivalent of comfort food— at least in my world, and my truck. The four-piece that rocked Saturday afternoon, led by lead-singer JJ Grey and slide guitarist Darryl Hance was rural rock personified. Grey is a lightening bolt of soul and a dime store philosopher while Hance is a portrait of casual intensity in his camouflage hat. He seems to be saying, “I love to play guitar, but fishing’s not so bad either.” The set list featured several songs from 2004’s Lochloosa, including the title track, a fierce “Dirtfloorcracker” and great a rendition of “Six Ways From Sunday” that included an almost nonsensical rambling about crack heads in the family from Grey. The rain fell gently, offering respite from the heat, and the stage crew scrambled to cover the next band’s drum kit. I felt bad for anyone that had to follow Mofro on that afternoon.

Clay Walker

Say what you will about country music. Yeah, it’s a genre that’s battling some metrosexualization issues right now, but if Nashville continues to crank out showmen like Clay Walker the walls will run out of space for the platinum records. This is Bush Country American music. The men let their old lady’s ride on top of their shoulders, clutching an MGD in each hand. The sleeves get cut out of shirts and Skoal cylinders get taken out of back pockets for big pinches. Forget contemporary Country’s frosted tips, bleached teeth, designer jeans and the three hundred dollar haircuts—for a second. Go see Clay Walker when he comes to town. I was surprised to recognize so many of Walker’s songs, including “If I Could Make a Living,” and “This Woman and This Man.” He didn’t waste any opportunities to send the crowd into frenzies, dropping “Atlanta’s” here and “Georgia’s” there. During a three-song suite of covers, “Sweet Home Alabama” > “Play that Funk Music” > “The Joker,” Walker’s crew unleashed dozens of huge psychedelic beach balls. Jimmy Buffet meets George Strait, with jamband theatrics—good stuff.

Modern Skirts

This impressive, relatively new 4-piece from Athens, Georgia played the Locals Only Stage sponsored by Atlanta’s premier (only?) alt-rock radio station, 99X. The healthy crowd early Saturday afternoon probably raised a few eyebrows of said radio station’s heavies. The band is poised to play the main stage and get a little radio rotation sooner than later. They hustled through a set that included “September Days,” “My Bully,” and “17 Dirty Magazines,” all from their recently released EP this is winning and thinking, and all of which compare favorably with everything coming down the Brit-rock pike these days. They’re young, talented musicians and enthusiastic kids with great stage presence and fashion sense. Their harmonies are delicious and hooks catchy-- ready for record deals and photo shoots. World, take notice.

The Pixies

Last October the band played two nights at The Fox Theatre in Atlanta and figured it was a once in a lifetime experience. Eight months later I stood in the pouring rain without an umbrella, just a few feet from Kim Deal, Frank Black, Joey Santiago, and David Lovering once again, blessed with another once in a lifetime opportunity. I assumed they would open their 90-minute set with “Stormy Weather,” considering the harsh elements. Of course that was too obvious, and instead they tore into “Wave of Mutilation” and never slowed down. Not much for banter and idle chitchat with the crowd Black and Co. instead flooded the masses with a set list that read like the Pixies mix tape you made for that cute, mysterious girl in high school. “Caribou,” check. “Head-On,” check. “Nimrod’s Son, This Monkeys Gone to Heaven, Here Comes Your Man,” check, check, check. I was disappointed that “Is She Weird” and “The Happening” (both from Bossanova) missed the cut. Come to think of it, that album was probably the most neglected as the band pulled primarily from Surfer Rosa and Doolittle. Kim Deal’s voice encourages the same weak knees and gooseflesh it did the first time I heard the gentle, ethereal swoon. In the stage left shadows she sang “Gigantic” and then the haunting “In Heaven (Lady in the Radiator)” and despite every effort to be the bashful, homely tomboy, Deal is without question-- beautiful. They closed with the slower version of “Wave of Mutilation” and the crowd soaked in the experience, uncertain if eight months or an eternity separated them from the next time the Pixies would parade through town.

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