2005-03-09 - 01:07

The Legendary Shack Shakers

You're not going to believe this, but I left the house without a camera.

One of the things I love about psychobilly is that its country gone wrong. Its still white trash and its unapologetic about it. Its elements of bluegrass and folk and rock from before the blessed Chuck Berry was canonized. You can dance to it. And, when I say that I mean you can dance to it in a standard sort of way. In a way that would recognized as dancing by your parents. Or, maybe that’s country gone right. I don’t know. I’ll be honest, mainstream country seems either irritatingly pop-y or overwhelmed by gigantic Broadway vocals. Gone are the days of Hank Williams and Patsy Cline.

The Legendary Shack Shakers are a psychobilly band worth their salt. Upright bass (played by Mark Robertson), an amazing guitarist (in the form of the beautifully inked David Lee) , and one scrawny little wench of a front man (Col. J.D. Wilkes) make up this band. There is no permanent drummer in the band, but they make do just fine. This evening, at Gabe’s Oasis a young man named Jerry (whose last name I missed) played his heart out. Honestly, I was amazed. The Colonel informed us that it was his fifth show with the trio and my jaw about hit the floor. He went crazy on the kit and after the show it hardly looked like he’d broken a sweat.

The Legendary Shack Shakers put on an amazing show that is part revival, part carnival, part punk. Col. J.D. throws himself around the stage like he’s indestructible. At one point, he was even hanging from the rafters. From his perch, he climbed above the crowd and got onto an audience member’s shoulders. Juxtapose this with the relatively calm Mark Robertson, who played his bass and moved with the music. The two extremes paint an interesting picture. You have both the insanity of punk and the more dignified spirit of blues. J.D. removed his sweaty wife-beater and rung it out after they'd played for about half an hour. He then used the sweat to bless a girl at the front of the stage. He demanded we all pulled the Gideon's bible out of our back pockets and follow along with him before announcing that, "Every night with the Shack Shakers is both Saturday night and Sunday morning!" If these men don’t make you want to get up on your feet and dance, there is something wrong with you.

Just watching the crowd was worth the price of admission. Slicked back hair and wingtips on the gentlemen. Straight legged levis, rolled up just the once. Although, I found it was a little too cold to a skirt this evening, a few women did venture out one. There were a lot of heels. The nice thing about this sort of show is that you don’t have to worry about someone two stepping out of the pit and right into you, knocking you on your ass and leaving you wondering how you’re supposed to get up in four-inch heels. The one kid trying to mosh was pulled from the crowd by everyone around him for smashing into the girls.

But, the best part of the evening was when the punk girl in the jean skirt that was maybe five and a half inches long took the beer out of the hand of a guy who was bothering her, took a swig and then spit it all over him. Now, this also meant that everyone around him also was sprayed with beer, (myself included) but he left her alone for the rest of the show. Bloody Brilliant, that is.

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