James McMurtry and Lady and Gent @ Neurolux (2/23/13)

There was some cool stuff happening around town this night.  While the Linen Building hosted Edmond Dantes's EP release party, Hot Dog Sandwich Headquarters and Evil Wine threw a Who Framed Roger Rabbit?-themed show at the Red Room.  However, as tempting as these choices were (Kelly Green as Jessica Rabbit, mmm...), I couldn't pass up the chance to see one of America's greatest living songwriters again.

For those of you who don't know James McMurtry, here's a brief 411.  He's the son of Larry McMurtry, the author of, among other works, The Last Picture Show, Terms of Endearment, Lonesome Dove and (with Diana Ossana) the screenplay for Brokeback Mountain.  His (James's, that is) first album was co-produced by John Cougar Mellencamp.  He's earned props from everyone from Stephen King to Patterson Hood (Drive-By Truckers) to Robert Christgau to Salon to the Washington Post to... well, you get the idea.  His Neurolux show back in June was one of my non-Treefort favorites of last year.

So, yeah--I was excited to see this guy again.  And curious to see how many gropes I'd receive from middle-aged women this time around (I got two or three back in June).

I counted well over a hundred people when I arrived at Neurolux.  By the time that James McMurtry played, the crowd looked to be just a hair smaller than the one that turned out for Built to Spill a couple of weeks ago (if rather less broad age-wise; I'd guess that the average was somewhere in the early/mid-forties).

As I stood by the DJ booth and waited for the show to start, I felt a hand spidering around my ass.  For a second, I thought that maybe someone was trying to steal my wallet.  When I turned around, however, I just saw a big-boned, middle-aged lady.  I blinked, breathed a sigh of relief, and checked that off my list.

Lady and Gent opened the show.  You've seen this type of couple before (hell, maybe you are this type of couple).  He's a (lovable?) mess: drinks too much, questionable hygiene and grooming, prone to flights of cockeyed enthusiasm.  She's much more together: works out at the Y, has a steady job, wears just a little makeup, looks like a million bucks even in jeans and a t-shirt.  Even though they're not really a couple (she's married, he said, but not to him), this Salt Lake City duo seemed to fit that template like a glove.  Dana Sorensen's tender, thoughtful harmonies and demure stage presence complemented Garret Williams's false starts, manic expressions and hoarse, nervous vocals.  Williams's charming melodies and considerate, self-aware lyrics helped answer the question of why she stays with the S.O.B.

He wrote all the songs himself, Sorensen told the crowd near the end.  "They're OUR songs!" Williams countered with a smile.  "Cute, Garrett," Sorensen said.

James McMurtry played next.  He didn't play with a band this time, but that gave him the chance to show how warm and nuanced his stolid baritone croon can be.  It also let him show how deftly he could play his ringing 12-string guitar.  And of course, it let his witty, detailed, incisive, sardonic, empathetic words shine even brighter.  I kinda missed the band on "We Can't Make It Here"--their relentless beat really accentuates the song's righteous anger--but I'm more convinced than ever that its lyrics should be carved in stone and placed at every former Occupy site.  Meanwhile, "Hurricane Party" and the "prototype" about the quirks that make an unnamed ladyfriend so special sounded as sly, clear-eyed, affectionate and gorgeous as they did last year.  The crowd roared and sang along throughout the entire set.  They raised their tallboys high at "I probably oughtta quit drinkin', but that don't mean I will" ("It took me twenty years to figure out I was a liquor salesman," McMurtry quipped afterwards).  They used what little space there was to boogie during the great white-trash epic "Choctaw Bingo."

You can find info on these acts on Facebook and elsewhere online.

James McMurtry and Jonny Burke @ Neurolux (6/20/12)

I owe Like A Rocket's Speedy Gray big for this one.  He talked to me about James McMurtry one night and urged me to listen to some of his stuff.  I looked the man up on Spotify, played a handful of songs and was blown away.

Here's a bit of James McMurtry's history.  He's the son of Larry McMurtry, a guy who's written a few books you may have heard of: The Last Picture Show, Terms of Endearment, Lonesome Dove (he also co-wrote the screenplay for Brokeback Mountain and won an Oscar for it).  John Cougar Mellencamp co-produced his (James's, that is) debut album, Too Long In the Wasteland.  My favorite music critic, Robert Christgau, named McMurtry's song "We Can't Make It Here" the best song of the 2000's.  After reading his C.V. and listening to his music, no way was I gonna miss his show at Neurolux.

I got down there a song or two into the opening set.  The substantial crowd was comprised mainly of older and much less arty folks than your typical Neurolux show, but I could see a few hipster types sprinkled about.  I found it refreshing to see the ironic plaid-and-mustache crowd mixing with the straight plaid-and-mustache crowd.

Austin, TX-based singer-songwriter Jonny Burke opened the show.  Armed with only a couple of guitars and borrowing James McMurtry's dummer, Darren Hess, Burke sang his smart lyrics in a nice, raspy, punk-schooled sneer.  He cites Townes Van Zandt, Chuck Berry and Richard Pryor as influences on his Facebook page, and you could hear them all in his songs.  A very good start to the night.

After Jonny Burke came James McMurtry and his backing band.  When they're back at their homebase of Austin, these dudes apparently have a weekly gig at the Continental Club.  That would make sense, considering how tight and sharp their playing was, and would be one more feather in that famed city's cap.  Between McMurtry and Tim Holt's terse guitar solos, "Cornbread"'s stalwart basslines and Darren Hess's unflashily expert drumming, they sounded like Friday night in the honky tonk bar of your dreams.  The real star of the show, however, were the sardonic, supremely detailed lyrics.  McMurtry's deadpan baritone pushed his words front and center, and they definitely rewarded close scrutiny.  There wasn't a remotely weak song in the whole pack, but my personal favorites included a solo acoustic "prototype" about all the things that make an unnamed ladyfriend so special ("She can change her own fuses, she can fix her own car... She don't scare easy, but she can be pushed too far."); "Hurricane Party," a clear-eyed dissection of an aging wastrel ("Some insurance man biker's yelling out for one more beer,/ But a part-time pirate just can't get much respect around here."); and most especially the aforementioned "We Can't Make It Here," a righteous litany of the myriad ways in which our country is fucked right now (wars in the Middle East, jobs getting shipped overseas, mounting debts, etc.).  He'd stopped playing that last song for a while, McMurtry said, but he decided to dust it off because he still found it all too relevant.  No lie there.

You can find info about James McMurtry and Jonny Burke on Facebook and elsewhere online.  And if you talk to Speedy Gray, ask him about the time McMurtry played the restaurant he was working at.