Blissed Out On High Voltage Country

(Son Volt at the LA2, LONDON 30 November 1998)

Source: Mick Spencer

  In November 1997, Son Volt played their first show in London, in possibly the worst (but most fashionable) venue of its size in the city, a low-ceilinged cavern of a place called Dingwall's. The packed crowd, many wearing their worn out Uncle Tupelo tees, gathered to pay homage to a band--well, let's face it--a man deified by sensitive young men in check shirts the world over. I distinctly remember Farrar taking the stage, to a thunderous roar, looking ill and grey, and my mind flitting from one explanation to another (jet lag? substance abuse? sheer bloody terror?) before the wall of guitars built the opening riff of "Catching On," he leaned into the noise, and the band proceeded to rock that pit of a venue to its foundations. From the opening salvo of Trace rockers, through a lengthy acoustic slot which hit a high point with the beautifully sweet-n-sour "Slate," to a souped-up, plugged-in "Windfall" and a devastating take on "Holocaust," Son Volt that night more than met the expectations of the most casual observer or dedicated fan.

Almost exactly a year later, with a third album causing a ripple at the other side of the pond, and whispering over the surface on this side, Son Volt returned to London to grace the smaller but prettier LA2. Hitting the stage just before the time they were due--8.45--they buzzed through the set in pretty much record time, opening with a loud electric kickoff, cruising through the acoustic material, then back into electric mode to close out the show before the encores.

"Right on Through" is the quintessential Son Volt rocker, and the perfect first strike, the opening line ("Waking ground, descending sun") meshing those chiming guitars with a keening harmony, two of the band's most distinctive trademarks. "Picking Up the Signal," "Flow," and "Caryatid Easy" maintain the tempo, before things slow down for the lilting "Medicine Hat," beautifully re-arranged to allow the song to build gradually from a solo vocal and acoustic strum, then with bassist Jim Boquist filling in on harmony for the first chorus, before the whole band kicks in for the second verse.

At times, the band give the impression that they are pretty eager to get the show over with--there's not much let up from one song to the next, and even the occasional sustain at the end of a song gets cut short. The band and crew know the drill, and guitars are passed back and forth with sharp efficiency. It occurs to me that we're just past the big Thanksgiving holiday. Son Volt have been on a trawl through Europe for several weeks now, and it wouldn't surprise me if they were eager to pack up and get back to their friends and families for the tail-end of the vacation. But these guys are never anything less than professional, and there is certainly nothing lacklustre about the show. The band is tight and incredibly focussed.

The acoustic set in the centre of the show happily mixes songs from all three albums, including a take on "Creosote," off Straightaways, played at a funereal pace. A year ago at Dingwalls, Jay had been bugged by a bunch of guys near the front who had kept screaming for the old Tupelo classic "Whiskey Bottle" in between songs. Farrar had done his best to ignore them, finally saying, near the end of the show, "Sorry. We're only playing new ones"--fairly accurate, with only two songs from UT's final album played that night. This time around, it's all Son Volt originals until the encores have the band reaching back to 60s powerpop and protopunk. The length of the acoustic interlude - six songs broken up by the Byrdsian tone and laidback groove of "Back into your World"--perhaps loses some of the audience--but the band closes out the set with the urgent, propulsive "Question," the catchy riffing of "Drown," and then the overdriven guitars of "Route" and "Straightface." The latter drops the distorted vocal effect of the studio arrangement. Farrar spits out the sardonic lyrics and adds blistering harp to face down Dave Boquist's guitar work.

They don't leave the audience waiting long for the first encore, "Dead Man's Clothes." When I first heard the album Wide Swing Tremolo, this one went over my head a little. In an interview, Farrar had implied this was perhaps his favourite cut on the album, and I knew I must be missing something. It's a song that creeps up on you. The lyrics are typical Farrar, opaque and at the same time intensely evocative. Tonight, there is one magical moment as the entire place goes almost completely dark for a few seconds, and Farrar moans, "Who do you answer to...." Farrar is at the top of his vocal range here, and the upshot is a sweetened, plaintive tone. As the song reaches its crux, "Exit Left--number 65--this nightfall's made up my mind," the aching fatalism of the line seems to hang heavy in the air.

As the show moves towards its conclusion, the band finally loosens up and the tight control that they retain over the material for the bulk of the set is allowed to slip a little. Front centre, there are two girls doing some kind of hippy wavy arm dance to "Windfall," and Mike Heidorn catches sight of them and laughs his socks off. If Jay doesn't appear to be having much fun up there, it's Heidorn who compensates, playing resident joker. During "Route," he perfectly times his moves during the drumless "southbound you can taste the weather" bridge: sitting back from his kit, reaching down, swigging his beer, placing it back on the floor, and coming in dead on time to pick up the beat for the final chorus. Jim Boquist rocks and headbangs like a teenager during the same song. By the time we reach the final encores, the whole band is raving it up as they tackle the Del-Vetts, garage rock classic "Last Time Around" and Iggy and the Stooges' "I Got a Right."

Time Out, a trendy London events guide, had featured the gig in their listings for the week, talking about "Jay Farrar's headfuck, blissed out take on country rock," and it struck me at first as a bizarre description. But watching the show tonight, there is something blissed out about it. There's much talk about Farrar sleep-walking his way through gigs, but watching him closely tonight, it seems like he is the one blissed out, carried away on the beautiful sounds this band creates - those roaring, chiming guitars, and the way his voice coasts on top of it all. From the delicacy of "Dead Man's Clothes" to the guttural attack of "Straightface," it's mid-West post-industrial and deeply rural. High voltage country indeed.

Son Volt Links

Warner Brothers' Official Son Volt Website

The Gumbo Pages: Son Volt

The Alt.Country Tab Page

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