Words by: Dennis Cook | Images by: Susan J. Weiand

Son Volt/Cowboy Junkies :: 07.17.09 :: Villa Montalvo Garden Theatre :: Saratoga, CA

Son Volt :: 07.17.09 :: Saratoga, CA

There’s something so undeniably real about Son Volt. Dressed like workingmen and plying their trade with seriousness and purpose, speaking truth to power and calling out for love in songs that resonate on a foundational level with Woody Guthrie and Gram Parsons. With so many tunes situated somewhere on the intertwined highways of America, a Son Volt show takes one on a journey tinged with strong melancholy and a rugged refusal to be completely ground down by even the worst of circumstances. Surrounded by wine sippin’, well-heeled folks dressed in Men’s Warehouse casual and pretty, probably pricey summer dresses, I felt an outsider in denim and a red tee sporting an Old West gunslinger with the inscription, “If I were to shoot you, it would just be in the leg.” There’s a good deal of blood and suffering in Son Volt’s tales, and even more in co-headliners Cowboy Junkies, and I’d chosen the shirt with care, a small nod to the bands that some of us in the stalls have been paying attention as they’ve built up two of the sturdiest, more timeless catalogs in the past few decades.

With the sun still looming overhead but losing steam, Son Volt played first, setting us off on a trip towards a place that bandleader-songwriter-guitarist Jay Farrar said, “I know when we get there we’ll find mercy.” One of the joys of their music is how it never flinches at our scars or stupid decisions, offering rare blunt empathy for just being human. Farrar rode a thick organ wash, tossing in neck rack harmonica blasts as the band pumped out a sound perfect for rising, dancing and shaking off what cares we’d brought in with us. But, assess stayed planted or wandered the side areas full of sculpted vegetation and statuary. In many ways Montalvo Arts Center wasn’t really their venue, and the conscious foot on the brake that kept almost all overt “rockin’” for the very end of their set told one Son Volt was aware they were a touch out of their element. Unlike the Junkies they don’t have a string of FM radio hits behind them, little nostalgia to draw upon, and thus the material has to sink or swim on its own merits. It’s not hard to like but can blur together a bit, especially the mid-tempo stuff, if you’re unfamiliar with the album counterparts. Still, anyone with affinity for Woody or ’50s/’60s country or even the “Wild Horses” side of the Stones should find plenty to latch onto, even in their raw form.

Son Volt :: 07.17.09 :: Saratoga, CA

One element that caught my ear throughout the show – and across their very strong new album, American Central Dust (released July 7 on Rounder), which formed the spine of their setlist – was keyboardist/pedal steel player Mark Spencer who excels at adding texture and emotional weight to these tunes. His steel work recalls the great Mike Nesmith sideman Red Rhodes, and there’s no greater compliment I can give someone brave enough to tackle this most challenging of instruments. The rest of this band – Dave Bryson (drums), Chris Masterson (guitar, lap steel) and Andrew Duplantis (bass) – is no slouch either, making for easily the strongest lineup Son Volt has seen in many years. There’s the palpable sense of shared heavy-lifting, each guy doing what he can to really make each number breath. While everything was played like pros they really caught some air on the Keith Richards inspired “Cocaine And Ashes,” undying fan fave “Windfall” and some of the rowdier numbers near the end, where they slashed and howled like Nick Cave and his Bad Seeds in best form.

“Thank you for coming out and braving the bugs. Have some beers,” quipped Farrar. As brainy and worldly wise as his songs can often be there’s an unshakeable bar band vibe to much of his work, and this lineup plays ‘em with the kinda of gusto that keeps folks from throwing glass mugs at the chicken wire around the stage. Closing my eyes several times I had no problem imagining folks mistaking some numbers for primo Waylon Jennings or Merle Haggard, and, as if to add confirmation of this outlaw country connection Son Volt finished the set with a galloping, too-fucking-right-for-words cover of Waylon’s “Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way.” Torchbearers for rib-sticking, real people music, Son Volt delivered a lovely example of what they do best, whiskey sluggers amongst vineyard tasters but right gentlemen just the same.

Michael & Margo Timmins – Cowboy Junkies :: 07.17.09

I tend to like the Cowboy Junkies best when they misbehave a bit, play against the grain of the pleasant boutique gig existence they’ve carved out in the States. As a fan since day one, I know what terrible things and dismembered terrors lie within their music. While many only regard them as that band that played “Misguided Angel” and covered “Sweet Jane” so good Lou Reed liked it better than his own version, there’s a cantankerous, Flannery O’Connor side to them that’s always appealed to me way more than their more polite offerings. Thankfully, I got my silent wish when they opened with a raw, noisy version of Neil Young’s “Don’t Let It Bring You Down” followed by the run-for-your-life manic blues of “Hunted.” While it’s almost impossible not to stare at lead singer Margo Timmins, proving herself more and more like one of the few strong, self-possessed, classy ladies to front a band with every year, you miss a lot if you take your eye/ear off guitarist-primary songwriter Michael Timmins, who came out of the gate playing like a dirtier, more impolite Kimock – all the seated mastery with more rough edges and dark inking. Besides being responsible for the general thematic range of the band, Michael’s mood frequently dictates the tone of a given night, and he was intense, focused and seemed anxious to explore their catalog with real energy, and the others all followed suit.

A leaner configuration these days, the Junkies had only the core band – Margo, Michael, brother Peter Timmins (drums) and childhood friend Alan Anton (bass) – and longtime “fifth Cowboy” Jeff Bird on mandolin, percussion and whatnot. Together, the quintet generated a rising heat to meet the warm but cooling summer evening, weaving together murderous tales (“Lay It Down,” “Black Eyed Man”), emotional train wrecks (“Something More Besides You”) and a few clunkers (a cover of U2′s “One” just didn’t work on any level). Part of the fun of seeing them in such settings is how incongruous their subject matter is with the bucolic, privileged surroundings. It’s a community that’s strongly embraced them but doesn’t always seem particularly aware of what they’re bobbing their heads to. That’s no dig – music is meant to be enjoyed/consumed on many levels – but I sometimes wonder, as I did this night, what the Junkies themselves think of all the pastel button downs and Dockers looking back at them as they sharpen their dragging hooks and reload their revolvers.

Cowboy Junkies :: 07.17.09 :: Saratoga, CA

Regardless of venue or crowd mix, I’ve never seen the Cowboy Junkies put on a poor show, and they were especially pleasant at the Garden Theatre. They abandoned the rough play about midway and went into a few acoustic numbers, first with Margo, Michael and Bird, and then just Michael and Margo, where the highlight was a yet-untitled new one with the chorus that begins, “Hey little princess, hey little pea, come down from your tower and dance with me.” Between lines like that and Margo’s between-song chatter, there’s a growing feeling of domesticity to the band and their work, the presence of kids and settled homes creeping into the infrastructure that’s often been built of bone and blood and hard feelings. It’s where the hope that’s emerged slowly in their work over many recent albums may spring from, and like them, Son Volt, too, seems to have snapped up some reasons to believe in recent times. Taken together, one felt like they’d been given something real, something well worth stuffing in the tight confines of their bindle, as they headed towards the shuttle buses and back down the hill to the parking lot.

What made this bill especially apropos was these are two groups operating only by their own internal logic. Nothing about either Son Volt or Cowboy Junkies plays to the fleeting whims of what’s hot and what’s not. Each band has built indestructible bodies of work and continued to refine what they do live. Sometimes this approach lacks flash and can be lost in all the bright lights and fireworks of newer, louder music, but this is how real deal artists do it. This is how one makes a life in music that’s not unlike the jobs many of us work except they give us the tunes we need to make it through our working days. This is how Hank done it and they should be proud.

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Son Volt tour dates available here, Cowboy Junkies dates here.

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