Out Of Hand
Out Of Hand
A bar-stool freebird of yore avoids a million nights alone
by Don Allred
January 28 - February 3, 2004 Issue 04
January 28 - February 3, 2004 Issue 04
His songs flash by like whole lives.
photo: Andrew W. Long
Gary Stewart
Live at Billy Bob's Texas
Smith Music Group
(The following paragraph was written for a country music poll ballot in
December, right before I glanced up from my laptop, and saw the chyron crawl
photo: Andrew W. Long
Gary Stewart
Live at Billy Bob's Texas
Smith Music Group
(The following paragraph was written for a country music poll ballot in
December, right before I glanced up from my laptop, and saw the chyron crawl
beneath Larry King: "Singer Gary Stewart has just been found dead in his Florida home."
His wife died, their son already had, and he shot himself in the neck: a fairly slow way to go.)
His wife died, their son already had, and he shot himself in the neck: a fairly slow way to go.)
On Live at Billy Bob's Texas, Gary Stewart is but a ghost of himself. Now
fitting the "quiet ones you gotta watch" barkeep's pro-file, this
free(dom'sjustanotherword)bird of yore---hyped as the "Springsteen of country," when he and B. were driving themselves through mid-'70s murk---no longer shivers
and wails, but leaves dusty fingerprints all over gleaming, surging
honky-tonkcore, the Lost City of his Greatest (mostly shouldabeen) Hits. The band's
eager, but also well-disciplined, and totally unannotated, like ghost riders in the
sky.
fitting the "quiet ones you gotta watch" barkeep's pro-file, this
free(dom'sjustanotherword)bird of yore---hyped as the "Springsteen of country," when he and B. were driving themselves through mid-'70s murk---no longer shivers
and wails, but leaves dusty fingerprints all over gleaming, surging
honky-tonkcore, the Lost City of his Greatest (mostly shouldabeen) Hits. The band's
eager, but also well-disciplined, and totally unannotated, like ghost riders in the
sky.
(Later): Yeah, another dead guy. Once upon a time, he was Dr. Fun and Mr.
Doom (and self-awareness, and headlonging), simultaneously. Stewart still sounds impossibly corny, truly inspired, while flourishing and flinging single notes and phrases all the way through Out of Hand/Your Place or
Mine, his two best LPs on one CD. Songs flash by like whole lives, but really
they're just his moments, ticking away.
Doom (and self-awareness, and headlonging), simultaneously. Stewart still sounds impossibly corny, truly inspired, while flourishing and flinging single notes and phrases all the way through Out of Hand/Your Place or
Mine, his two best LPs on one CD. Songs flash by like whole lives, but really
they're just his moments, ticking away.
Billy Bob's cuts like "An Empty Glass (That's the Way the Day Ends)" turn the tides
down like blankets, till I'm bathed in (pace tua, St. Sade) the *truly* sweetest taboo (of self-pity).
Tiring, soothing. I just stare through his stare, on the rocks, as he
imagines/avoids/follows her stare. "Maybe you feel cheated, for having married so young,"
he mutters to self and/or significant other (wed in their mid-teens, forty-odd years ago now), while shifting on his bar
stool, in the still-rousing "Ten Years of This." ("A million nights alone!") So:
Mebbe getting married is cheating? No! Not always!
down like blankets, till I'm bathed in (pace tua, St. Sade) the *truly* sweetest taboo (of self-pity).
Tiring, soothing. I just stare through his stare, on the rocks, as he
imagines/avoids/follows her stare. "Maybe you feel cheated, for having married so young,"
he mutters to self and/or significant other (wed in their mid-teens, forty-odd years ago now), while shifting on his bar
stool, in the still-rousing "Ten Years of This." ("A million nights alone!") So:
Mebbe getting married is cheating? No! Not always!
The Live CD is labeled with Gary's chipmunky, half-quizzical half-smirk.
("Crazy world, haint it.") Vividly painted. Like one of those commemorative plates
advertised on late-night basic cable. I try to put it away, but then a-l-l-l
his damned drinkin'/cheatin' songs start swirling through their rounds again.
Scores unsettle themselves, in Gary's man-made afterlife. (Reminding
25-years-teetotaling me: For the first time in eight years, I gotta find another job,
and now Bush wants Mars.) Art sucks.
("Crazy world, haint it.") Vividly painted. Like one of those commemorative plates
advertised on late-night basic cable. I try to put it away, but then a-l-l-l
his damned drinkin'/cheatin' songs start swirling through their rounds again.
Scores unsettle themselves, in Gary's man-made afterlife. (Reminding
25-years-teetotaling me: For the first time in eight years, I gotta find another job,
and now Bush wants Mars.) Art sucks.
.
posted by Don Allred @ 12/23/2005 08:28:00 AM
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