Nashville is an odd place. Remarkably, as keeper of the rigidly prescribed, American country music tradition, it hasn’t just tolerated its leftfield sons (and sole daughter) Lambchop, but embraced them to such an extent that The Nashville String Machine – a studio ensemble who have been putting the sheen on assorted country products since the 1970s – appear on current twin album package "Aw C’mon" / "No You C’mon".
The Machine isn’t here tonight, but Poland’s Dafo Quartet (three violins, one cello) is. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s the last time the four will play with the ‘chop on this tour which heightens the evening’s emotion. Maybe it’s the venue, whose theatrical elegance so perfectly offsets the knockabout charm of Kurt Wagner and crew. Maybe it’s because they’ve been slowly but steadily building to this peak of consummate musicianship and intelligent, ensemble playing throughout their career. Whatever. Tonight, Lambchop create a near beatific musical experience - and rock the doggone house.
Even though he’s sat down for the entire set, Wagner – in trademark feed cap, his distinctive voice rough and brown as a burlap sack – commands the stage completely. Being seated might be slightly awkward (he half rears up for the occasional high note, bucks suddenly when getting rough with his guitar), but it suits his down-home demeanour to a tee.
Right behind him there’s a baby grand manned by Tony Crow, whose secondary job is telling jokes that range from the pathos-laden to the somewhat politically incorrect. Stage left, a pedal-steel guitar, surely country music’s most deliciously lachrymose instrument; over on the right, at the back, the subtle and sensuous brush work of drummer Sam Baker. No one player shines, because that would involve ego and Lambchop have clearly sublimated theirs to the will of the music.
The band swing, shimmy and roll through rich soul sounds recalling the Marvin Gaye and Curtis Mayfield records Wagner so clearly loves ("Four Pounds In Two Days", "I Hate Candy", "Steve McQueen"), joyous instrumentals that could have been lifted from some old MGM musical ("Being Tyler") and even quasi-post rock thrummings ("The Lone Official"). When they let rip – which they do often in gnarly, ravaged guitar forays – Lambchop soar high and free as a kite, then casually reel themselves back in.
Wagner knows the important, big stuff in life is also the quotidian, trivial detail, which is why his conversational riffs on English football and dating sound like the real thing, rather than crowd-pleasing sops. They don’t play it tonight, but the title of an old song says it best. Simply, "Shucks".
