For a strange moment last spring, it seemed as if the Dixie Chicks were the most subversive band in America. Superficially they might have appeared a huge, slick country act. But on March 10, the last time the band played London, singer Natalie Maines announced: "Just so you know, we're ashamed the President of the United States is from Texas."
Retribution was swift. The darlings of country MOR suddenly found their records being burned and anti-Dixie Chicks gigs being organised across the South. Sales of their sixth album, 'Home', riding high in the American charts, dropped by 40 per cent in a week. But for those of us anxious to hear some criticism of Bush's Iraqi adventures from his own heartland, Maines' stand was inspirational. How better to criticise American conservatism than with the most conservative kind of American music? For the first time in a while, mainstream country music had some proper rebel icons.
Tonight, though, the Dixie Chicks' return hardly measures up as a countercultural happening. One white-haired man heads for the stage and scuffles with the bewildered security men. But it's clear that, in Britain at least, the Dixie Chicks' so-called radicalism has not lost them their cosy core audience. More surprisingly, the notoriously pro-Bush Clear Channel organisation are promoting the gig, which suggests these three permanently grinning Texans are still too lucrative to be abandoned. All of which should give Maines, Emily Robison and Martie Maguire plenty of leverage to criticise Bush's iniquitous behaviour more passionately than ever.
Nothing so exciting happens at this long, proficient and uninvolving gig. Rather than address politics, Maines uses her infamy as a cute new accessory, making lame jokes instead of potent attacks. "The last time we were here, the pending war was weighing heavy on us," she says. "Tonight something else is weighing heavy on us - it's J-Lo and Ben." 'Free Natalie' t-shirts are on sale at the merchandise stall. "We're just not in tune with the American public, I guess," is as close as she comes to vitriol.
Apologies for dwelling on what the Dixie Chicks do - or don't - say. In truth, it's a lot more interesting than what they play. Backed by a pointlessly huge band - at one point eight roughly guitar-shaped instruments are being used, though you can only hear a couple properly - the Dixie Chicks are essentially the country Corrs. In spite of their between-song claims to love Eminem and Missy Elliott and all the political chicanery, mawkish ballads like 'Godspeed' (about missing your kids, ostensibly) are the sort of issue songs they're most comfortable with.
For the most part, it's glossy, glib stuff that makes Sheryl Crow sound dangerous. They're particularly bad at rocking out, proved by a muscular but bland version of Bob Dylan's 'Mississippi'. As is often the case with country, simplicity and traditionalism work best; something the Dixie Chicks understood when they traded in electric guitars for a rootsier bluegrass sound on the reasonably enjoyable 'Home'. Its highlights are the best things tonight, notably the careering 'White Trash Wedding'.
Yes, there's some handy musicianship here, especially from Robison on banjo and slide. But really, going to see the Dixie Chicks now is a bit like going to see Marilyn Manson; not to enjoy the music, but to see what trouble they cause. Bereft of controversy, you're better off at home with a few Gillian Welch albums.
