On the way to the show, I kept thinking that I needed to keep my wits about me. This was the first show that I'd acquired the tickets through Creative Loafing and it would be nice to impress them with lucid recollections on our first shot at this show review thing. Kind of like dating, you know, give them the angelic version of Autopsy for the first few weeks, let them get attached a little and then show them the rambling, incoherent "what? I saw a show tonight? Did I like it?" version. Everything was going according to plan. I was stone sober (mostly) and we were on schedule to get to the venue and walk in just in time for Old Crow to start. Then, everything went to hell. When we got to Tampa Theatre, we found out that Old Crow was a little over an hour from playing. A professional would have went in and watched the opening act but Creative Loafing fired most of their professionals and now they're stuck with a lush like me. So, while one of those many professionals CL used to employ would have gone on in … I headed to The Hub. And the rest, as they say, is history … My head was wet with whiskey and about 10 people were in front of me in the beer line when I heard the show start; one-and-a-half songs later, I took my seat and this is my story.
The last time Old Crow Medicine Show came through Tampa, they played to a sold-out crowd at the legendary Skipperdome. This time through, the band switched it up and took the stage at the historic Tampa Theater. Going to the show, I knew two things for certain. One, this would be a much mellower crowd and two, it would be almost perfect sound wise.
The show was broken up into two sets with a 20-minute break in between. The first set was enjoyable enough but it was lacking the energy I'd feared it might. The crowd was flat and the band, both in song selection as well as stage performance, was mellow. I was dead-on about the sound, though. Tampa Theatre never disappoints on that front unless you're there to see a movie. I'm not saying the first set was bad … it was just a little lackluster. Had the entire show gone on at that pace, I would have probably gotten bored before the end.
This was a stark contrast from their previous show at Skipper's and as the band walked off the stage after the first set, I was worried that the more formal venue was dictating a more stuffy performance.
Maybe I needed more whiskey to help me find their groove. Fortunately, due to state smoking laws, Tampa Theatre now allows re-entry and The Hub is a mere 20 (yes, I counted) steps away.
"Bartender! Quick! One shot of Beam and one Beam and ginger. Make 'em strong and make 'em quick. I'm a fucking professional after all."
"A professional drunk maybe."
"Fuck you, pal. I'm aligned with Creative Loafing now. You treat me with respect or I'll have their lawyers so far up your ass, they'll know what you're eating before you do."
"Shut up. Finish your drinks and get the fuck out of here."
"That's what I thought. Tell you what, shot jockey, just put those drinks on CL's tab."
"They don't run a tab."
"What kind of cut-rate fish wrap am I working for?"
"The kind that allows schmucks like you to cover shows for them instead of paying a real professional."
"Fuck you. Tomorrow, Eric Snider and I are coming down here to beat your ass. Now, pour me another shot and gimme my tab. I gotta get back over there."
Oh, what a difference a set makes. The Old Crow show would prove to be like a wave in the Gulf. It started out slow and unnoticed, barely even a ripple. Then, as it moved into the second set, the ripple grew into a wave before crashing in a glorious high-energy show complete with 10 performing musicians on stage as the opening act, The Felice Brothers, joined Old Crow for the last half of the second set.
A great way to describe the two sets would be to say the first set was Saturday afternoon and the second set was Saturday-freaking-night. It was everything I remembered from the Skipper's show. It was fantastic. Even saying it was great isn't an exaggeration.
The second set ended with an utterly fantastic and unbelievable awesome version of "Tell It To Me" that should have ended the show.
I should have skipped the encore. I knew it. I asked the wife if she wanted to go. "No!" was her reply.
"That was the perfect ending to a great show!" I replied. "Let's get out of here."
"You just wanna drink more at the Hub" she said condescendingly.
While true, I knew it was happening regardless and I was standing by my opinion that we'd seen the perfect ending. I was right.
Remember my wave in the Gulf analogy earlier? Well, it still applies. See, after the grand crashing of the wave that was the second set, what's left? The meek and silent retreat back to the anonymity of the sea and that's exactly what the encore was — an inappropriate fart after especially good sex. It was a total fucking bummer cloud to an otherwise exceptional night. They should have ended the second set four songs early and encored with the last four songs as a great big money shot right in the crowd's eye.
Oh well. Great show. Shit encore. In the end, it was still a fantastic night.
My buddy took some great pictures and you can see them here.
This article appears in Feb 11-17, 2009.