Swinging from the West to the Punk

The Best Westerns were already playing when I finally found a parking place near Anodyne Coffee Roasters in Walker's Point, and for a minute there, I thought I'd walked into Bob's Country Bunker. After all, there was the sweet wail of the steeel guitar, a long bar serving thirsty patrons,  hanging shop lights that doubled as footlights on the stage, metal and pressboard chairs like those ones you normally only saw in either shop class or the art room, and two long tables filled with fans, complete with a drunk couple in the back making out. 

But I really hate referencing that scene in the Blues Brothers because much as I love that film, that scene kind of bugs me. It implies that Country and (the other kind of music) Western is unsophisticated, made by and for plebian philistines. 

And in the case of both the Best Westerns, and the headliner, The Hungry Williams, nothing could be further than the truth. I've raved about the Best Westerns before, in their earlier incarnation of the Western Box Turtles, because like the Big City Band that they are, they pull inspiration from a variety of American songbooks, and then put a western swing accent on it. 

My favorite case in point was a mashup they did of the Nelson Riddle Orchestra's "Theme from Route 66" with Bobby Troup's "(Get Your Kicks on)Route 66." I didn't even miss the former's full orchestra as Anna Brinck's piano tinkled the introduction and I felt like I was barreling down the highway between LA and Vegas. And then they wove in the latter's rock and rollling melody, reminding us all of the kind of fun we'd have along the way. That's the Best Westerns' secret: they're as sophisticated as a big orchestra, and as fun as a honky tonk, and all of them seem to be winking at you the whole time. 

The headliner, the Hungry Williams, has that same theme of swing, but theirs is more of a jump blues a decade or two ahead of the Westerns' roots. Lead singer Kelli Gonzalez has a terrific don't-mess-with-me voice that puts a definitive exclamation point on an already punchy arrangement of horns, guitars, drums and keys. Oh, and she's sassy! There wasn't a moment when the dance floor wasn't filled, and half the people on it actually knew how to dance. Of course they do "Rip it Up." They did two full sets of jump swing, and like the opening band, barely broke a sweat doing so. The whole night was, in a word, delightful. 

The next night at Linneman's was a different kind of variety, and a different kind of sophistication. Punk is another genre that gets written off as simplistic, but it takes talent to write a good hook and a strong anthem, and the evening's openers The Size 5s, punch out the hooky anthems in droves. They were also halfway through their set when I arrived and barely made it to the front to capture them. As usual, they were lively and animate, jumping all over and physically interacting with the crowd. They've become fast favorites of mine for just these reasons.

Up next was a band out of Madison called Cats on Leashes, fronted by Jeri Capser, a commanding woman with the snarly stage presence (and powerful voice) that brings to mind a cross between Courtney Love (and I mean this as a compliment) and Corin Tucker. At first they seemed like a standard riotgrrl outfit, but then they kick out songs that go all over the map, with time signature and dynamic changes.  Casper growls and croons, her stylistic range changes from song to song, and this band is in lock step with her, even as guitarist Trevor Triggs drops his pants ands still manages to jump around stage unencumbered by the belt around his ankles. They didn't miss a beat. To say they were compelling would be an understatement.

The final band of the night was a long awaited return of Resist Her Transistor. I don't want to say "reunion" because it's not like they broke up. They seem to have just taken a break. (I get this: there was a stretch when my band didn't play for something like 2-3 years and people thought we broke up. No, we just had our lives going on for cryin' out loud. So when we did play, people thought it was this big "reunion thing." No, we just dusted off the cobwebs.) 

But RHT was so tight and on it you'd never have thought they were gone. Lead singer/guitarist Stephanie Schreiber takes the stage with a reflective guitar that she makes sure blinds anybody who dares to star at it/her too long and doesn't mess around the entire set. She too, brings to mind the  riotgrrl vibe, but this is more from Joan Jett's side of the house: songs with titles like "It's Not Me It's You" and of course, the set-closing local hit "Cut That Bitch" make it clear that this woman is not to be messed with. But she's not the only badass in the band. Bassist Tom Pecard broke his arm (in a few places) but still got the job done with a full cast on his picking hand. And Andy Stilin has the versatility to switch from the Cow Ponies to this punk outfit, given that this is one of 683 bands that he's in. Talk about swinging back and forth.