How do you sum up a weekend that leaves you worn out, hung over, and craving more? Friday night kicked the whole hurricane of a weekend off with Gary Allan featuring Pat Green and Kristen Kelly. No more than five minutes after showing up, my sales rep gets a call from Kristen's people asking for an emcee. I glady agreed thinking I would have time to prep. No such luck. I was informed the show was starting in five minutes and I was needed back stage. Back stage, some guy shoved a wireless mic in my face, giving me some instructions that I missed in the haze. A short guy with a trendy hair-do gave me some quick bullet points about Miss Kelly, and then it was time to start the show. Thinking back, I probably could have played it a bit cooler on the stage. Distraction came in the form of a throng of people screaming, beautiful back up singers and musicians walking around behind me, and remembering I forgot to shave. Leather jacket, scruffy "No Shave November" beard, and my Back Roads t-shirt all brought her to the stage. As soon as I walked off, I was told it was time to do a remote break on the air and do a meet and greet with Pat Green. He is tall. He is VERY tall. In the testament of old, it refers to giants. Pat must be from that ancient blood line.
After a successful on air break and hug from Pat, I attempted to brave the mob infront of the porta-potties. No line, just a blob of people, meant it was every man, woman, child for themselves. After using my rougeish power of sneak, I made it to the jon, and found I had eight missed calls from my sales rep. Pat wanted an emcee to give him an intro. I was in need once again. Back to the back stage area I ran smelling of cigarettes and porta potty. I was told Pat was inside writing up his intro, and what time I was needed to go on. Once again my beard, leather jacket, and Back Roads t-shirt would stand before an ever growing mass of humanity. Pat was standing at the bottom of the steps when I walked off stage, put out his gorilla paw, shook my tiny little hand, and said thanks.
Friday night came and went in a blaze of hectic glory. Saturday morning brought with it Tradio, breakfast burritoes, and the anticipation of what was to come. I've been told that people started lining up at 6PM. When I arrived at JC Cowboy's at 9PM, the place was already filling up. I met up with Dickie and the guys from Atteberry Station at one of the side bars. We shook hands, caught up on life, and then they took to the stage. I will say this about Atteberry Station. Looks can be deceiving. They don't look like rockers. They don't look like they will make you party your pants off. Looks can be very, very misleading. Atteberry Station rocked JC Cowboy's, keeping two-steppers out on the floor to their sound that reminices back on good ol' southern rock. Raw power and emotion flooded the speakers with every lyric. Needless to say, the crowd was primed and ready to party once Atteberry Station had their way with them.
It was time for Whiskey Myers to take the stage. A mob of dedicated fans crowded close to the stage and began to chant. Beards, long hair, vests, guitars...WM ascended to the stage to enourmous applause and deafening cheers. If you have never been to a real rock n' roll show, you have no idea how to fully appreciate what I am about to describe. For the entirity of the set, they never stopped. Not once was there silence. From beginning to end, someone was playing. The music lasted all night amidst a haze of smoke and booze, at times drowned out by the crowd singing along or cheering for the east Texas outlaws. If Whiskey Myers is in fact hell-bent on world domination, I fear there is nothing that can stop them.
EDIT: It was brought to my attention that I have neglected a major piece to this musical monstrosity. A train can not operate with out some form of a conductor. Hats off to the cast and crew at JC Cowboy's. From bartenders to security to one of the most entertaining DJ's in the state, they put on one hell of a party. And the next time you're at JC Cowboy's, be sure to say hey to Ryan up in the booth. Trust me, it's not often you find a DJ in a club that really knows what the hell they're talking about and doing. Request Rebecca Black and tell him I sent you!
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