A Great Show

I got to see Ashley McBryde last night.

Oh, and some guy named Hank Jr.


This was my fifth Hank Williams Jr. show dating back to the seventies.

That’s right.

Fifty years ago.

He’s still got it.

He rocked the house on a couple tunes and had all of us singing along with his standards. I play his stuff on my playlist as I do his father Hank’s songs. He showed his musical talents on the guitar, fiddle, and piano.

We loved it.

Junior can do anything.

But for me, it wasn’t smiling all night, reliving great memories of yesteryear, and it wasn’t the music performed by a legend. What did it for me was when Hank Jr. put on his Dad’s signature 1951 Brown Stetson hat.

It sent chills down my spine.

Then he proceeded to tell a few stories about the many houseguests his famous father would have over.

The usual, you know.

Fats Domino. Jerry Lee Lewis. Loretta Lynn.

Can you imagine?

My girl Ashley McBryde got to show of her awesome set of pipes; I would just love to see her fronting a hard rock band. She included a couple of her hits including A Girl Goin’ Nowhere and American Scandal. I was really hoping she would do Andy (I Can’t Live Without You). If you haven’t listened to that song, maddogg is saying you need to listen to it. To me, it embodies the life of two people, one of whom is madly in love with the other. The way she tells her stories makes me feel.

That is the biggest compliment I can give.

The opening act was OK. Some band for a singer/songwriter named Dylan Hargrove or something like that.

He had a good voice, but all his songs sounded like a Nashville bleed with emphasis on rapid-fire lyrics and pounding melodies. I know I sound a hundred years old, but what happened to the stories of country music?

The troubadors, the storytellers.

Here are some pictures I got from the concert. Sorry for the quality. This time I can’t blame it on the Domestic Despot.

What the fuck is it with old people at concerts?

They do the same things whether they are listening to country, jazz, or rock and roll:

The slow wave with their phones in their hands.

The hook ’em horns, the peace sign, thumbs up (how lame are you to be doing that at a concert?), hang loose, and the ubiquitous “raise the roof.”

Old fools.

Shut up and sit down.

I possess the uncanny ability to feel the physical effects of pain. That alone is not significant, but what if I can feel anyone’s pain?

I have felt the slow burn of a deep knife wound to the stomach, and the internal bleeding that follows, as I slowly seep into infinity. I have frelt the pain of multiple gunshot wounds, although I have only been shot once ( a blog for another day).

I have felt the convulsions that you experience as you choke on your own vomit and suffocate with one last jerk of the body.

Karen just says I’m fucked up.

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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