One of my favorite bars in New Orleans is Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop. At the very edge of the line of bars and shops on Bourbon street, vcialis 40mg where all of the lights go dark, its interior is the same. The only light comes from candles and illuminated exit signs. A singer at a piano lights a cigarette with the candle and sings recent and old covers. It really felt, despite the few anachronisms (they accepted credit cards, but not sacks of gold), like I had walked into a time warp.
On Saturday night at a sold-out Great Scott, you’d be forgiven if you believed you stepped into a time machine. Upstate New York-born Willie Watson would feel right at home in that Blacksmith Shop — though, instead of a piano, he’d need a guitar or a banjo in his hand, and a harmonica holder over his shoulder.
There really are no frills to a Willie Watson performance, and that is not a demerit against the performance whatsoever. The former Old Crow Medicine Show member performed songs from his debut solo album Folk Singer, Vol. 1, a collection of classic folk songs. On the cover, he’s seen brandishing a guitar and pipe — verging on cliché.
The songs are both familiar and obscured from the years, but Watson’s voice carries the songs in such a way that defies description. He’s got the ability to sustain notes like The Tallest Man On Earth, but without the rugged, gravelly vocals from him.
Still, there is some proof Watson is indeed from the present, but might not be happy about it: a guitar tuner gave Watson some grief and he lamented technology, he performed a gospel song because the Patriots won just hours earlier. If that isn’t a good way to win over a New England crowd, I don’t know what is.
One of the best moments of the show came in the form of “Stewball,” a song about a racehorse. The song is a call-and-response, and the crowd probably got the most involved I’ve ever seen at a Great Scott show that didn’t involve the threat of bodily harm.
When he closed out his main set with the popular song “Midnight Special,” just a few ticks ahead of midnight, he had the entire crowd singing along and reveling at his voice and instrumental skills.
Watson isn’t doing an impression of folk singers, he is embodying the entire genre to resounding success.
Elle King opened the show and took me, but not the others who came just to see her, by complete surprise. King is hysterically funny, cracking jokes and crooning songs. On more than one occasion she asked for shots and pleaded with the crowd not to tell Watson how bad of a banjo player she was (an unnecessary plea indeed — she was just fine). King’s best moment was “Good To Be A Man,” a biting tune. “My only worry would be a receding hairline,” she sang, with tongue firmly planted in cheek.
She played a cover of “My Neck, My Back” that had a few of the more uptight members of the crowd shifting uncomfortably, but mostly there was uncontrollable laughter. If her debut album, due out in February, captures any of her infectious energy on stage, it is definitely worth picking up.
Find out Willie Watson’s tour dates here.
