Calexico
spent nearly four years of touring without a pause for Music City. Who could
blame them? In late 2008, their inspired, tight live show generated fewer than
100 spectators. But this time, as Nancy and I mounted the Mercy Lounge stairs,
the room stood close to capacity.
Maybe it
stemmed from the Gabrielle Giffords connection (band principals are good
friends with the wounded Congresswoman and her astronaut husband, Mark Kelly).
The band saved Slowness, the wake-up song Kelly selected for the last shuttle
mission, as the start of its encore. Nancy astutely observed that if they
opened the show with that song, most of the crowd would have fled. Instead, they flitted away during the
remaining encore, most of them missing another superb journey through Guero
Canelo.
The lines of
sight dwindled. Too many used the Latin-tinged rock as an excuse for bad white
guy mimicry of Mexican dancing. I really wish I could have ignored them, but
bad moves live forever. The show was another victory for the iPhone set, for
people who spend money on tickets to text with someone elsewhere. They were
oblivious to the desert majesty of Minus de Cobre, and the brassy instrumental
was better for it.
The set
leaned more toward Carried to Dust than their latest, Algiers. They didn’t shy
from the new record’s visceral Maybe on Monday, a song that has not left my
head in months.
There must
be a limit to how many times you can see a band and still write objectively
about them (sorry, jam band fans). I go see Calexico as a fan of their
Southwest rock. They have grown from talented instrumentalists into talented
songwriters.
Putting on a
great rock show shouldn’t feel so pedestrian, so much like a blue-collar job.
The horns blared. Joey Burns furiously strummed his guitar. Few bands can look
so effortless when breaking into a modernized cover of Alone Again Or.
Then
again, few bands have the chops or the horns. Calexico still offers both.
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