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The DT’s and
Southern Culture on the Skids
The DT’s know what the fuck they’re doing. Tonight my companions in grime are my first husband, D and Dr. H. Before we depart for Ballard, a pit stop at Dr. H’s house is required In Seattle, every house has a wood room. Wood “rooms” are often referred to as “porn rooms” (as they are generally located out of the way in the basement or attic). Dr. H’s house is nearly entirely a wood room…wood paneling that is. It’s also part European castle (way cooler than Dio’s) and part James Bond Villain Ski Chalet (okay, there’s no alligator pit. We can’t have a circus in Seattle for chrissake). There’s even an oil painting of Dr H. hanging above the fireplace. His bar that would make any respectable boozehound weep. Dr. H is excellent. Although we only plan to have a quick drink, we end up putting a good dent in a bottle of Mezcal that had been smuggled back from Mexico. Nobody eats the worm but Dr. H does tell us about the time he met Frank Black of The Pixies behind the Moore theatre. According to Dr. H, a very nervous Black Francis was in possession of a mini-van full of Super-Soakers. I mean…shouldn’t that van be full of guitars, drugs, whores and more guitars? I’m gonna pretend it was…
Despite our pre-show delay,
we manage to catch most of the DT's set. Fucking Mezcal would make me late for
the Free Money and Cigarettes giveaway at 7-11... anyway…the show is sold out
and when we finally get inside, the DT's are banging out The Booker T. classic
“The Hunter”. The raw 70’s So-Co soaked vibe continues with
“What’s Next To the Moon”. The DT’s totally do Bon proud. |
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In my Mezcal stained inspection of the crowd (which may or may not be accurate) we have a mix of Rockabilly hipster boys with gasoline hair and Rockabilly chicks with their drawn in eyebrows and platinum wigs. There’s also the hardcore 70's types (like the dead-on Greg Allman dude hanging out by the women's bathroom. Smooth.), and a strong showing from Seattle’s lesbian community. DT’s resident spitfire front-woman Diana Young-Blanchard commands the room in a blur of fishnets and hair. The DT’s rip through a few more tunes from the new album and end the set with a hot CCR cover, “Pagan Baby”. I am pretty sure CCR never sounded this good on their best day (for the record, CCR’s best day was July 25,,1970 with the release of “Cosmo’s Factory” but again, as usual, I digress). |
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Even though this bill features the SCOTS (Southern Culture on the Skids), the room is full of DT love. Their performance is genuine and gritty. Diana has been compared to many great female musicians, the most oblivious is her vocal likeness to Janis. DT’ founder/Estrus Records Mogul/guitarist extraordinaire Dave Crider spends more time hunched over his guitar wailing out blistering solos that you wonder if he can actually stand up straight. When he does, the set is over. |
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I am lucky enough to talk to Dave Crider after their set. Dave is a ringer for My Name Is Earl/Jason Lee only cooler, taller and minus the list. Dave tells me even though the DT’s have been playing around for 5 years this is only the second time they have played the Tractor. Hopefully the full house tonight will help correct this gross oversight. He is also a fan of Classic Rock and Sleazegrinder...well, isn’t everyone? The DT’s seem a really natural progression following his 10 year stint with the Mono Men (download “10 Cool Ones” from iTunes. Their cover of the MC5’s “Kick out the Jams” makes the one Rage did a few years back sound like a fucking nursery rhyme). All the best rock clubs in Seattle are in Ballard. The Tractor is no exception. Formerly known as the “New Melody Tavern” it’s charm can't be disputed. |
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The main stage has
always reminded me of
"Bob's Country Bunker" in
“The Blues Brothers” (the first one, if you saw the second movie,
never admit it) minus the chicken wire.
On most nights you can
find both kinds of music, Honky and Tonk. While there is no table dancing
or beer bottle hurling on this particular night, the DT’s make me want
to hurl tables and dance on beer bottles. When the SCOTS take the stage, we are all taken back. The SCOTS are old. Getting old is inevitable but seeing Rock Stars get old makes you sad (I mean, I can’t even look at David Lee Roth). At any rate, while they sound great and look the part, their set and shtick is uninspired. When they kick into Banana Puddin'....we’re halfway out the door on the way to Hattie's Hat. As we’re leaving, some vamped up rockabilly chick slaps my old man's ass. While this is universally an exciting event for any man, in the light of the doorway she looked more like Hatchet-Face from John Water's Crybaby than the blond bombshell that will be recalled later on that night. While we might disagree about Hatchet-Face, we are united in the fact that DT's kicked a hole in the grey Seattle sky tonight. Even the reigning Kings of Hillbilly Rock can't top them. |
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-DJC
(top photo: Chris Fuller) |
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For
those of you keeping track we are off for a second alcohol infused trip to
Ballard. This time, to the
