Minneapolis / St. Paul Music Blog

All photos courtesy of muzikmafia.com

MuzikMafia

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As with all forms of music, country music can at times be a bit schizophrenic. The Kid Rock song "All Summer Long," which topped the country charts in 2008, borrowed elements from Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" and Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London" (with kinda disastrous sampled-guitar results, I cringe). When Jewel and Darius Rucker (of Hootie & the Blowfish) became relevant only to those VH-1 "Hey guys, remember the 90s?" specials, they both crossed over to country. And what do Willie Nelson and Snoop Dogg have in common? I mean, other than that.

Photo by Nikki Miller

Hank III

​In the past year I've been to only a handful of shows that really stand out, and seeing as how I've been to more concerts in my lifetime than the number of pills choked back by Johnny Cash, Hank Williams and Mindy McCready combined, it's usually not the performances anymore that make a show memorable - it's the crowd.

Courtesy of myspace.com/hank3

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Far be it from me to endorse any of the activities mentioned in the Hank III-penned song dedicated to that rollin'-in-his-own-shit punk rocker GG Allin, be they drinkin' a lotta whiskey, smokin' all the time, doin' cocaine, startin' up fights, spittin' in anyone's faces or generally not givin' a fuck. Lord knows I never partake in any of that. I'm a good girl. And I most definitely give a fuck.

But his music makes me kinda wanna. I mean, the first three. Nothing illegal, folks.

Photo by Nikki Miller

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"I dunno, he's kinda skinny."
"You wouldn't know he was so skinny from his voice!"
- Women assessing hotness of William Elliott Whitmore. At his show, November 4, at 7th St Entry.

I don't know ladies - he's not that skinny. Thar's a cute li'l beer gut I do say I spy. And he is pretty hot. He winked at me and I 'bout died, 'til I realized the Entry was packed full of ladies 'bout ready to die over the dude and I lost interest. Who can stand for such competition?

Oh, but that voice.

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Let's talk about the Yankees, shall we?

I think the World Series kicked off last night. I think the Yankees played the Phillies. But I don'know shit about shit and and I definitely don'know shit about baseball so I'm not gonna stand behind the veracity of either of those statements. I think we're supposed to hate the Yankees because they have a lot of money to buy a lot of really good players who use a lot of really good steroids. And because we're supposed to like the Twins.

Really, I just wanna talk about Charley Pride.

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I swear I didn't smoke any illicit substances before I headed to Mystic. And I most certainly was not drinking wine out of a jug, classier than that I am (I'll request that the peanut gallery kindly keep all commentary to itself). But Emmylou Harris' Sunday night show at Mystic Lake Casino left me feeling as relaxed as, ahem, if I had.

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But it is too often the stuff of criminals.

Last weekend I was spending some quality time over 45s with a guy I used to date. A guy who used to really get my goat. A guy with whom, if I had a gun, I could have had a relationship the stuff of which would have made for a really good country song. Don't use this as motive should he ever show up in the river; I am, of course, being facetious in the interest of perpetuating country music themes. Hey buddy, can't wait to go see Emmylou with you this weekend! (I promise I still don't have a gun. You are safe!)

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Well actually, she's been cured since 1995, but on this day in history, 1990 (well actually, in two days from now in 1990), Naomi Judd of mother-daughter country act The Judds announced that she would be retiring from performing because she was ill with hepatitis.

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Here again I'll ramble on about some country musician I wanna make out with.

Am I sincere?

Well, not about that. In a week, I will not make out with Luke Bryan. But for a moment now yes, I will be. Bear with me.

​ Fuck you, indie rock.

I'll never tire of defending country music. Never! You want to hear me go on, and on, and on about it? Give me a beer. Hell, I'll do it sober. You want to tell me about your rock band? Zzzzzzzzz... but hey, listen to me while I detail the finer points of that song Miranda Lambert wrote about cheatin'! And yes, you will listen. Read on.

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Goddamn! Jeee-zus Christ.

I take the Lord's name in vain as I reach to change the radio station. Oops. Goddamn second commandment, right out the window (third if you're a Baptist Methodist Evangelist or Presbyterian but I grew up Catholic and it was number two). Forgive me, father, for I have sinned. But it's just that this goddamned radio station has been asking me for donations to finance the construction of some tower in Sudan to reach the masses of heathens with the word of God across the airwaves! What the hell is this? Since when is Jim Bakker running my favorite country station? Praise Jesus! Praise Jesus! WHY DON'T THEY JUST PLAY SOME GODDAMNED WAYLON AND SHUT THE HELL UP? Ahem--It has been 17 years since my last confession.

​ You wanna do something Friday night that I'll bet you ten rounds with Jose Cuervo will make you the most original person in this whole damned town? Something none of your friends would even imagine doing? Something that will make you a brave and unique individual?

No, I'm not gonna say "Go ride the bull at Cowboy Slim's." Hold on that 'til Saturday when the new Uptown bar, which contrary to its name normally does not feature a mechanical bull for cowboys to ride, is hosting Stand Up for the City, a fundraising event for the PEACE Foundation's Northside Youth StandUp program featuring live music, a BBQ, dunk tank, everyone's favorite frat drinking pasttime known as "tippy cup" and a mechanical bull (5:00-close, $10 admission). If you must go to Cowboy Slim's on Friday night, you're not gonna find a bull to ride but you can pretend you're in New Orleans, instruct your male friends to go up to the rooftop at Stella's with beads and wave them in the air at the women on the patio at Slim's and maybe you'll get to see some tits. I dunno. Just seems like that kinda place.

And oh honeys, it was hot.

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Here ya go. Ten ways I'd put the hurt on Kanye West.

One. I'd steal his vocal vocoder.

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Hank Williams, Jr. hit the campaign trail with a stop in Minnesota on Sunday night. Naw, I'm just pullin' your leg. He has announced intentions to run for a 2012 U.S. Senate seat in Tennessee but he wasn't campaigning at last night's Mystic Lake Casino show. That is, unless you imagine the banner decorating the drum riser reading I'll keep my freedom, my guns, my religion, you can keep the "change" (also displayed on t-shirts for sale in the lobby) was some sort of announcement of his platform.

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Dear Barbara,

I'm sorry I thought you were an evil cunt all these years. See, my Grandma Florence told me you were. Well, she didn't use the word cunt but you get the idea. Maybe I should have learned not to listen to Grandma Florence. She also used to show me pictures from The National Enquirer of aliens abducting humans from their beds and tell me that they take you up into their spaceships and probe your asshole while you sleep. If I hadn't'a believed her then I wouldn't still be sleeping with my eyes open after all these years (single, in a double bed).

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Shout-outs ain't only for hip-hop and all-staff meetings at work. "I'd like to give a shout-out to Annie, in Purchasing, for creating a new spreadsheet detailing paper product prices."

Hollerin' at your homeys. Sayin' howdy to your peeps.

Pardon me, pardners, let's forget I said either of those things. That was really dumb. Anyway, the notion of making mention of your comrades has been a part of country music for as long as folks have been singing about their dogs and pickup trucks.

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Howdy. I'm at the state fair and I'm SHITFACED!

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Today I head back from three nights of country music at my hometown's county fair.

Ugh.

It was a rough three nights.

​Yeah, I'm a fan of Faulkner books, and anything my mama cooks, smallmouth bass have got me hooked on Sunday afternoons.

Hell yes I love my truck, but I want you to know, honey I love your love the most.

I'm a big fan of lyrical clichés in country music, though perhaps it's kinder to call them archetypes, and Eric Church employs pretty much all of them in his song "Love Your Love the Most": Beer, barbecue, honky tonks Nascar George Strait scuffed-up boots tore-up jeans four-wheel drives dogs Jack D but Faulker, Faulkner, when did country music go literary?

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​WE Fest kicks off today up in Detroit Lakes with headliners including Toby Keith, Tim McGraw, Trace Adkins and Taylor Swift. But the act that caught my attention wasn't any of these big guns of country; rather, a little-known husband-wife duo opening around 3:30 P.M. on Friday.

​It's an early summer Sunday morning and I'm lying next to a man in a bed in Uptown, trying my best to be miserable over a relationship that's been failing from the start. Waking up, hungover, falling back asleep. Waking up, hungover, falling asleep again. Trying to be miserable. But every time I wake up I hear this in my head: "I'm goin' OUT with mah BOOTS ON," followed by some wicked slide guitar noodling.

Photo courtesy of DrakkarSauna.com

​Despite my best efforts to get all my friends down to see my favorite band out of Lawrence, Kansas (wait, is that saying much? No offense Lawrence), Drakkar Sauna played at the 7th St. Entry Friday night to a crowd of about 50. No one ever hire me to work in promotions, eh?

Welcome to the first edition of Are You Ready For the Country, a new country music column written by Nikki Miller. For this week's column, Nikki attended the Steve Earle show last night at the Pantages Theatre.Steve Earle kicked off his set at Pantages with a li'l talk of politics. In his song "Fort Worth Blues," Earle sings that Paris never was his kind of town. But Thursday night in that big ol' fancy theater, Steve got honest.

"I've never applied so much poetic license to a song because... Paris is my kind of town, especially the last decade or so. Apparently I've been pissing all the right people off."