Allison Krauss and other notes

Another sign you listen to too much rock and roll. Joe starts making some weird noises in the back seat this morning. “Play that song, Daddy!” I didn’t know what he was trying to sing and then he starts in again with a kind of “ba dap bap bad ap bap” and I’m still confused. Then John helps out, “You know, the one with the big fat guy singing.” I am thinking, “Blues Traveller?” Then it hits me: NO, it’s Molly Hatchet’s “Flirtin’ With Disaster…” Good boys!

Update: look, this thing about the women in the car—not a good thing. I mean, she looked like she could hurt me real bad. And I had to wonder, why me? I mean, I start to worry if I’m her type, or worse yet, if she doesn’t care what her type is.

Ok, on to the meat. My brother-in-law (Brandon) and I went to see Allison Krauss and Union Station last night. Unbelievable. I have seen some good shows, but she is not so much a musician as a force to be reckoned with.

Here’s how the evening progresses. I have quit saying too much here because I more or less unload on this one poor dude as opposed to laying it out here. Can’t say why. Anyhoo, I was worried about going to the show, because Allison Krauss means a lot to me, her music is loaded down with all kinds of stuff for me, and she can really sing some sad songs. Before that even happened tho, I was just kind of sullen. I mean, I was actually pissed off, because Sissy and I were going to see AK in the Ville back in April. And on top of that, everyone is out together, and nothing was hacking me off more than seeing happy couples together. I love my brother-in-law, but well, there you have it. He ain’t real pretty. So I was thinking, “This was a mistake.”

First song: “There’s a restless feeling knocking at my door today…” one of her early songs. Mournful. Difficult relationship. Lost love. All that stuff. Damn. Few songs later:

I’m just a ghost in this house

I’m all that’s left of two hearts on fire

That took my body and soul

I almost got up and left. But then something weird happened. She went into some heavy bluegrass, some energetic stuff, and even when it was sad it was ok. By the time she got to “Oh, Atlanta,” that strange, priestly function of music had been in effect: she got it all out of me.

Of course, she played “When You Say Nothing At All.” I was joking when I said Gretchen Wilson is my aunt. I was just trying to mess with my aunt Mindy… but Paul Overstreet, who wrote the song, is a distant cousin from two different sides of the family. Melissa didn’t like Allison Krauss as much as I do (thought she was too depressing and thought some of her songs are a little weird) but she liked that one. And it was ok. Last song was a beautiful gospel song about your life being a prayer to God.