Mr. Record Man

Country traditionalist Dale Watson raised the roof at Low Spirits on Thursday night. He channeled just about every revered legend, from Nashville's golden era to Austin's outlaw heyday, at times blurring the line between homage and parody.

From George Jones-style drinking/forgetting songs to truck-driving tunes, Watson and his Lone Stars (drums, upright bass, pedal steel) displayed an epic command of the "Ameripolitan" songbook, riffling through rockabilly, swing, honky-tonk and outlaw with a nod and a swagger. He weaved originals into his set along with his finely crafted, if occasionally cribbed, originals.

If anyone deserves to carry the torch, it's Dale Watson. The man's got the pompadour -- a cross between Jones and Charlie Rich -- and the pipes. When he walked out on stage, the sound system was still blaring Merle Haggard's "Ramblin' Fever," and so, what the heck, he struck up the band in a version of it. It was a flash of his improv skills and set the tone for a night filled with tributes.



One of Watson's catchier tunes is a shuffle called "My Baby Makes Me Gravy":

A little grease, a little flour
Gives that woman a lot of power

Watson has a well-honed stage presence. (He has a running gag of fake commercials for Lone Star Beer, cleverly parodying the old "When You Say Bud" spots.) And he's charming and glib. But some songs seemed to be haphazardly crafted, word stews from a Magnetic Poetry set of country classics:  "Turn on the Jukebox, Turn Off Her Memory"; "Whiskey or God"; "Tequila and Teardrops"; "Mamas Don't Let Your Cowboys Grow Up to Be Babies."

Watson is obsessed with authenticity, repeatedly wailing about Nashville's pop factory and the likes of Blake Shelton and Taylor Swift. He dismissed the mainstream scene with the song that spits, "That's country, my ass":



But it's just a little ironic that Watson wallows so deeply in tradition that his own identity is swallowed up by those of his idols. He made multiple references to the recently departed George Jones (a recent tribute is called "Jonesin' for Jones"), and by the end of the show he finished a song by doing a straight-up impersonation of the man. (It was a damn good one at that.) His originals borrow hooks and riffs, and you hear echoes of Waylon Jennings or the rambling guitar line of "Gentle on My Mind." It's been only two months since the death of Merle Haggard, so Watson played a trio of the man's hits in the middle of his set. And during an encore, he knocked out a cover of a song his voice was tailored for, our favorite "Silver Wings." From beginning to end, that's a lot of Merle.

Watson's devotion to a bygone outlaw movement waters down his own brand. But he's a diehard flying the flag down in Austin, and he's a hell of an entertainer and guitar slinger. Perhaps his biggest hit and bounciest hooks features a killer couplet: "I lie when I drink / And I drink a lot." And it closes the deal with a line that Willie or Merle could have penned: "I only drink when I'm missing you."




Watson finished up with a rollicking version of the Jerry Reed classic "Eastbound and Down." Here's Reed's own hoedown dust-up that's finger-pickin' good, from an old "Austin City Limits":
 

It was a hot night in Albuquerque.