Lauderdale, Leach absolutely rock Bissell Park

"I’m goin’ back to Old Kentucky / There to see my Linda Lou / I’m goin’ back to Old Kentucky / Where the skies are always blue.”

That’s how Alex Leach opened the Summer Sessions show Saturday evening, under the bluest skies this Earth knows how to make. Eat your heart out, Kentucky. Welcome home to Tennessee. This was Alex’s third appearance at Bissell Park, and it was his best by far.

It wasn't just his notable boy-to-man maturation or the chatter-to-insight ratio that struck me. That’s a tough one for Alex, because he came into his own as a DJ for WDVX radio station. Nobody else says, “Bluegrass Special,” the way he does, and listeners are subconsciously aching for him to give them some of that hardscrabble Anderson County accent every time he opens his mouth. And he does. He cain't he’p it.

The chatter-to-insight ratio was better this year than last. One of these days, Alex is going to see that he doesn’t need the chatter at all, 'cause his music is doing the talking now. It’s fine to take a break in the middle of your set to introduce your band, but keep it short and sweet. Even Lester Flatt overdid the chatter.

What’s qualitatively new and different about Alex and his band this summer is the calculus of his song selection.

This aspect of performance evades most casual listeners, but if you look at what makes people spend half their lives on stage chasing the Holy Grail of being a performer, these choices, like opening your show with “I’m Going Back to Old Kentucky,” begin to come into focus. That’s Alex's way of showing his deep respect for the genius of Bill Monroe.

Without Bill Monroe, Alex Leach is selling bluegrass seed at Ace Hardware. And I say that with all due respect.

The Alex Leach Band had the swelling Summer Sessions audience in the palms of their hands from the get-go, as the venue slowly filled with camping chairs and the sound of Sam Adams bottles opening. The band presented a well considered mix of traditional and original songs, including one by Alex’s wife Miranda that made everyone in the audience realize that she means business.

Then came Alex’s show-stopper, “Little Secrets.” This is an interesting song, but not for the reasons you’d expect. There’s a story behind the lyrics, but it’s oddly irrelevant. What matters is the refrain. Alex keeps referring to a little secret you ought to know, but we never learn what the secret is. And that builds a dramatic framework that propels an instrumental whirlwind that can’t be stopped.

It’s brilliant.

A few songs later, something happened that made me realize Alex had come to a new understanding of what bluegrass can do. It wasn’t a new, original song. It wasn’t another Bill Monroe or Ralph Stanley song. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but it was a Fleetwood Mac song. The Alex Leach Band did a bluegrass version of “Say You Love Me.” It took a minute to sink in, but once I realized what he’d done, I thought “Damn, son, what a great choice.”

To be completely honest, I hate Fleetwood Mac. I always have. Their music is like having three or four houseflies buzzing on the kitchen window when you can’t find the fly swatter. No matter how many times you swat at ‘em with a spatula or a scouring sponge, you can’t kill ‘em.

Seriously, was there a lower point in the political history of this country than Bill Clinton’s use of “Don’t Stop” as his theme song in 1992?

I know you don’t believe it’s true / I never meant any harm to you / Don’t stop thinking about tomorrow / Don’t stop, it’ll soon be here / It’ll be better than before / Yesterday’s gone, yesterday’s gone. 

Please, spare me. Never meant any harm.

To end his set, Alex reached back 65 years for the Louis Prima swing classic “Jump, Jive an’ Wail,” driving home the fact that New Orleans is closer to Bristol than you might think. And for that, Alex Leach and his very fine band got a well deserved standing ovation from the thousand or so folks in front of the stage.

After a quick set change, as the searing white sunlight mellowed to pure gold, the heart and soul of Nashville materialized as if by magic on the stage at Bissell Park when Jim Lauderdale and his band came out.

Lauderdale, wearing rhinestone studded purple pants that might have once belonged to Prince, brought a dream team to Oak Ridge, six of the most talented musicians you’ll ever see at one time. Dave Racine, Tommy Hannum, Jay Weaver, Craig Smith, Frank Rische, and Lillie Mae Rische.

Dave Racine has been one of Nashville’s best kept secrets for 15 years, the drummer every drummer aspires to be. Whether he’s touring Scandinavia with Patty Loveless, gigging with a pickup band at the Station Inn, or playing live on the radio with Lauderdale at the Opry, Racine is always the perfect fit.

And the bottom end of the rhythm section, bassist Jay Weaver, has been a Nashville fixture for 30 years. He’s held it down for Tanya Tucker, Dolly Parton, Raul Malo, George Ducas, Randy Kohrs, Hank Thompson, etc. And during sound check Saturday afternoon, when it felt like 115 degrees on stage, Weaver was cool as a cucumber, and clearly in charge.

Tommy Hannum isn’t in the Steel Guitar Hall of Fame. He is the Steel Guitar Hall of Fame. His self-produced vinyl album “Not Rocket Science” is a legend. Every pedal steel player on Earth has a copy. He’s been humbly making priceless additions to country swing culture for more than 40 years, and there he was in Bissell Park. I was doing double takes all afternoon.

Same with Craig Smith. This guy wields a guitar like Michelangelo wielded a chisel and hammer. I mean, when Craig Smith walks into a room with that 1950-something custom Fender hanging from his shoulder, every molecule in the air starts to tremble. It was crystal clear that Jim Lauderdale was pulling out all the stops for this show.

The brother-sister team of Lillie Mae and Frank Rische was the icing on the cake. Very, very rich icing.

I first heard Frank on an album called “Interstate Gospel” by Miranda Lambert’s project, Pistol Annies, a trio with Angeleena Presley and Ashley Monroe. But he’s contributed to more than two dozen records, and he’s never not playing somewhere. At sound check, he looked like somebody you wouldn’t take your eyes off of if you saw him hanging around outside a gas station convenience store, but at show time he looked more like a little prince. And with a guitar about the size of West Virginia, he simply ruled the universe.

Lillie Mae’s fiddle mastery, vocal perfection, and very presence made it seem like there were several other people at the mikes downstage beside Jim Lauderdale. Having parlayed a life on the road with her musical family into a solo career on Jack White’s Third Man Records label, Lillie Mae projects a mysterious power when she accompanies and harmonizes with performers like Lauderdale, who couldn’t seem to find the words to describe her to his audience.

He didn’t need to. We all have eyes and ears, and Lillie Mae engaged them fully.

So, this wasn’t Jim Lauderdale and his band. This wasn’t an artist and his six sidekicks. This was a constellation of seven stars. The show was fresher than anything I’ve seen Jim put together in years, with songs primarily from his new record, “Game Changer,” and the one that preceded it, “Hope.”

But the show had less to do with the songs and what they said than it did with how they were played. This was the sickest (as in "unspeakably awe-inspiring") guitar clinic I’ve ever seen. Craig Smith and Frank Rische were the twin towers of sublime electric guitar power.

There aren’t many guitarists who can pull off this sort of display, and you never find two at once. Over and over, they reminded me of solo breaks I’ve heard by Rich Brotherton, who played for years with Robert Earl Keen’s band. Thirty years ago, he’d be on stage at the Continental Club in Austin, backing a hippy blues singer named Toni Price, along with other pickers like Casper Rawls and the late Champ Hood. Rich Brotherton also played on Toni’s spectacular CDs. One in particular, “Swim Away,” has a song called “Richest One” that Rich sends into orbit with a guitar break that slays me every time I hear it. YouTube that bad boy if you want to hear what I’m talking about. Listen for the line “If heartaches were silver / my whole life would shine,” and hold onto your Stetson.

If I could play like Frank Rische or Craig Smith, as Toni Price sings, “I’d have a yacht on the Riviera / a mansion in Spain / oil wells in Texas / a big diamond ring / I would go where I want to go / be what I want to be / do what I want to do / I’d be the richest one / I’d be the richest one ... in the world.” 

The next show in Bissell Park is a month away. Molly Tuttle. Waiting a month feels cruel. I gotta talk to the powers that be at ORNL-FCU about presenting shows every other week next summer.

Speaking of the presenters, we owe a huge thanks to Colin Anderson and his crew at ORNL-FCU for this season of the Summer Sessions. The three concerts so far have been great, with perfect weather, perfect sound amplification, and the perfect vibe.

My next column will spotlight one of the main reasons this series has been so successful, the audio engineer Jonathan Maness, his company Anteflow, and his crew from Pellissippi State.

Last week I wrote about the Local Honeys, who had a record release show this past Sunday at Barley’s in the Old City. I incorrectly cited the title of their record as “The Orchard.” In fact, it’s called simply “The Local Honeys.” You can find it at thelocalhoneys.myshopify.com on CD or special edition vinyl. You’ll also find two previous albums there, “The Gospel” and “Little Girls Acting Like Men.”

See you in August.

John Job is a longtime Oak Ridge resident and frequent contributor to The Oak Ridger.

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