There are nights when a song comes over your stereo that completely stops you from whatever task is at hand and forces you to listen and listen deeply. And then that song forces you down the rabbit hole to find more and once you find the records, your life is changed forever. Those are great and important moments. Colter Wall does that, he makes those moments and they’re incredibly precious these days – especially in country music. If there were ever a musical argument for reincarnation, it might be Colter Wall. He’s the guy that you hear and say, “this guy never had a choice, he HAD to be a musician.” He’s the kind of performer that plays as naturally as is for him to breathe. It is built into him, buried deep in his DNA. But he also sings songs that belie his years. His subjects, his stories, they’re far older than him and to see it all come together on stage is a fascinating thing to witness.
As he took the stage at the Catalyst in Santa Cruz on the 25th of January, Colter said hello to the crowd in his mellow and unassuming way. Sure, he’s got a pretty low voice for a 23-year-old but nothing out of the norm, until he begins to sing. As soon as he opened his mouth it all just seemed incongruent. He’s not a big guy and he’s young but his voice – its boomy with bass is the voice of a man worn down by the miles of trail and highway behind him. It just did not make sense visually to hear such wise weariness come from the throat of so young a guy, but there it was. If only the crowd would have really listened and appreciated it. Musically, Colter Wall might be one of the best things happening to country music right now. The honesty with which he sings is staggering. His songs are all folk and soaked in the truth of life experience. Stories of cowboys on the trail, rodeo cowboys, lawmen, love gone wrong and lovers held accountable in shattering murder ballads.
There is little doubt that Colter found his legs listening to deep country cuts and stories around a fire, songs and yarns that speak to pain and revenge killings – solace through a beer, a shot and the power of a good guitar chord. But this kid has taken those themes and not so much made them relevant (were they ever not?) but twisted them into his own stylings and voice that bring them to an audience generally ready to embrace straightforward, unpolished and painfully real country music – the music that might make you actually cry in your beer or hang on every lyric so intently that when the reveal of the story comes you are left eyes wide and breathless. His songs do not leave much to the imagination, they spell out his thoughts, the scene, and the hurt. One minute he’s a revenge seeking junkie, then a jilted, homicidal lover putting not one but three shells into a cheating fiancée, or a cow puncher trying to get his cattle to sleep with a lullaby.
His words, even the timber of his voice, speak to a bygone era that is slowly slipping away and one that may soon be relegated to the lore of songs and stories and Colter will prove one of the finest of those storytellers, taking his place with the greatest of the genre even if he is half to quarter their age. And the band behind him does just enough to provide a minimal texture. The lonesome wail of a pedal steel above the shuffle beat of a little drum kit and the crescendo of a harmonica above a chugging bass is all that was needed to get the point across. Any more would have been too much. Every room the band plays, like the Catalyst Atrium on Friday must seamlessly turn into a beer and whiskey-soaked honkey tonk – nostalgic in its simplicity and anyone would be hard-pressed to look for more out of a live show. The songs on Friday were not interpretations of what you’ll hear on Colter’s records, but straight up renditions of them and generally clocking in at probably a little over two and a half to three minutes per song. Blink and you could miss them. These are songs that beg you to pay attention and be present or you’ll miss that unique turn of phrase. And this should have been the case at this show but . . .
The night’s show was billed as an all ages, sold out show. The room set up was akin to a cattle yard as the house must have thought it was a good idea to corral all drinking patrons in a tiny fenced off area by the bar (maybe it was an aesthetic choice?). Within forty-five minutes of doors, bodies were packed so tightly into the small space that people were literally bumping into one another and tempers began to flare. The show was clearly oversold, and the room was packed from wall to wall. And to make things worse, people did not shut up.
One thing that is always almost impossible to understand is how people are willing to pay good money to see a singer/songwriter play his songs and then walk in and commence to talk through the whole damn thing. It becomes a setting in which it is clear that many are there simply to be a presence, to be seen and make a scene and this ALWAYS detracts from the reason that drew us to the venue in the first place. Suddenly you must strain to hear the songs above the constant din of conversation. Such was the case on Friday at Santa Cruz’s Catalyst Club. There must be a better way to set up a room for this kind of show, to help encourage people to listen to what comes from the stage. Until that happens, steer clear of the Catalyst Atrium for an all ages/sold out night, its simply not worth your time and money and that’s too bad.
