Willie Nelson, Ryan Adams and Neko Case

September 10, 2006 at the Hollywood Bowl, Los Angeles, Ca

    Too good to be true! If I had a nickel for every time that very phrase flashed through my mind on the afternoon of September 10, 2006, I could have purchased front row tickets. My glorious siren Neko Case, the enigmatic yet occasionally brilliant Ryan Adams, and the larger than life Willie Nelson were all performing for me in one place in one night. The bowl was filling rapidly with members of the ‘philharmonic’ crowd, as well as the expected hipsters and, of course, Willie’s Texas brethren. Braids characterized the evening, poking out from cowboy hats or tucked under bandanas boasting “Willie Nelson!” in a swaggering cursive. Everyone was ecstatic, I noted as well. I personally could not remember the last time I had rejoiced so much in an opening line-up, and I was voraciously curious to discover why this humble Texas hippie cowboy had remained in the public heart for so long.
    Neko took the stage first, and with proud anticipation, I predicted, “Her first song will be ‘Favorite; (off The Tigers Have Spoken, 2004).” Serendipitously, she began, “Oh, loooooooooooord…” over a pensive banjo, and the evening kicked off in full country swing. Neko was audibly nervous, and understandably so, as she had been playing venues like the Henry Fonda (LA) and the Belly Up (Solana Beach) all summer. I can only imagine the heinous intimidation of looking out at the giant ant-farm-like amphitheatre full of expectations. She carried her set into a few tracks from her new album, including the highly anticipated ‘Star Witness.’ Sadly, it’s the multi-tracked chorus on the album makes the song so hauntingly beautiful. While her back-up singer Kelly Hogan did what she could to fill in the parts that Neko couldn’t cover, the transitions between keys were sloppy and shaky. Neko, however, regained her confidence and charisma while redeeming her new album with the stellar ‘Maybe Sparrow.’ Between that track and ‘Deep Red Bells’, off Blacklisted, she filled the entire bowl, and what felt like the entire world with her soulful cries. After 45 minutes of awkward grace, she and her band excused themselves modestly, and surely delved into a dinner that had been mentioned during most of the stage banter.
    To the delight of everyone present, except perhaps the late-comers or those with small bladders, there was minimal downtime between Neko’s and Ryan’s sets. The stage itself revolved 180 degrees, revealing a completely prepared band of Cardinals waiting to strike the first chord. The gaunt, shaggy, cocky Adams initiated a Cold Roses track and I felt as though I were watching The Last Waltz. Ashamedly, I must confess that I expected very little from Adams. I had heard tales of his drunken antics, his no-shows, his rapid verse reinventions mid-show, and other annoying rock star quirks. I am sure you can envision my visible delight as every single song they played overtook its predecessor as Ryan’s finest. As he has nine billion songs to his name, and I have but one of his albums (Love is Hell), I didn’t expect to recognize a damn thing he did. However, I was overwhelmed by his lush up-tempo version of ‘Please Do Not Let Me Go’. The epitome of the aforementioned occasional brilliance of Ryan Adams beamed out over us during the first track off Cold Roses, entitled ‘Magnolia Mountain.’ With every chord that they strummed, the song confidently appreciated into a grand, swirling opus of dilapidated pain that only cowboys and lovers feel. After an hour long set and some very obviously drunk stumbling, the impressive Cardinals excused themselves and allowed us to collect our spilled hearts before Willie came out.
    It would have been too much to ask for the transition to be as seamless between Ryan and Willie as it had been earlier, so we weren’t particularly surprised when there was still some fiddling around to be done before the man of the hour came out. A gigantic Texas flag was unfurled behind the stage and was greeted with appreciative whooping and “yee haws”. What was it about Willie Nelson that had captivated so many people for so long? I had never really bothered to understand it before, but this evening, I was going to know full well. As the band sauntered out coolly, with all the patience and understated power that summed up the Lone Star state itself, I was captivated. As Willie strummed his guitar, as naturally as breathing, he emitted a sound I had heard a million times before, yet didn’t expect. With the serenity of a Buddhist monk illuminated his face, he spoke to us as though all 70,000 of us were two feet away. There was something fabulously grandfatherly about him, something soothing and wise, which his simple and honest voice embodied. I could have never understood it had I not witnessed it, but as my friend Laura noted, it seemed like his voice wasn’t even coming out of his mouth. It was all so peaceful that it was seductive. There was nothing that one couldn’t love about this man. The band consisted of close friends and family members, including two of Willie’s biblically named sons, Micah and Lucas. Lucas, in fully 1970’s rock star fashion, blessed us with a song of his own. His flowing hair, puffy sleeves, and 19-year-old face were non-sequitur yet not out of place as his bluesy 35-year-old voice and deft guitar work wowed us. Other brothers and sisters played percussion, piano and other intricate details to make the night even more interesting. They paid tribute to Johnny, Merle, and Waylon with classics like ‘Mothers, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys,’ and ‘On The Road Again.’ My personal favorite moment of the entire night, however, came towards the end of his set. He explained to us that he recently had been diagnosed with Carpal-Tunnel syndrome and the doctor forbade him from touring or playing. Over the course of his bed-rest, he had penned what is, in my mind, his most endearing musical moment, a song called ‘Superman.’ “Too many pain pills and too much pot!” he began, explaining his battle with the affliction and how he came to the conclusion that he was not, in fact, Superman. It was fabulous, and the entire bowl joyfully swayed and bobbed in admiration. As he closed out his set, he thankfully bowed, strummed cheerful chords, and waved to each one of us personally. I earned a new family member that evening… a new sage grandfather to lament with me, laugh with me, and calm me even in this time of confusion. Hell of a guy, that Willie Nelson.

-Christina Gubala