When my dad first moved to Texas in 1996, he wasn't a fan of country music. I shared the same sentiments (even now, don't bother me with your Garth Brooks, Brad Paisley crap), so when he started playing Texas music in the car on our visits in Houston, to say I was appalled would be an understatement. I was beyond disgusted. Was he trying to make me jump out of the car? Because several times riding through Houston neighborhoods I contemplated risking dangerous contact with the hot pavement to escape the excruciating sounds of Texas music. I just didn't get it at all.
It took years for the music to start growing on me a little bit, and even then I wasn't about to add it to my own music collection at home. I could tolerate it on road trips to Galveston, but you wouldn't catch me listening to it in my room at home.
In 2007 when my sister and I made our annual summer trip to Houston, we were informed we'd be traveling to just outside Austin to see Charlie Robison live at Lost Pines in Bastrop, TX. I was excited about Austin and about the cool resort where we'd be staying, but the idea of a live Texas music show wasn't particularly thrilling to me. Granted, Charlie was the least of the evils, in my humble music snob opinion. By this point in my life I didn't totally hate listening to him. Still, I had little desire to see him live. But whatever. If that's what would get me the weekend stay in the resort with the lazy river, then so be it.
As hard as it was to admit (come to think of it, I don't think I did admit it), I loved the show. Absolutely loved it. The songs had so much more charm when I was watching this sloppy, cranky cowboy sing them. Charlie lumbered out on stage after the band started playing, slung his guitar over his shoulder and started singing "Pick up the pizza, pineapple ham. Put it in the back of the good times van. Go out and pick up the rest of the band, we gonna have a good time," without acknowledging the crowd at all. The music was spunky and lighthearted, even when it was depressing. His song "Sunset Boulevard" lamented a broken heart, but made everyone laugh at the same time with lines like "I wish that the Enquirer would spread a rumor that I was gay."
I went home and quietly bought all of Charlie's music on iTunes, where it became a regular part of my playlist.
My sister and I went to see him in Birmingham, AL a year later, where he was even more surly and rough around the edges. His grumpy attitude and tendency to tell the crowd to "shut the hell up" made his shows endlessly entertaining.
Maybe Charlie Robison really is a cranky old cowboy off the stage, and maybe he's not, but either way, it's in large part his stage persona that makes his shows so much fun. I like that he curses at the crowd between songs and randomly wanders off stage, leaving the crowd wondering if he's coming back. He chugs beer and goes through a pack of cigarettes and always looks like he just rolled out of bed. But if he was clean cut, mild mannered and pleasant, he would contradict his own music. It's not offputting at all to hear him drop the F bomb and roll his eyes at loud bar patrons. It's his character. His music and his stage presence are a package deal.
With Charlie, you never know what you're going to get. You always know he's going to give you a few really good renditions of his fan-favorite songs, like "El Cerrito Place," but then you might get a rushed and bored version of "Barlight" right after. He might take his beer and walk out and never come back, but he might raise his drink and toast the crowd and dive into "My Hometown." It all depends on his mood, and fans love that about him.
Last night I saw him live in El Campo, TX at Muldoon's Saloon. He sauntered on stage an hour after the listed start time, sang some new songs and some old favorites and gave some words of wisdom ("It doesn't matter how good lookin' a girl is. Somebody somewhere is sick of her shit.") When an audience member ran up to the stage to tell Charlie a high school buddy of his was at the show, Charlie looked out in the crowd and said "You got fat, didn't you? You were always slow, but now you're slow and fat."
He gave us some really satisfying versions of some favorites, but he also seemed to want to get a lot of them over with and get back out to the tour bus. But that was okay. We left shaking our heads and saying "That's Charlie all right," and knowing we'd go see him again tomorrow if we could.
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