Guy Clark & Slaid Cleaves @ The Barns

Guy Clark
With Slaid Cleaves
April 22, 2007
The Barns of Wolf Trap, Vienna, Va.

Guy Clark is a consummate craftsman, an extraordinary writer of songs who is admired in many music circles and worshipped by those that work in the same trade. As such, he takes a lot of pride in his work. Calling in sick would most certainly be out of the question, so a cold and a nagging cough weren't about to stop the show on Sunday night at The Barns of Wolf Trap. Much like the boy in his opening number, "The Cape," Clark "screwed his courage up real tight," putting on his game face and turning on the self-deprecating showmanship.

"We're going to play some songs we know … and some that we don't know," Clark said as second guitarist and No. 1 sidekick Verlon Thompson tuned up. "We've got no setlist, no agenda and no clue," he added. "And we've got no fear."

The 65-year-old Clark can afford to make light of such situations. He's faced worse, like spending the past couple years fighting lymphoma. His place in history was secured long ago; he's one of the greatest songwriters to come out of Texas, living or dead. He came by that reputation honestly. One thing he is incapable of, runny nose or not, is going through the motions.

Clark's emotional investment in his songs was apparent as he recited "The Randall Knife," a reflection on the death of his father. Though years removed from the loss, he appeared to still be genuinely moved by the feelings that inspired him to write the song. The crowd seemed to sense it, too, and gave Clark the longest ovation of the night.

Connecting with Clark's songs is easy. He's a poet of the plains, and his command of language as a songwriter and a storyteller helps his audience feel a sense of attachment, too. During "L.A. Freeway," Clark provided a bit of background about why he and his wife Suzanna decided to flee California. Long story short, the landlord chopped down a grand old grapefruit tree because the roots were cracking the patio. More than three decades later, the disgust still dripped from Clark's weather-beaten voice as he segued back into the song: "Pack up all your dishes / make note of all good wishes / say goodbye to the landlord for me / that son of a bitch has always bored me."

Clark probably grew up to be some of the characters in his songs even if they weren't originally autobiographical. It's not hard to believe that Clark now is a lot like that old wildcatter at the center of "Desperadoes Waiting for a Train" who taught him to "whittle, spit, cuss, drive a car and sit up straight" when he was a boy in Mohans, Texas. Perhaps it was his bout with cancer, but Clark seemed a little extra defiant when he admonished the dying old driller in "Desperadoes" to "Come on, Jack, that son of a bitch is coming / We're like desperadoes waiting on a train." Clark sang like he's planning on going for his last ride with his boots on.

Not all of the high points were as poignant. Clark kept the crowd laughing, telling the patrons after their applause for "The Cape" that "so far, you've got pretty good taste." He introduced his lighter look at heavy-duty weather, "Tornado Time in Texas," by asking, "If you can't laugh at a tornado, what can you laugh at?" And during the third verse of "Stuff That Works," at the line that goes, "I got a pretty good friend / who's seen me at my worst / he can't tell if I'm a blessing or a curse," he cast a sideways look at Thompson, who, as a good straight man would, kept his eyes fixed on his guitar strings as a smirk broke out on his face.

Throughout the night, Thompson performed as though his longtime gig with Clark was indeed a blessing. His gentle harmonies filled the cracks in Clark's craggy voice, and he lent plenty of hot guitar picking on "Tornado Time in Texas," "Homegrown Tomatoes," and his own "Joe Walker's Mare."

Clark's admiration for Thompson (and vice versa) is apparent, but he made sure that the audience knew by leaving the stage late in the show to allow his sideman to step to the spotlight and play three of his own songs.

Clark got a final laugh when he emerged from the wings toting a roll of toilet paper that he would use as tissue. They closed the show, "brought to you by Charmin," Thompson cracked, with "Dublin Blues" and an encore of "Picasso's Mandolin." Those who had been calling out unplayed requests from the moment Clark revealed that they would be working off the cuff might have left a bit disappointed, but playing all of his great songs would have meant playing all night.

Opener Slaid Cleaves presented an interesting parallel to the headliner. Like Clark, he was accompanied only by a guitarist and harmony vocalist, Charles Arthur. Though he is many years Clark's junior, Cleaves also has been around the block. He took to the Barns stage looking a bit like an English professor in his brown blazer and khakis, but his collection of songs could not have been composed without going to graduate school in the dirt-floor bars and run-down roadhouses of Texas.

Cleaves' tenor was as mellow as the amber patina of his vintage Gibson acoustic, but his first two selections, "Horseshoe Lounge" and "Drinkin' Days," recounted hellraising days on the bar-band circuit. "Flowered Dresses," written by Karen Poston and featured on Cleaves' latest album, "Unsung," is a heartbreaking ballad. "Skunk Juice" centered on a broken-down car and "Broke Down" on a relationship that was ready for the scrap heap, too. Cleaves, like Clark, is a plainspoken poet interested in real people. Such is the hard-luck hero of Cleaves' "Horses," who knows "if it weren't for horses and divorces, I'd be a lot better off today." "Horses" also allowed Cleaves to show off a skill that seems unlikely for a native Mainer transplanted to Texas – yodeling. It was popular with the Northern Virginia crowd, and it went over even better on his closer, a cover of the late Don Walser's "Rolling Stone From Texas."

Cleaves played one unreleased song, "Beautiful Thing," which he admitted was the only song he had written in the past two years. Perhaps by not recording it he hoped that its antiwar sentiment would become irrelevant. Unfortunately, it sounds like it could have been written yesterday. On a more positive note, "Beautiful Thing" suggests that Cleaves will be drawing comparisons to Clark for many years to come.

Near the end of his set, Cleaves remarked on what a pleasure it was for him to play in front of such a discerning audience and then to sit back and "watch the master at work."

On Sunday night, that was the pleasure of everyone in the house.

Setlists
Slaid Cleaves:
Horseshoe Lounge
Drinkin' Days
Flowered Dresses
Skunk Juice
Broke Down
Horses
Wishbones
Beautiful Thing
One Good Year
Rolling Stone from Texas

Guy Clark:
The Cape
L.A. Freeway
Desperadoes Waiting for a Train
Boats to Build
Tornado Time in Texas
Stuff That Works
Magdalene
Homegrown Tomatoes
Out in the Parking Lot
The Randall Knife
Everywhere … Yet (Verlon Thompson solo)
He Left the Road (V.T. solo)
Joe Walker's Mare (V.T. solo)
Dublin Blues
Picasso's Mandolin