Fort Worth After 38 years, it’s understandable that Willie Nelson’s 4th of July Picnic engenders strong feelings of nostalgia for the way the event used to unfold back in the mid-‘70s and early ‘80s, freewheeling, tinged with drugs, booze and good friends. But in 2011, the reality is far different.
How much of that is the fusion of a corporate sponsored, national tour with a Texas tradition (this year’s Picnic marked a first, joining forces with the Country Throwdown tour finale) and how much of it is simply chalked up to the fact that, let’s face it, this batch of singer-songwriter ain’t gettin’ any younger is debatable. There will come a time (and glimmers of it were plainly visible this year) when Willie and his pals will have to step aside, and let a younger generation take the lead. What that means for the future of the Picnic five or even 10 years from now is hard to discern. Can the Picnic persist without its figurehead? Only time will tell.
Instead of a tuneful bacchanalia this year, there were families, trolling the plaza decked out with its sponsored tents and food stands. The crowd, which swelled steadily in size over the course of the day, shuffled calmly between the scorching cement of the plaza and the refreshing cool of Billy Bob’s Texas’s interior, where a live feed was patched in to the flatscreens and the house PA. I didn’t get to see every last act on the bill (deadlines prevented some of it), but here’s a quick take on the dozen or so performers I did see yesterday at the Picnic.
Craig Campbell: This Georgia-based singer-songwriter was one of the fresher faces on the day’s schedule, having just released his debut LP in April. His hit single, Family Man, balances pathos and melody, although he gamely tried to instigate a rowdier mood in the Rodeo Plaza.
Paula Nelson and the Guilty Pleasures: The eldest of Willie’s offspring to perform on the big stage inside Billy Bob’s Texas Monday, Paula’s tunes were pleasing, albeit lightweight. The diffuse, slightly jazzy approach was intriguing, but provided a curious lull in the day’s action.
Brantley Gilbert: Backed by an amusingly “metal” banner, this Georgian singer-songwriter likewise strived to get a party started that, well, just wasn’t happening in front of him (there were pockets of party animals, but overall, everyone was just zonked by the heat).
Micah Nelson and the Reflectacles: Rocking a truly bizarre Mumford & Sons-meets-Edward Sharpe vibe (seriously, why is live painting on stage now a thing?), Willie’s son, born Paul Micah, hasn’t quite figured out what to do with his bohemian impulses. Catchy songs were few and far between and, a bit awkwardly, the band actually asked if they could sleep on someone’s floor that night.
Lee Brice: Having cut his teeth as a songwriter for icons like Garth Brooks, this South Carolinian is stepping out as a solo act. Brice is of the smooth, slick persuasion, therefore his appealing if bland tunes (such as Love Like Crazy) failed to really get the party started.
Lukas Nelson and the Promise of the Real: By far the most talented Nelson child I saw Monday, Lukas conjures a mesmerizing backwoods psychedelia that explains why he, and none of his siblings, is frequently tapped to play with the old man. Take these guys off the big stage and put ‘em in a dark, smoke-filled room and I’d wager some real magic happens.
Billy Joe Shaver: Terse, wry and armed with songs the crowd shouted along to (sober or tipsy), the Corsicana native delivered one of the two best performances I saw outside all day long. Shaver, recovered from his harrowing bar fight, is as vital as ever; an outlaw country musician in the truest sense of that description.
Ray Price: Boasting the largest band I saw at the Picnic this year (five fiddlers!), this country icon was greeted rapturously and proceeded to take young and old alike on a tour of his timeless classics. His voice may not have quite the punch it once did, but with a little help from a few thousand friends, it came through loud and clear.
Ray Wylie Hubbard: Looking for all the world like some kind of heat-stricken refugee, singer-songwriter Hubbard tore through the staples (Up Against the Wall, Redneck Mother, which sounds disconcertingly intense when shouted by a well-lubricated crowd) and generally made the young folks look like they were trying way, way too hard.
Asleep at the Wheel: Having seen these Austinites countless times over the last few years, I’m beginning to wonder: How on Earth does Ray Benson psyche himself up for each gig? I’m to the point where I can recite the between-song patter along with him, although it was nice to see, for a change, the band steer away from Bob Wills’s greatest hits and indulge in a little more rockabilly-flavored music.
Randy Houser: With Willie’s harp man, Mickey Raphael, sitting in on his set (guess that’s a pretty solid endorsement), this staunch traditionalist who’s pals with fellow performer Jamey Johnson, doled out a sunset performance that neatly straddled the line between forward-thinking Nashville and the Music City that’s been lost to myth.
