You know that odd, reverent feeling when you’re about to experience something important? The preamble, when your mind turns to static and you know you’re about to have one of those stories you retell for years. That’s what it’s like to wait for Wanda Jackson.
When the evening begins, several bearded men appear onstage. They are clutching banjos and a stand bass, and several of them bear belt buckles that say “Larry.” Without introduction, Larry and His Flask dive into some serious quick-paced bluegrass perfection. The Roseland Theater erupts into a good old-fashioned hootenanny, like a tornado done swept me up and plunked me down in Kentucky. Except these boys are from nearby Bend. Members of this band never stop moving, including the bassist, who lifts the heavy instrument high above his head and doesn’t miss a note. They bounce in the air and barrel toward one another, avoiding collision by mere millimeters. The mustachioed guitarist teeters on the stage’s edge, beckoning us closer to the action, while the mulleted drummer sings enthusiastically along.
This band has personality sweating out of its collective pores. Their energy is incredible, and their smiles are as wide as barn doors. Two of the members swap their instruments for a trumpet and a trombone, turning this experience into a Swing Band revival. The performance is well-loved by the pompadoured and the pensioners, who are here in equal numbers. “Beggars Will Ride,” toward the end of their set, is dedicated to Ms. Jackson. It’s wildly bouncy, accented by harmonica and handclaps and high-fives.
As they begin their final song, the drummer stands atop his kit, one foot on the bass drum and the other on the snare, crashing at the cymbals as he tries to keep his balance. The guitarist, unencumbered by cables thanks to the wonders of wireless technology, hops into the audience. Still strumming, he asks us all to come down to the floor with him. We obediently bend our knees and hover over the ground as two more performers join us. The three of them then yell that we are to jump up and “dance our asses off” on their count. And we do. This final song, “I’ll Be Gone,” is dedicated to the ladies. At its conclusion, they thank both the audience and the revered headliner for this opportunity, and depart.
Larry and His Flask are a tough act for anyone to follow, and the crowd is pumped for more greatness. Instead, we are presented with the underwhelming Sallie Ford and the Sound Outside. Although she's dressed the part in her retro garb and stands behind a classic 1950s-style microphone, Ms. Ford has a serious lack of heart. The band’s lead song lacks the excitement of their predecessors, and Ford sounds like she’s singing below her range. Still, there’s a strong rockabilly beat to these songs. It’s like watching a cut scene from Cry-Baby that wasn’t interesting enough for inclusion in the film.
That second microphone is an effects mic, which raises Sallie’s voice to Minnie Mouse levels. It’s an interesting break from the band’s stock-stillness and too-slow-to-dance songs. They all look bored or consumed with stage fright, neither of which are appropriate when opening for Wanda Jackson the night before embarking on a European tour. Many of the tunes are unfamiliar, originating from a forthcoming album that isn’t due until the fall. We are merely a test audience. It’s not until the final song that Sallie steps away from her mics, visits a different section of the stage, and does a reticent shimmy. Clearly no one has told her to make her movements big, so she’s limp-armed and noncommittal even in this small show of enthusiasm. Dullsville, man, but it builds our anticipation for what’s to come.
Whispers of “I can’t believe I’m about to see Wanda Jackson!” begin to circle the room. Somewhere backstage, the Queen of Rockabilly is waiting for her moment. Before that happens, we are treated to a warm-up set by her touring band, the Dusty 45s. They are enjoyable in their own right, and are much cheerier than their predecessors. The Dusty 45s play five songs, including the classic “St. James Infirmary Blues,” before beckoning the Queen onstage.
Sporting a rhinestone-bedazzled white fringe jacket, the divine Ms. Jackson appears. A familiar va-va-voom drumbeat emerges and “Riot in Cell Block #9” begins. Despite her diminutive stature, Jackson’s personality is as big as her well-coiffed hair. Her moves are reserved, but she’s still got ‘em. She sings what amounts to a live greatest hits album, pausing between songs to provide fascinating details about the origin of lyrics or her time touring with Elvis in his early years. Jackson implores us to cross our fingers for her as she attempts one of her classics, “I Betcha My Heart,” since it involves her trademark yodeling skills. No surprise, it’s perfect. She points at her outfit and informs us that people “used to dress” for all occasions, and that she still does.
Though many of her surviving compatriots have resorted to performing at tacky second-rate casinos, Jackson maintains her dignity in continuing to play real venues. She is clearly overjoyed to still be wanted, and seems slightly surprised at the youthful faces mouthing the lyrics back to her from the front row. Jackson, for all her stardom, is warm and gracious in her performance. It’s evident she wants us to have a good time. The set continues past midnight, concluding with “Let’s Have a Party.” For her encore, Jackson hides offstage while her band plays a few notes without her. They end on a cover of Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On,” and the band marks its grand finale with the trumpeter standing atop the stand bass, blasting notes into a microphone held at arm’s length. What a life-making delight to have stood so close to a legend.
Set List:
Riot in Cell Block #9
Rock Your Baby
Hard Headed Woman
I Gotta Know
Funnel of Love
I Betcha My Heart
Good Rockin’ Tonight (Elvis cover)
Heartbreak Hotel (Elvis cover)
Shakin’ All Over (Johnny Kidd and the Pirates cover)
You Know I’m All Good (Amy Winehouse cover)
Rip It Up (Billy Haley and his Comets cover)
Like a Baby (Elvis cover)
Fujiyama Mama
Right or Wrong
Mean Mean Man
I Saw the Light
Let’s Have a Party
Whole Lotta’ Shakin’ Goin’ On
