Concert Review: Keith Urban

On Sept. 31, a guitar-playing, country-singing, hit-making performer from Down Under came to town, and he made all the girls swoon.

Keith Urban’s concert that night was the first of two special shows at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta. It was intended as a gift to his fans, but as signs boasted and cameras proved, the performance was also filmed for broadcast use. Nobody ever told the audience what that use would be, but it was hard to miss the big camera boom floating over the lower level and the cameraman walking around onstage, filming Urban from all angles as he performed.

Perhaps because of the cameras, Urban didn’t move around a lot during his set, and when he did, it looked planned. He nevertheless exuded energy and talent, sounding just as good as he does on his albums—no studio touch-ups needed—and performing most of his hits while flawlessly playing acoustic, bass, and electric guitars. He even hopped behind the piano for one song, though it wasn’t the recent hit ballad “Tonight I Wanna Cry” that his audience expected, but rather a new track from his forthcoming album "Love, Pain, and the Whole Crazy Thing," due out Nov. 7.

Urban, the 2005 Country Music Association Entertainer of the Year, used the concert to debut some of his new music, treating his fans to the first-ever performances of several of his new tracks. “Stupid Boy” was one of the most memorable, and he brought the audience into his living room by pulling out his personal recorder and playing a raw tape of “Faster Car,” recorded as he was writing it at home, and then performing the completed song live.

The concert opened with brand-new song “Once in a Lifetime,” the highest debuting country single in Billboard’s 62-year history, and packed a lot of popular music into its short hour and twenty minutes. “Raining on Sunday” was a high point, with Urban sitting down to play acoustic guitar as passion resonated from his voice. He shone on “You’ll Think of Me” as well, adding an ending so emphatic and so convincingly anguished that you’d never know he recently fell in love and married actress Nicole Kidman.

Though Urban’s strong, entertaining performance more than made up for any initial problems, the show didn’t get off to the best start, beginning 45 minutes late to accommodate people still trying to get in. Because all 4,500 or so tickets were only available at will call, a line stretched all the way down the street and around a corner as people waited patiently just to get their tickets. Inside, two of Urban’s band members came onstage with acoustic guitars and entertained the audience with a couple of impromptu but nonetheless well-sung ‘80s flashback songs.

Everyone in the audience, largely members of Urban’s fan club Monkeyville, who had first dibs on tickets for the event, forgot the delay as soon as Urban stepped onto the stage. They sang loudly and clearly (and surprisingly in tune) whenever Urban would point his microphone in their direction and cheered predictably when he cooed about the “prettiest country/from Georgia to Tennessee” in his song “Who Wouldn’t Want to be Me.” Each time an up-tempo tune began, they sprang enthusiastically to their feet, causing the balcony to shake disturbingly as they danced and making it difficult for everyone without front-row seats to see. As opulent and historically important as the Fox is, it just wasn’t built for this kind of concert.

The setting will surely make for a nice video or TV concert special though, and those in attendance that night won’t remember that they had trouble seeing; they’ll instead recall Urban’s charming Australian accent, his fun, feel-good hits, his emotion-packed ballads, and what it was like to hear it all in person.

—Stephanie Crozier

Album Review: The Decemberists, "The Crane Wife"

For a hyper-literate indie band making its big-label debut, it comes with great surprise that “The Crane Wife” is not only the Decemberists’ best album to date, but also its weirdest. Best known for pirate-filled tales of love and loss, the Decemberists were never meant to fit in or be cool, and Capitol Records thankfully gives frontman Colin Meloy room to run wild on “The Crane Wife.”

“The Island” is a prog-rock epic through and through, expertly weaving the story of a landlord’s daughter and her tragic drowning. “Shankill Butchers” is a delicate ditty, “The Perfect Crime 2” is a wanky jazz tune and “When The War Came” is a hard-rocking power ballad that also happens to be the album’s best song.

With three full-lengths and two EPs released on a trio of independent labels, now seems like a weird time to turn on the feedback and experiment for Meloy and company, but “The Crane Wife” will put any reservations fans (or Capitol Records, for that matter) may have had about the band to rest. The Decemberists hit the ground running on their major-label debut and, like the pirates they often dress up as, get the booty in the process.

—Matthew Grayson

Concert Review: Hfags and Packway

As drunken hordes flooded downtown Athens late Saturday night in the aftermath of the Georgia-Tennessee game, an entirely different Southern tradition unfolded within the walls of the 40 Watt Club.

First, local folk group Hope For Agoldensummer treated a few dozen die-hards to a brisk but relaxing set filled with haunted tales of love and faith. With its unique sense of instrumentation (or sometimes, lack thereof), the friendly quintet traded guitars, xylophones and accordions among its members almost as often as it traded words with the sparse but nonetheless enthused crowd.

Sisters Claire and Page Campbell used their angelic vocals merely as another instrument on old staples like “Love Letter” and “Love Like A Sailor,” blending seamlessly with Will Taylor’s thumping violoncello, Deb Davis’ minimalist guitar work and Jamie Shepard’s restrained drumming.

On crowd favorite “Time Will Tell,” though, the Campbells’ supporting cast rested and let the sisters’ pipes take center stage. Claire and Page belted out a soulful tune about unrequited love as they played a children’s hand-clapping game—the song’s only soundtrack.

Perhaps the trademark of Hope for Agoldensummer is its clever transformation of seemingly mundane household objects into eerily gorgeous instruments, and nowhere was that more evident than on “Hearts In Jars.” Partway through the song, Shepard picked up a wooden crate full of empty glass bottles and swayed to the plodding beat, creating an odd but decidedly pleasing sound not unlike a muffled high-hat. Claire also put the singing saw to work on several tracks, using a violin bow against the metal to elicit a ghostly high-pitched whine.

After a dozen songs, the Campbells and company gathered their equipment and left the stage to make room for Packway Handle Band. With only a pair of 40s style radio mics set up front and center, the local bluegrass group rushed onstage with instruments in hand, and then the real show began.

Clad in three-piece suits of various earthy tones, the men of Packway Handle Band played with such fervor and sang with such energy as to reinvigorate a fading crowd. A handful of fans from the football game arrived drunk and disheveled but showed new life once the tunes began, led by a girl in red cowboy boots who didn’t stop dancing for the duration of Packway’s exhaustive two-hour set.

The group’s selection included an odd mixture of traditional bluegrass staples—including a flawless rendition of “Keep on the Sunny Side”—and zany originals, most notably “Satan’s In Space” and “(Sinner) You Better Get Ready.”

The band also managed to effortlessly transform Leonard Cohen’s “Diamonds In the Mine,” Bob Dylan’s “Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright” and Joe Cocker’s “Never Tear Us Apart” into bluegrass masterpieces, so much so that it was nearly impossible to tell which songs were modern covers, which were originals and which were timeless bluegrass staples.

As the clock neared 2 a.m., the rest of Athens had long since drowned its sorrows and headed home to sleep away its disappointment, but Packway Handle Band seemed not to care. Within the 40 Watt, time stood still as the group evoked the spirit of an old-time camp meeting reviving those who had fallen astray.

For fans crushed by the Bulldogs’ defeat, Packway Handle Band’s edgy brand of bluegrass seemed like much-needed therapy after a night of repeated let-downs. For those more interested in the music, however, it was a revival of sorts, as Packway Handle Band reminded everyone that bluegrass in Athens is not just alive and well—it’s rocking with the best of them.

—Matthew Grayson