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The Fifty-Quid-Bloke is in the ascendancy.
The theatre, though, is only a third full, which, for a band that recently returned after an eight-year hiatus, may seem a bad sign. But Golden Smog doesn't seem to notice. In fact, they're having fun. And so is their audience: they're hooting and hollering, swinging their hips, and singing along.
Fifty-Quid-Bloke? The term first appeared in England's Guardian newspaper. According to the publication, the older fan is fast becoming the music industry's best customer. Soon, they say, half of all albums will be bought by people over 40. The 'fifty quid' refers to the amount of money this type of consumer regularly spends on music (quid being slang for pound). With the exchange rate as it currently is, this equates to an American version of Ninety-Five-Dollar-Dude, but, for the sake of continuity, we'll stick with the original.
It could be argued that the members of Golden Smog are Fifty-Quid-Blokes; they definitely fit the demographic. Initially formed in 1989 as a Minneapolis-based cover band, the constants in this loose collective (which has since graduated to release three proper albums) have been Kraig Johnson (Run Westy Run), Dan Murphy (Soul Asylum), and the Jayhawks' Gary Louris and Marc Perlman. Wilco's Jeff Tweedy contributed to the band's first two records, and, in a somewhat subdued role, to their current album, Another Fine Day, but is noticeably absent from the supporting tour.
At first glance, the band belie their age and rock credentials with an apparent youthfulness. Kraig Johnson comes off with a high school cool; Gary Louris's curly locks are graying yet gregarious; and bassist Marc Perlman (when he's not concentrating on playing) is surprisingly fresh faced. Only guitarist Dan Murphy looks his age, ambling on stage as if he's just stumbled off the set of Full House after a stint as Dave Coulier's stunt double.
A cursory gander round the room reveals a number of Fifty-Quid-Blokes bedecked with beer bellies and bald heads, Hawaiian shirts with khaki shorts, and T's tucked into jeans -- all sucking on local brews. I'm not judging, merely reporting; I'm sure that when my girth finally gives, I too will succumb to what's comfortable, rather than what's fashionable. And if I can afford to be a Fifty-Quid-Bloke, that's what I'll be.
Despite what you'd think, it's not a complete men's club: the Fifty-Quid-Bloke have invariably brought their significant others -- each one a varying shade of Patti Scialfa. There are a few families down front, with parents praying that the band doesn't play "He's a Dick." They do.
Young couples can be found, most in the protective stance: girl in front, guy behind with his hands on her hips. Only when the band blends David Bowie's "Starman" into the set do the boys let go, pumping their fists and pounding out the chorus. The obligatory sorority girls have snuck in as well, swinging their hips to the backbeat and clapping their hands to the symbol snap. It's a form of expression that wouldn't go amiss at a Dave Matthews Band concert
Ostensibly, it's the kind of crowd that cheers at the sight of a harmonica being strapped on.
Had Jeff Tweedy decided to join Golden Smog's touring brethren, I'm sure the demographic would be slightly different, with a higher hipster quota. But without him, Golden Smog isn't quite ironic enough to attract such clientele. They play bar-band country pop rock, and they play it straight. No posturing, no noodling, and no nonchalance -- just rock 'n roll. They're the kind of band whose roadie lays out crisp, white towels, only to see them to go unused. They're too busy Rocking to dry off.
Tonight, the band swells from five to ten and back again, including, for a few numbers, a three-piece brass section. And though Louris talks the talk (abating the crowd by wishing for a Twins-Phillies World Series), it's Johnson who takes center stage -- literally and figuratively -- singing lead through half the songs. As expected, the set pulls heavily from Another Fine Day. Or course, much to the delight of Fifty-Quid-Bloke, the band's older songs get a thorough airing as well.
With the Jayhawks disbanded, Soul Alsyum treading water, and Wilco wandering into territories unknown, Golden Smog are seen by many as an alt-country super group. They're a tie to the past, a connecting point for those still pining over a genre that's been all but simmered and reduced, redacted and re-packaged and, more so, renounced by its principal players. There's a certain sense of timelessness to Golden Smog's set. This is due, in part, to the eight-year gap between albums, something which allowed their first two records to gain a 'classic' status.
While new songs are appreciated and soundly applauded, tunes from the first two albums are welcomed like old friends. And it's these songs that fall closest to the country rock ravine the band has tried to climb out of on Another Fine Day. "Yesterday Cried", "V", and "Ill Fated" are brought forth with a brazen enthusiasm, the latter two twanging like down-home hootenannies.
The band closes it out with "Until You Came Along" from 1998's Weird Tales. The stage steals itself to a cheesy scene: guitarists buttress each other, playing fretboard to fretboard; a lonely tambourine is innocently smacked; the support band (former Jayhawks drummer Tim O'Reagan and his cohorts) come on for the choruses, then veer stage right for the verses. When the chorus does kick in, everyone groups around a lone microphone like matadors. The bass player, pushed out of range, runs round back to join the keyboardist on the other side, stealing his vocal thunder as they all sing in perfect harmony.
As cheesy as it is, I can't help smiling and mouthing along. I'm enjoying the fact that these guys are enjoying the fact that the crowd is enjoying the fact that they're enjoying the fact. It's a big love fest and the nearly empty room isn't going to get anyone down, not least Fifty-Quid-Bloke, who, as the house lights go on, is already hollering for the band's return.
— 2 October 2006
