Rocker performs soulful songs in front of reminiscing audience

  Sugarhill Records Rodney Crowell gave a
rockin’ performance Sunday at the Roxy of his known songs, along
with a dose of crowdplay.

By David Holmberg
Daily Bruin Contributor

It took just three stools, three guitars and three men to prove
that the art of rock and roll is like fine wine ““ it just
gets better with age. 

Sunday night at the Roxy witnessed solid and true music
immortalized with a passionately energized concert by veteran
singer/songwriter, Rodney Crowell. Those in attendance were treated
to the rare bonding with an artist that can only be formed in
intimate surroundings such as those found in this little theater on
Sunset Blvd.

Opening the show was Betty Dylan, a not-so-typical L.A.
band.  With only a decent guitar, played by Dr. Dan, and
moderately strong percussion and bass players, the band would be
little more than a fleeting notion if it was not for one single
factor ““ their lead singer, Vickie Dubelman. Attempting to
describe her voice, which sweeps up a room nabbing every bit of
soul from each corner, would inevitably fall short. Her long,
unstyled brown hair, black dress and glasses were hardly the image
of today’s glamorous female rock star; but this was as
refreshing to the eye as her rich and emotional voice was to the
ear. Dancing with ease to the music, she made Betty Dylan into a
remarkably surprising experience.

Unfortunately, lead guitarist Dr. Dan attempted to sing several
times, which was a pity because his voice was weak drivel in
comparison. In the future, hopefully he will only focus on his
guitar work.

The group’s songs were purely American, with titles like
“L.A.’s a Boring Town” and “American
Trash” setting the tone. A rare form of country rock with
tremendous passion ““ a live performance by Betty Dylan is
truly a worthwhile diversion from the norm.

While Betty Dylan was a worthy act, there was no question as to
who the audience was there to see.  Although many have never
heard his name, those who had showed up eager. As a consequence,
the audience was dedicated and devoured every moment of the show.
No “Rodney Crowell Wannabe’s” were to be found
among the late 40s and early 50s crowd, who were nonetheless as
rowdy and enthused as any pop concert filled with crying
teenyboppers. 

Wonderfully unique about the concert was Crowell’s
back-and-forth interaction with the audience. One particularly
enthusiastic fan continually yelled “I love you
Rodney!” to which the musician finally answered, “If
you’re gonna love me like that, I’m gonna have to love
you back,” and then laid into another rocking set. The
dialogue with the crowd hit its peak at the end of the show, when
instead of a traditional encore, Crowell played audience requests.
It was a pleasure to see an artist with such respect for his fans
that he would reward them by playing their favorites.

Crowell himself could easily have been mistaken for a member of
the crowd. The 50-year-old rocker, with a black T-shirt, jeans and
a head of graying hair, sat on his stool with the ease of a best
friend and the talent of a virtuoso. No pretentious attitude
accompanied him on stage, nor did any tight leather pants or
smashing of guitars. As a musical artist, Crowell showed that
rock is about ability, not antics and gyration.

Perhaps most welcome about Crowell and his music was the meaning
behind every song. Between nearly every set he would tell a story,
several minutes in length, about his youth or past influences that
were the inspiration behind the music.

Crowell’s most recent album, “The Houston
Kid,” is a reflective look at his childhood in the working
class district of Houston, Texas. By adding these spoken
reflections between each song, every lyric took on a new personal
meaning to not only Crowell, but the audience, as well. Unique
stories about his war against mosquitoes the size of chicken hawks
along side universal tales of placing baseball cards in the spokes
of his bike, were instrumental in allowing the listener to live a
life they had never experienced.

As the audience was there to enjoy Crowell’s music, he was
there to enjoy playing. Rarely is it so obvious how much
performers are enjoying themselves as with Crowell,
who was clearly singing for more than fame and fortune;
he was playing because he loves music. The songs seem in
many ways to be a catharsis of past traumas, which he openly shares
and invites everyone to cleanse themselves as well.

While the songs themselves are of an inner, soulful sort,
Crowell is joined from the outside by two incredible musicians:
Steuart Smith and Randall Waller. Smith played the guitar, organ
and harmonica, often simultaneously and with great effect. Waller
jammed as second guitar to Crowell, and in his electric solos he
proved his worth. As for Crowell, his guitar subtly
underscored his passionate vocals. 

Lyrically, though, Crowell shined. Many singers have covered his
songs in the past, and it is easy to hear why. The simplicity
of each line builds upon the next to create a song of natural
depth. Lyrics such as “I wanna make love like a runaway
train,” and “A past like a broken wing,” are not
complicated metaphors, but still convey basic primal emotions.

After nearly two hours of expressing pure musical talent, there
was no question as to the power of rock and roll. While his name
may not be widely know, and his songs may not all be pop hits,
Crowell proved Sunday night that he is one hell of an artist.