Concert Review: Big Smith at George's Majestic

It was brought to my attention by this smoking hot chick that I never posted about Big Smith, what may just be the concert event of the century. It also dawned on me that I am in line to see some good concerts in the next month or so. So I will give you a quick recap of what went down.

First of all the venue was at George's Majestic Lounge in Fayatteville, Arkansas. Basically a dive. They threw up some sort of temporary-tent-like-bubble-room and have made it the main concert venue in Arkansas for the up-and-coming and lesser-knowns out there. As a venue it absolutely sucks. But the fact that everyone plays at George's supercedes that fact. It is not as rich with history as Cain's Ballroom in Tulsa or even as nice as most smaller places and clubs in Dallas or OKC. But it is basically all we have. And we get good groups playing there right before or after their visit to Cain's or somewhere else in Tulsa. But Big Smith is sort of a regional fave.

They are in my top five faves. It goes Beatles, McCartney, Robert Randolph (who plays George's in a week!!!), Big Smith and Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals. Big Smith is sort of a hillbilly-bluegrass-western-roots-gospel-bar band who play some great songs that they wrote themselves but sound like old mountain songs from the Bull Creek region in Missouri. They are also aptly named as three of the five first cousins (two sets of brothers and another first cousin) wear big smith overalls. From the first strains of Go Away Maggie I knew that Big Smith was going to be great. And they were. They played all my fave Big Smith songs (Burn Down the House and Leave by the Light of the Fire, 12 Inch 3 Speed Oscillating Fan, Trash, Preacher, Die Dead Die, Poison, Backwater, Rich Man's Poor). But the best part is watching all the drunken partiers there dancing around.

Plus George's is a smallish venue and people get very touchy. They all move around the place, never content to stand sort of in the same spot. They gotta go get their drinks or what have you. Which means they touch you as they walk past. My pal Trey was quite uncomfortable with all of the touching. But if the casual "Excuse me" touch was bad for him, he was in for a treat.

In the close confines of the dance floor there at George's you get the chance to dance with many people, whether you want to or not. Trey and I were impressed at the number of decent looking women who seemed to be dancing in our personal space throughout the night. And then it happened.

This 45 year old-looking Italian dude (who spent most of his night trying to find SOME woman, ANY woman, to dance with him...more power to him) came dancing over. He had a very unique style: it was sort of the pelvic thrust coupled with a strange hiccuppy stagger. And he had this habit of looking behind him to make sure everyone saw how cool he was. Well, Rocky Baldetti shimmied his way over to Trey's close, extremely close, personal space and danced there for at least an entire song. To try my best to explain the scene, Rocky Baldetti was Candy the exotic pelvic-thrusty-dancer and Trey was the pole. It was so many things at the same time: disturbing, hysterical, memorable, vomit-inducing and creeepy. He would dance and bounce his body off of Trey's in a way that should only happen in Sodom or prison. And then he would look back to see if Trey or anyone was watching.

Eventually a decent-looking bird walked by and he staggered off after her. But not before I had to cover my face in my smoke-smelling sweatshirt to keep from crying at the laughter. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen.

Great concert. Interesting drunken Arkansans. And Rocky Baldetti. One great concert event.

I hope Trey got Rocky's number...