As I’m sure you’re aware, Los Angeles and most of California had been hammered by a string of monsoon-like, atmospheric-river rainfalls, whatever the fuck those are, ..over the past few weeks, so when a sunny afternoon said hey, it got me itchin for a show.
Morgan Wade at The Troubadour: a club I had yet to see for myself (well, this incarnation anyhow) despite having lived in this City of Angels for nearly a decade and half, and having been born just down sand in Long Beach. ..and an artist, whose name I recalled from the Stagecoach Festival setlist playlists I have been building passing these few rainy days. Having not heard her and as research for my Stagecoach itinerary, and a venerable club long been on my list, I’m down.
The site listed her as being ‘SOLD OUT’. (you know how it looks and feels) no matter, turning to the TickPick app, (which I nearly almost rely on
as they don’t stick their grubby little hands up your ass with fees, best I can tell).
Checked out with a single $12 GA ticket, tossed on some clothes, and crushed a 32oz crowler from @HomeBoundBrew Haus (inside the architecturally magnificent @UnionStationLA…seriously, epic setting to get hammered before a Dodger Game then roundtrip ride the free Dodger Stadium Express to the game)
(which beer did I crush, you ask… the Montezuma Smoked Amber, like a smoky mezcal of a beer, fuck ya) …jumped on a Lime scooter to catch the 4 bus down Santa Monica to Doheny. Yes, I ride the bus, fuck off because where else can we train to be a human being human, right in the thick of who we are; beautiful scars on society, by society, walking souvenirs from life. That and I’m poor (financially) as fuck and don’t want to pay for insurance or the fines I rack up in street cleaning parking tickets. though reasonably odd, the streets don’t seem to be allll that clean… and left the legit camera behind (Sony a7riii) being so last minute, I didn’t exactly have time to reach out to request permission.
Another couple shots of bus whiskey, a 20 minute bus ride, and an espresso (yes, Starbucks, they make a great doppio, fairly inexpensive at under $3, and super convenient in speed/location, which plays well with running behind) ..and I was walking in the door of the troubadour for the first time. to be fair (in Letterkenny, mockingly style) …(go watch Letterkenny :brilliant)
The 1st impression experience didn’t start off all that great when they asked me to check my grenade -shaped, expandable travel water bottle which is hooked to my belt. Water bottles are not accepted here, for what I thought was the reasoning that it could be used as an object to throw at shitty artists or just general unruliness…only to walk in and buy a bottle of PBR (a much more effective feedback projectile than my grenade-shaped water bottle).
No gum either. guess people will throw anything at artists (they paid to see).
Anyhow, in the door, leaving the bar, and a solid buzz kicking in, now bring on the awkwardness of standing solo in a mixed crowd of country folk (my people) and city folk (my people) aged 21-70s or so from local to regional. Awkwardness magnified when ya choose not to hide in a phone, exploring what surrounds us. ‘this fucker is not ‘normal” thinking finally grasps the attention of some.
I do love this type of pain as I battle my own ego and extroverted introvertedness in that these are training grounds for growth of self into all selfs by way of acknowledging it as a ‘weakness’, accepting the ‘shame’ and ‘pride’ loss, forgiving self and other for egregious judgment, then adapting and learning with new awareness of contextual truth and multiple realities (dimensions) others reside in with their view/perspective and perception of you (see “Everything, Everywhere, All at Once“ for reference). as for awkwardness…wait till I get high /living hell (and heaven)
Settled in now with tunnel view about five heads from the stage, and opening act, Meg McCree w/guitarist Anna McLaughlin step down from descending stairs and onto stage, lubing us up
with guitar-rocking chick interludes betwixt beautifully crafted country ballads and apropos classic covers, creatively tweaked.
The crowd now swelling, primed for our headliner, Morgan Wade. But first, another shot of Jamo and another PBR tucked into my holster, again strapped to my belt. Here’s where I’d like to ask y’all to grab a beer of your own or poison /magical elixir of your choice and take a listen to country music’s legendary singer-songwriter, Ray Wylie Hubbard and, “Chick Singer, Badass Rockin” as a prelude, the rest of my night.
Morgan Wade and her band, amidst a killer little light show step out and into her lead, wearing a KISS shirt, snuggly sitting between tatted arms and below an innocently turmoiled face which I have no problem describing as a hot rock‘n roll chick.and super cute. Rockin is what this girl came to do and boy did she.
With a sound conveniently reminiscent of Alanis Morissette and also in part, CHVRCHES, but with a velvety rasp in her voice and subtle twang, Wade pelted us with her brand of writing and style.
to include a ‘dedication’ song to Alanis, titled as such. Soon into her collection, and you really begin to feel the country and the why in how the stories are told, given her unique (Virginia) southern draw, adding gravitas to the sincerity of her experience. With a firm handle on her now, jubilant crowd, albeit sauced up and high as fuck, Wade’s lyrics repeat ad infinitum, “I’m gonna make you fall in love with me” and as a ripe old virgin to all things Morgan Wade, I certainly did.
Time to move around the club a bit in search of differing perspectives to add context, filling in truth to the night to be shared with all. Up the stairs to and through The Loft, The Troubadour’s VIP lounge with stadium seating, around the back for a few shots and up the stairs to the *3rd floor bar for a bird’s-eye few of Wade’s set, and maybe a beverage, then back down to the floor opposite my first location.
Likewise, Morgan Wade moved around stage a fair amount, while seeming to flow with the light and laser show, sprinkling a few rocker poses on speakers ..in sincerity, not that ‘for show’ bullshit you can sometimes feel, which is fine, too, just saying.
Now at the back bar, head on with Wade, another shot of Jamo, close the tab, and it felt like she was singing for me… I mean she is…Laying down the heart of her most resonant hits, “The Night” and “The Night (Part 2)” followed by a few heart and soul wailers, Wade juices us up for party-pleasing covers “Your Love“ (“Josie’s on a vacation far away…“I don’t wanna lose your love, toni’ight) and “Jessie‘s Girl” (personal favorite, naturally). …having her band come back from the cover interlude, Wade sent us home with “I Thought I Walked on Water” and dominating hit and fan favorite, “Wilder Days”; a beautifully raspy ballad and anthem of a love song leaving me with a ‘kickass’ feeling of a smile before sprinting out the door (reconnecting w/my water bottle, in expandable grenade shape) to swipe a scooter, ride up (hill) Doheny to The Sunset Strip where I’d catch the next 2-bus home…
Morgan Wade and her opener, Meg McCree sought me out and found a fan in me of their lyrics, their tone, and their style and you can catch me wandering the Morgan Wade crowd next month out in the desert for the beast of all country festivals, Stagecoach.
to note: I may be a little drunk, little high. .consider that my disclosure
Follow Meg McCree Online:
Follow Morgan Wade Online:
Born city, raised country, west coast to east coast and back again. B.A., M.B.A., then back to LA,
lending to a love of capturing moments given any lens, and the adoration of all music, especially experienced live,
where this moment-capturing poet jives and thrives.
work in progress, y’all
[a part of the Founders Yonder Collective (FYCmoments)]
