Shirley, for the first time
The Globe was touting the Flatlanders show at Bull Run all week, so I figured what the heck. But where the hell is Shirley? Turns out, not far...45 minutes, even on a rainy night.
First through Ayer, whose economy once depended on Fort Devens, a huge army base, but that's all gone now, and the promised future has not arrived. Then the road bends left and you're in the sticks... derelict cars in the front lawn....you know you're pretty near New Hampshire. Then an ominous looking pile on the left. Takes a few seconds...oh yeah, MCI Shirley, Massachusetts' maximum security prison ...scary.
A couple of miles on the right is the Bull Run. Big
rambling collection of old buildings ("serving the tired, thirsty traveller
since 1740") and a full parking lot. Ask for will-call....through two sets of
swinging doors, through a crowded old time dining room and up the ramp to the
girl at the door. Will call? That's me, what's your name? OK. A ticket? No, I
know who you are. Downstairs to the bar, strike up a conversation with a pretty
woman with cafe-au lait complexion named Debbie and her burly guy named Steve,
whose Aussie accent I don't quite get until my second beer. They are regulars
and introduce me to the guy in the snap-brim hat, George the owner. (George
suggests, "Online, make sure you type in bullrunrestaurant, or you'll get a lot
of information you don't want about the Civil War.")Upstairs for the show. Weird place...big room set up with round tables full of people eating dinner. The opening band is local strummers not trying too hard. My seat is supposed to be at a table with a young family, so instead I find a spot against the wall.
The Flatlanders come out, Joe Ely. Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Butch Hancock, plus a couple of guitar guys and a young guy on drums. They put on an energetic show, mixing in current stuff I've never heard, plus the alt country stuff that has made them a semi legendary non-band over the past 40 years. I brought along, but left in the car, my 1980 Flatlanders "One Road More" album and my 1981 Butch Hancock "Firewater seeks its own level" album recorded live at Bob Rosenbaum's Alamo Lounge in Austin and autographed "To Peter and Evelyn. Love, Butch. Bob told me to say that."
These guys are fun to listen to, a few nice anecdotes, no old geezer sentimentality, just good music. But most memorable is Jimmie Dale Gilmore's unique, high, sweet, sad, ironic, charming voice ...you just want him to keep singing.
I'll be back, Shirley
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