Other than the meteorological mind games the clouds played
with our heads, it turned out to be a beautiful day as we traipsed the jazz
fandango well into the night. Ron Netsky knows what I like and immediately
insisted I check out Grace, Sophia, and Hulda, The Quebe Sisters.
These three fiddle-wielding young women from Dallas sang like
absolute angels — or more accurately, The Andrews Sisters … or maybe The Del
Rubio Triplets. Their music had that cozy yesteryear feel of those
wartime-era three-part harmonies, harvested, picked, and re-planted in Western
swing dirt. The songs were plaintive and refined, allowing the sisters’ vocals
to haunt and wreak heartache, lyrically and melodically. They pulled out a
handsome take of Hank Williams’ “Cold, Cold Heart,” Johnny Cash’s “Wayfaring Stranger,” and a killer stab with the sweet sawing of
their bows on Les Paul and Mary Ford’s “How High the Moon.”
So I’ve decided I’m going to have The Quebe Sisters play my
funeral. (I had initially had Popeye booked for the ceremony, where he and
Olive would do a little interpretive dance to Santo & Johnny’s “Sleepwalk.”)
The sisters were enchanting and even a bit shy with funny anecdotes about the
songs or the latest haps in their young career, like recording with Willie
Nelson or hangin’ with Asleep at the Wheel.
The Quebe Sisters will
perform again Sunday, June 25, at the Xerox Auditorium (100 South Clinton
Avenue). 6:30 p.m. and 9 p.m. $30, or you can use your Club Pass. quebesisters.com.
This just in: Frank De Blase defines the word “show” as
something you’re missing while you live stream the event with your goddamn cell
phone. Holster that smoke wagon, and enjoy the show like the rest of us.
Adam Wakefield shocked and awed the crowd, opening the
show with a piece on the grand piano all by his lonesome. It’s not that the
Anthology crowd didn’t think he could play piano, we were just expecting some
loud, bordering-on-outlaw country — which we got when the rest of his band took
to the bandstand. With a penchant for 1970’s, Waylon-style flanger, Wakefield
plays that kind of country that wraps the cliché in the honesty of a song
well-written and ultimately well-played. The crowd ate it up. But don’t sweat
the redneck appearance; he hails from New Hampshire.
Oh, and speaking of eating it up: Wakefield first came to national
attention on a talent show where country singers are thrown in a pit of
alligators as celebrities judge their performance. Winners are spared and given
a recording contract. Now, Wakefield didn’t win, but I couldn’t help but notice
his slick alligator boots.
Adam Wakefield won’t
perform again during this year’s XRIJF, but check him out at adamwakefieldmusic.com.
Tomorrow, me and my alligator shoes will be checking out English
slide wizard Jack Broadbent at Montage and John Paul White of the Civil Wars at
Anthology.
This article appears in Jun 21-27, 2017.
