Welcome to Hicksville
It’s 7 p.m. Saturday night in front of the Rio Theatre in Santa Cruz. We’re
standing in a line with seven other people who bought advance tickets.
Another line is forming at the ticket window … about a dozen people are in
line to buy their tickets or pick them up.
This tiny gaggle represents the population of the earth willing to line up
here an hour early to see Dan Hicks and the Hot Licks . I notice a piece of
paper taped to the front door says no alcohol is allowed in the Rio. Swell.
One poster announces a musical ensemble that will perform all the songs from
the Beatles’ White Album sometime in the future, and another announces a Biker
Movie Marathon of a few weeks back, sponsored by the Harley dealer across the
street. Missed a chance to see both "The Wild One" and "Easy
Rider" on a big screen. Crud.
By the time they let us in, a couple hundred have lined up behind us. It’s
a fine crowd for a decent-sized pub, but the Rio holds 600. We find seats in
the center, about six rows back. They would be great seats, except that the
springs are worn out and it’s impossible to find a position that feels comfortable.
After we decide these seats will do, I make a drink run. Coffee and water are
the choices. And maybe tea. What kind of concert is this? Anyway, I come back
with my bottled water, get somewhat settled back into my seat that cannot be
settled into, and the first thing I hear is the megaphone of this loud-mouthed
matron behind me. She’s got herself turned around sideways in her seat and is shouting
down to her friends. The closest things to her mouth are my ears. I look over
at Melissa and she’s holding her ears and counting backward from 100. This woman
blabs loudly and constantly for the next half-hour as we wait for Dan and company
to take the stage. I want to reach back and throttle her but decide to wait
her out. The band will be louder, I figure.
Finally the lights dim and we see Dan and the band walking down the aisle toward
the stage. It can’t have escaped his notice that the room is maybe two-fifths
full. He walks up to center stage, gazes out over us and assumes the look of
a bandleader calculating how much of the gate receipts he gets to keep after
everybody else gets paid. What happens is we get what he was paid for. Which,
it appears, wasn’t much.
Dan sings, plays rhythm guitar and amuses the crowd with ironic/sarcastic banter
between songs (everybody chuckles when he refers to all the band’s records
as "The White Album"). His band is a bass player, a fiddle/mandolin
player, a lead guitarist, and two blond-haired backup singers, the Lickettes.
One of them is tall, thin and slightly aloof. The other is shorter, a bit frumpier
but by any estimation the only person on stage having any fun. Always smiling,
she grooves, she plays strange hand-held percussion instruments, she stops between
songs to mop the perspiration from her brow. Near as I can tell she’s also the
only one working up a sweat.
The Hot Licks’ sound is grounded in the two acoustic guitars, spiced up with
the violin/mandolin and the Lickettes’ voices. Hicks calls it a mix of jazz
and folk, which it is, except without the cloying lyrics of folk songs and the
musical virtuosity of accomplished jazz soloists. His players are good, but
they’re not supposed to wow you into that stunned silence that ends only when
you burst into applause because, well, that’s what you do when the band is having
one of those crazy-amazing interludes.
We don’t get much crazy-amazing from Dan & Company tonight. It’s more like,
"OK, that was pretty good, now let’s see if the next song is any better."
Don’t get me wrong, this is a good band that plays well together. It’s not like
it’s agony to sit through each song or anything. Everybody does their bit, but
somehow the whole is less than the sum of its parts. Maybe it’s the room being
too big for this sound, or Dan having some lifelong grudge against Santa Cruz.
Maybe it’s me being aggravated by the mouthy woman behind me (who did quiet
down during the show).
I think we were all kind of glad when it was over. I’d advise anybody who likes
acoustic music to check out Dan and his band — if it’s a small venue. Dan’s
goofy, half-mumbled wisecracks are half the fun, but he needs a more intimate
room, like a bar or club, for it to work. And, I suspect, he needs to be reassured
that he’ll earn a paycheck from the night’s proceedings.
