I’m slowly working my way through Scott H. Biram’s back catalog; slowly enough that I don’t know the titles to most of the songs that he plays, but fast enough that I love the hell out of everything he does. A “one dirty old man band”, Scott is a great songwriter, and what he does sounds like the exact feeling of a raucous summer whiskey-soaked night. I saw him for the first time about this time last year, with Lydia Loveless down in Charlotte, and I fell in love then and there. I’m still in love.
I think that solo artists are indefensibly brave; I hide behind a camera, but they are just there, open. I love the way Scott ducks his head when he plays, as though in the moment he is the only one in the room. It’s staggering.
Black Eyed Vermillion and Whiskey Dick opened; talk about some shudderingly excellent cowpunk.
Full set is here.
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