Dwight Yoakam has always occupied an unusual spot in the country-music world. The Kentucky-born singer-song writer cut his performing teeth in Los Angeles, sharing bills at Hollywood clubs with the likes of the Blasters, Rank and File, and X. In the ensuing 20 or so years, Yoakam has created a sort of shifting niche for himself: He moves closer to the country mainstream, then backs off, then moves forward. He is careful to never cross over into the cartoonish land of Tim McGraw, but also seldom shares space with "No Depression" bands like Son Volt, Wilco, and Whiskeytown.
Dwight Yoakam
Paramount, Sunday, July 18
Yoakam's recent "greatest hits" release, Last Chance for a Thousand Years, chronicles his somewhat schizophrenic brand of country, with highlights from 1990 to 1999 including his nods toward honky-tonk, Gram Parsons-influenced country rock, plus straight-ahead weepy country ballads and Brooksian power country. His Seattle show proved what could just as easily be called his versatility as his vagueness.
Yoakam has left the smoky honky-tonks far in the rearview. His present national tour features stops at county fairs as well as dates in plush venues like the Paramount. Sunday's show brought out a crowd similar to any "mainstream" country show, but with a few tattooed rockabilly boys and some young hipsters thrown into the mix.
Generally, though, this was a traditional commercial show. Yoakam, backed by his tight six-piece band, enjoyed delivering the country goods. He wore the time-honored uniform of the mainstream-country heartthrob: cowboy hat, western shirt, boots, and tight jeans the likes of which you'll only find at a country show. He hung on to (or embellished, depending on your point of view) his Kentucky roots, doling out between-song patter with a surprisingly deep accent.
Most of his set consisted of tunes cataloguing his career as presented on the new record. He saved the "hardcore" for his encore, pulling out an acoustic version of "I Sang Dixie" and wrapping up the show with his signature foot-stomping cover of the Blasters' "Long White Cadillac." The audience appreciated every nook and cranny of Yoakam's country world with equal fervor.
Whatever road he takes us on, though, Yoakam's gift is his voice. As true live as it is on record, his distinctive nasal twang is what affords him the luxury of moving back and forth between country genres. Yoakam has never claimed to be a new traditionalist after all; that tag was hung on him many years ago.
In the end, Dwight Yoakam quickly disappeared into the darkness. A roadie deftly removed Yoakam's guitar from his shoulder as he exited the stage, leaving his crack band to wrap up "Long White Cadillac." It was country showbiz, in a big way, aping the stars of Nashville's golden age. The crowd left happy. Yoakam's entertaining show was a long way from the grittiness of his early, ground-breaking bar gigs, but given the alternatives of mainstream country and mainstream rock and roll, music fans could do much worse than Dwight Yoakam.
