Case's highly anticipated set—the crowd letting out a roar as the spotlight first catches the corona of her red hair—is preceded by a garrulous, yet loving, five-minute introduction. Despite the massive build and inherent expectation, she does not disappoint. The 1,100 or so patrons—it's not quite a sellout, but close enough—hang on Case's every word. She tells jokes and hurls insults, engaging in a comic banter with the crowd which, after a few minutes, is resting comfortably in the palm of her hand.
In between the patter, Case runs through much of Blacklisted, its ghostly trills and haunted laments reverberating beautifully inside the walls of the old theater. Later, she showcases her interpretive skills, remaking Dylan's "Buckets of Rain" into a merry hobo jangle, turning Hank Williams "Alone and Forsaken" into a dark night of the soul. As she goes deeper into her songbook, Case's set surges with a reckless power until all that's left is a hail of cheers and applause.
JIM NEWBERRY
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Backstage is a clusterfuck of bodies, a drunken, celebratory din permeating the walls of Case's dressing room. The tireless Pinetops pick out old mountain songs, leading everyone in boozy sing-alongs. Meanwhile, Case is greeted by a flurry of friends, fans, and well-wishers, all of them overjoyed at her symbolic coronation. Case's hardscrabble success is, in some small way, theirs, too, after all.
The night stretches out like this for hours. Case and company adjourn to a nearby bar for more dancing and drinking, eventually landing at El Presidente, a 24-hour Mexican diner on the city's North Side. After polishing off a plate of chicken mole and paying the check, Case ambles outside to find her ride—the party finally ending as everyone breaks off in different directions.
If winter weren't so near, the morning sun would already be up casting its bright, warm rays onto the freezing sidewalk. Even so, there is a brilliant, unlikely glow coming from Case's tired eyes. It's a look of hard-won satisfaction, but also of anticipation. Tomorrow, she's off to Madison and points west; next month, it's back to Europe for more dates. Then further roadwork with her myriad side projects—an endless cycle of recording, touring, and work that will stretch well into the New Year and beyond. Listening to her rattle off her commitments, it makes you wonder why Case insists on pushing herself, why she seems compelled to go at it so hard.
"I have to," she offers simply, as if moved by a force greater than words can describe.
"When I was a little girl, I never would've thought any of this was possible. Growing up, I thought I was particularly unimportant and stupid and never imagined I'd amount to anything good. So, now that I don't feel like that anymore, I'm gonna spend every minute I can not feeling like that.
"I don't feel like a worthless little girl anymore," she says, almost to herself, before striding off purposefully into the dawn, "and I'm not going to ever again."
bmehr@seattleweekly.com 
Neko Case plays the Crocodile Cafe on Thursday, Nov. 7 and Friday, Nov. 8 with Jim & Jennie and the Pinetops, plus guests. $14/$12 adv.
