I'm a lucky person. I love music and in my time I've had the chance to see and hear the best guitar players there are. From New Orleans to Chicago, from Nashville to New York, from Memphis to LA, I've heard them all. And I can say the best, the absolute best, is DB Bryant. Let me break it down all logic like for you, in a classic A + B = C.
A = I've heard the best guitar players in the world.
B = DB Bryant is better than any of them.
C= DB Bryant is the best guitar player in the world.
Isn't math fun? Are you getting it? You have the chance to see the best guitar player in the world, the best I'm aware of ever existing, if you move your carcass from in front of a monitor to an actual live show. A show like what went down at the Freedom Bikefest.
We pulled into the field and parked our harleys. The signs were all there that we had come to the right place, that we were going to be in for some 180 proof Southern Rock. But I had to make sure.
So I walked up to the largest food vendor and said, "I'd like a toasted bagel and a mocha latte." The vendor reached under the table, pulled out a sawed off shotgun and cocked it. I said, "Just kidding, can y'all give me some barbeque?" The shotgun went back down - I was in redneck country.
Now, was this a real rally? Let's see:
1. Biker gang colors - check!
2. T-shirt and leather clothes vendors - check!
3. 300 pound women in boots, shorts and bikini tops - check!
4. Beer - no! (holy shit, it was BYOB - they need to fix that next year)
5. Average length of men's hair longer than women's - check!
Ok, that's 4 out of 5, close enough.
The crowd was lighter than expected, due mostly to the thunderstorms over the weekend, but this gave us a chance to move right to the front. After listening to some of the early bands, we were primed and ready. Of course, we were prepared for what was about to happen when DB let loose, but many rednecks were not as we saw no fear in their eyes even though Paul had generated a sonic boom testing his bass drum, and the tubes in DB's amps were glowing, ready to be taken off the leash. Finally the go signal came.
DB's Marshall Plexis fired up, Willie set off the bass, and Paul detonated with his one drum concept. The assault was on.
DB Bryant Opens Fire on the
Crowd
It was clear DB was on his game right
from the start. Within thirty seconds, I saw DB play his
guitar with 14 different parts of his body, and he never
missed a note. In his trademark way, he burns up the
fretboard but unlike other players he's not absorbed in
that. Even though he's playing so fast he can actually
complete a 30 note solo before the first sound wave leaves
the stage, he's always looking out at the crowd, connecting
with his victims, er, I mean audience.
As DB fired his Fender Weapon of Melodic Destruction, the
crowd came to life. Rising from lawn chairs, lifting
themselves from bar stools, raising sweaty heads from
picnic tables, they came forth like a tide of leather and
denim, toward the stage, seeking Sonic Salvation.
But the Sermon of Soul was just beginning. Now, rednecks
are not known for their dancing, but they are known for a
complete disregard for whatever the hell other people
think, so there they were, in the grass dancing their asses
off (ok, not really, there were some pretty big ones out
there - there'd have to be one loooong song to dance that
ass off if you know what I'm saying). Pretty quickly,
people got a grip on the fact that they were seeing
something special, something they hadn't seen before. It's
called talent, and unfortunately God only gave it to a few
people.
Yes, it was clear DB had been sent down from Rock Heaven to
atone for our sins of listening to processed, synthesized,
corporate muzak. And atone he did, sweeping notes off the
fretboard and slamming them into the craniums of the
reveling rednecks. This was rock the way God intended:
soul-charging, ear-blowing, foot-stomping. The Sound of the
South.
But it wasn't all good news. As DB blasted razor-sharp
riffs through his wireless strat, one guy dared look
directly at DB's guitar during a solo in "Back to the
Country." Before anyone could do anything, the guy's face
melted completely off.
This Solo is
Hot!
DB gave a nod to the fallen listener and then carried on.
"Your face wasn't the first to
melt and it won't be the last."
And on the evening went. This was good
stuff, the kind of music that makes you glad to be alive,
and glad to be an American, no matter where you come from
or what you do. Sometimes, with all the bad news you hear,
it can be hard to keep the flag up in your heart, and to
remember that we've got a heritage too.
But it's not hard to remember those things when you hear
music like this. This show was about musicians with extreme
talent playing songs that carry the heritage of
independence, self-reliance, and the ability, if you've
been knocked down ten times, to get up eleven. If all you
did was listen and holler a little, well you were there and
part of it, and that's worth something - worth a lot.
And if you made the mistake of thinking
you could mentally handle directly facing one of DB's
searing hot symphony of solos, it was your face that paid
the price.
"DB, you missed
one!"
"Got
him!"
I
don't know how to say it any plainer. If you weren't where
we were Saturday night, you weren't having as much fun as
you could have been having. If you're not convinced by now
that seeing the DB Bryant Band is the best investment you
can make with your musical minutes, then you should check
yourself into the nuthouse, stat. Of course you're free to
disagree with me, but only because you have the right to be
wrong.
To find out when the DB Bryant Band is coming to a place
near you, check out their website.
www.dbbryant.com
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