Alcohol is the great equalizer. It can make a smarter person stupid, make an ugly girl (or guy) exponentially better looking, and make your worst enemy your best friend. It can also make you make a slew of other stupid decisions – but can it make Dierks Bentley and his motley crew of openers sound good? To find the answer to this question I set out with my friend Steve (name has been changed) to find the answer as well as chronicle the adventure that was to be the ETSU Homecoming 2006 concert.
There is a shirt that reads “Country Music Is Dead” across the chest and “Johnny Cash 1932-2003” on the back. To me and my friend Steve nothing could be truer. I always wonder what has happened to country music, the music that spoke of the hard working man in relatable terms that didn’t turn to clichs of your wife leaving with your dog – the songs my grandpa and dad use to play, the country music that no one in my generation ever got to hear.
I guess in a way the Wal-Mart country that is out there today relates to people but I think it is on a baser level. The clichs that are sprinkled throughout its lyrics like horny frat boys at a kegger seemingly could speak to any lower income family or someone that likes to drink or anyone who considers himself (or herself) to be a hillbilly.
In an attempt to have a good time and in the spirit of true country Steve and myself went to Amigo for their $2 beer and their assortment of other fine liquors. In an effort to keep an accurate record I abstained and instead partook of some delicious quesadillas and ketchup-covered tacos. Two-hours, an embarrassing run in with a friend’s parents, two margaritas (6 shots of tequila), one Jack and Coke (3 shots of Jack Daniels), 2 shots of Jagermeister and a 32-ounce beer later Steve finds himself cutoff and shit-faced.
After walking (well, Steve kind of stumbled) to the Mini-Dome and masking Steve’s breath with gum the adventure (of sorts) began. To start the show the Randy Rogers Band began trying to rock out, as best they could, with their rock star (in ’95) chic shiny half-way buttoned up shirts with chest hair creeping out.
While their gooney-looking guitarist stage left hit on the zaftig girl in the front, Steve began to wander into the standing area in front of the stage. He then said something to a couple of underage girls in the best country-hooker outfits and walked away with a crooked smile on his face and sat down. Steve then bored with the entire situation, got up during “Kiss Me In the Dark” and began to search for the bathroom. After an exhaustive search for the facilities he tried to take his seat again only to be railroaded by the security staff. Not knowing what to do Steve wandered over next to the deaf attendees and sat beside them in the handicapped seating.
After the Randy Rogers Band finished their lackluster set which nobody seemed to care about, the 2003 Nashville Star finalist Miranda Lambert took to the stage to an unsurprising cheer from the large crowd. After a few songs Steve looked to me and simply said, “Man she isn’t that good at singing but I’d lay the pipe to her.” While I don’t agree with the latter part of Steve’s statement, I do agree with the former. Backed by a mlange of misfit Nashville studio musicians, one with a Mohawk (leaving me to wonder when mowhawks stopped being punk rock and became country), Lambert banged out tunes that echo the sentiments of seemingly every Wal-Mart country act.
In two songs Lambert spoke of shooting men with some sort of gun – which leaves me wondering where the protesters were for this student concert. Christian groups on campus and a slew of other people were offend by Ludacris’ misogyny yet everyone was pleased with Lambert shooting some guys – maybe I was the only one in attendance who noticed or cared.
Steve seemed completely oblivious to everything at this point, except the girls sitting in front of us. Doing his best impression of a drunk James Dean Steve started doing what every drunk white guy does – listing everything he had to drink to these girls. Surprisingly the girls actually seemed amused by his drunken antics. When one of the girls went to the bathroom Steve then tried to convince me that the one “hott girl” wanted my “rod.” “Come on dude, this girl is all over your stuff man. Don’t be afraid of her flavor,” Steve kept insisting.
Somewhere in this mess the crooning country bumpkin left the stage and the wait for Dierks Bentley was nearly over. Steve just sat slouched in his seat staring forward during the intermission. Steve’s disposition didn’t change much for the rest of the night. When asked what was wrong, he just turned to me and said, “This is like getting kicked in the nuts for 30 minutes and then you get a break and another person jumps in and starts kicking you for another 30 minutes.”
After the concert I didn’t talk to Steve for a couple of days. When I finally caught up with him he let me in on his thoughts on his concert experience after he sobered up. “Taking the Dierks Bentley challenge, I thought that an idling engine would sound like a classical symphony let alone a world famous touring performer,” Steve said. “Turns out that as the night wore on the sweet hum of a ’67 Chevy would have been much appreciated.” “The pre-gaming of the concert was twice as entertaining as the concert itself,” Steve said. “I am still not sure what gave me the headache, the booze or the Bentley.

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