Review: The Cadillac Three, O2 Academy

Unnoticed by the mainstream media, as most good things are, there’s been an unexpected and welcome revival of interest in southern rock of late. Black Stone Cherry’s Colston Hall show next month has already sold out, and next year we can look forward to the great Blackberry Smoke. In the meantime, here’s Nashville trio The Cadillac Three, who’ve by-passed club dates to pack out the Academy on their first visit to Bristol.

First up are TC3’s Nashville chums Tyler Bryant and the Shakedown. Given talented young Mr. Bryant’s background (teenage winner of the Robert Johnson Award, recipient of the Eric Clapton seal of approval, etc), one might be forgiven for anticipating a snoozy showcase of ossified, ditchwater-dull purist blues. Mercifully, nothing could be further from the reality. These guys sure rock, and it turns out that Bryant isn’t the only great guitar player in the band. Graham Whitford (son of Aerosmith’s Brad) even gets to give it the full Freebird on occasion. Standout The House That Jack Built is itself constructed from the sturdiest of riffs. Elsewhere, they drop in some Mississippi blues and even a dash of the old standard That’s All Right – as popularised by Elvis and Led Zep.

Wildly enthusiastic drummer Caleb Crosby suffers from an amusing advanced case of Lars Ulrich/Arjay Hale itchy arse syndrome and seems quite incapable of remaining seated at his kit. He even gets a brief drum solo, which is forgivable for being performed on just the one drum that he hauls to the front of the stage. Come back soon, youthful heavy blues-rockin’ fellas.

There’s no great fanfare or grand stage production as Jaren Johnston adjusts his Whiskey Myers baseball cap at a jaunty angle and kicks off The Cadillac Three’s no-bullshit show with a rousing holler: “I’m southern/And it ain’t my fault…” Scholars will note that there are broadly three flavours of TC3 songs: anthems about how proud they are to hail from the south, and if this displeases anybody they can jolly well kiss the trio’s big, hairy redneck bottoms; celebrations of partying down, drinking whisky and puffing cigarettes, funny and otherwise; and sentimental paeans to the good lovin’ of an accommodating ol’ lady, possibly written after consuming a unwisely large quantity of whisky down south. What’s remarkable is that from these unpretentious building blocks of cliché they manage to fashion music that’s so thrilling and distinctive, with many a witty lyrical twist.

That’s partly because this is no ordinary trio. There’s no bass player on stage: just lead guitarist Johnston, drummer Neil Mason, and Kelby Ray, who handles bottom end duties on his lap steel guitar. It’s an unusual configuration, not unlike The Doors in a completely different musical context, but works a treat. Johnston’s drawl is as thick as the proverbial molasses and it’s especially enjoyable to hear the diverse Bristol crowd attempting to approximate his accent as they sing virtually every word back to him. Such are the trappings of success that he even has a baseball cap roadie to retrieve and replace the errant headgear whenever he tosses it aside or it becomes dislodged during a frenzy of rocking.

Songwise, there’s everything we could ask for, from the title track of new album Bury Me in My Boots, via the party-starting Soundtrack to a Six Pack, audience singalong favourite Tennessee Mojo and big ballad Running Red Lights to the hard rockin’ Down to the River. A particular highlight is the irresistible good ol’ boy country rap of Peace, Love & Dixie, which, Johnston reveals, was inspired by watching Richard Linklater’s brilliant Dazed and Confused on their tour bus. And who hasn’t come away from that film thinking: “Guess we was born, years too late…”? He also finds time to bitch about having to cover Live Wire rather than Dr. Feelgood on the Nashville Outlaws’ Motley Crue tribute album (“Give me something with a riff, man”).

Tyler Bryant and his Shakedown troop back on to join the headlining trio for the first song of an extended encore: a cover of Tom Petty’s Honey Bee performed by a superabundance of hairy southern gentlemen, with TC3 generously taking something of a back seat. Then it’s time for the lovely White Lightning followed, inevitably, by that self-mythologising anthem of Sweet Home Alabama proportions, The South, which leaves the entire audience chanting: “This is where I was born and this is where I’ll die.” The sentiment seems a tad less romantic if you were born in Bedminster, but it’s that kind of night.

All pix by John Morgan

Read more: Metal & Prog picks: November 2016