MMJ: Prouducts of Kentucky

"It's a mystery I guess ... just the way that he sings, not the words that he says."
My Morning Jacket, The Way That He Sings




A sunny day always shines brighter on your day off. Not that I need the sun to shine. It was a glorious day despite the poor weather forecast. I had been a My Morning Jacket fan for a long time, and tonight I had tickets. During my entire four year stretch at the University of Kentucky I had failed to catch the Louisville based rockers. Inexcusable I know, especially since I was 77 miles from ground zero during their slow but steady rise to notoriety.

But no more. A source who shall remain nameless gave me a fifth of Bullet Bourbon and by 5 pm the whiskey was running warm in my blood. My friend Gus came over with a blunt rolled. We had been friends since grade school. Tonight was going to get very serious in the best way possible. We smoked and played It Still Moves top to bottom.

Joining our fellowship, Dave and a friend came by and pounded shots to catch up. I had met him through Stacey, a girl I worked with at the Cafe. They were engaged and had just had their first child together. Being a new dad, he never got out of the house. I could tell already that he was ready to tie one on. No fiance or child to worry about for the evening, he was a man on a mission.

After a quick Wendy's run we were en route to the show. Rain had already started to fall but we didn't give a shit. It was going to be an epic night no matter what. All-terrain rain jackets are a must for outdoor venues. Mine would manage to keep me dry.

We piled out of Shooter's car, thanking him for being our sober chauffeur. Taking our spot in line I realized Dave was still eating his Spicy Chicken Sandwich. Before he was half finished we had reached the ticket taker. In one quick motion that can only be described as elegant he crammed the remainder into his face, chewed and swallowed.

Once we entered we immediately got in line for beer. I'm not sure why, but I was feeling the need to pound heavily. Dave's wanton joy was the fuel to my fire. Besides, I hadn't had a day off in far too long. Might as well make the most of my freedom. Beverages procured, we found a nice spot on the lawn. It was an out door amphitheater with standing room only lawn seating and a concrete "floor" area for seats. The grassy knoll was at the perfect increasing incline so no one had a bad view.

They opened with One Big Holiday. The familiar high-hat and guitar riff sent chills down my spine. Drunken high-fives were exchanged and satisfied grins filled the crowd. Jim James came out wailing on his signature Gibson Flying V. He wore a red flannel with tie under a blue crush velvet vest. He had a six shooter holstered on his hip and the bravado to match. They followed up with Off the Record, Gideon and then I'm Amazed. They closed each with a prolonged jam that never seemed force, but necessary. Four for four and just getting started. As the rain fell Jim sang ...

"Sitting here with me and mine all wrapped up in a bottle of wine, little we can do, we gonna see it through somehow."

Joints were lit and passed. We talked to our neighbors who were in from Cincinnati. They had seen the fellas over twenty times and they said it got better every time. Dave was beside himself with excitement. At one point he began spastically dancing through the crowd, bobbing then weaving by people like Mohammad Ali.

Georgina stopped by with her mom and hung out for a song or two. Her mother was a hip, hip lady to be at MMJ. She had kind eyes and Georgina's smile; or was it the other way around? After The Way That He Sings the two of them pushed up to the front for the rowdy Lay Low. The guitars were heavy and deliberate. I never wanted to be a rock 'n' roll star more.

They were blending slow and fast tracks beautifully, it was the best set list I had ever heard. The sun had set, the lights shut off. We enticed them back on stage with lighter waving and chants of "One more song." For the encore, Jim came out in a cape that matched his vest. He pranced around stage during Wordless Chorus with six large eye balls staring at us from screens behind the band.

We missed the opening act, The Preservation Hall Jazz Band, but luckily Jim brought them out to finish their set with a New Orleans inspired cover. It ended up being a ten minute session culminating with vehement dueling guitar solos and a Jazz Band member smashing his acoustic on stage. A final release of enthused passion. The heat and chemistry between everyone on stage was palpable.

At this point Gus had taken a very wide stance on the hill to keep his drunken frame upright. He was holding a half empty beer that was piss warm. He'd been clutching it for the last five songs and hadn't taken a sip; it was more a prop at this point then anything. He was in a bad way but still kicking despite his inebriation.

On the way out I talked to a kid in UK gear that I happened to be standing next to. He was up from Lexington for the show. On a whim we started a "C-A-T-S" cheer, Kentucky's equivalent to "O-H ... I-O". Randomly 20-30 people in the crowd joined us. It felt good to have my alma mater repping in my home town. Wildcat love was in the air. We cabbed it back to my place and went our separate ways, able to check another quality band of our bucket lists.


-J.R.