Fred Eaglesmith (Club Helsinki, 3/31/01)
By Seth Rogovoy

(GREAT BARRINGTON, Mass., April 1, 2001)- Fred Eaglesmith may just be middle-America's answer to Jimmy Buffett. Judging from his standing-room-only show at Club Helsinki on Friday night, he certainly has the devoted fan base, people whom he lovingly called "Fredheads" - a takeoff on the Grateful Dead's Deadheads, perhaps by way of Buffett's "parrotheads."

And just as Buffett mines a particular world-view stemming in large part from the social geography and behavior of Florida, so does Eaglesmith limit himself to a particular socio-economic strata. In his case, it's wherever there is a wrong side of the tracks, a home to rusty pickup trucks, mobile homes, and as he sings about in the aptly-titled "White Trash," Johnny Cash on eight-track.

It is a world that Eaglesmith portrays with equal parts loving tenderness, intimate familiarity, and a hefty dose of humor. But the humor is always subtle, and never comes at the expense of the world itself, but rather at individual characters and their unreliability as chroniclers of their own woe.

In concert, this plays out as a hyper-charged, rollicking ride through country- and roots-flavored acoustic rock songs peppered with mandolin, electric guitar, steel guitar, dobro, harmonica and junkyard percussion. Indeed, the main role of one of Eaglesmith's six musicians is to be a walking human junkyard. "Washboard Hank," as he is called, was Eaglesmith' s sidekick onstage Friday night. From the steel helmet on his head which he banged like a drum, to the hotel desk bell right above his eyes, down to his homemade washboard with cow bells, pot lids and assorted other found objects, Hank was a magnet's dream as well as a comic foil to Eaglesmith. If you didn't listen closely, you could easily mistake Eaglesmith's ballads and midtempo rock anthems for ordinary heartland stuff. The gospel and bluegrass harmonies, the lead guitar licks and the chugging rhythms were all well-played and authentic.

The songs themselves contain many of the usual suspects you find in heartland country, too. Hardly a line goes by in a Fred Eaglesmith song that doesn't contain a train, truck, car, gun, can of beer or a jilted lover. But what distinguishes an Eaglesmith song from just about anything else around is the narrative twist that usually takes place about two-thirds of the way through, when you realize the ordinary story you started out hearing is actually being told by someone who has already been pushed beyond the limits of what is socially acceptable.

Sometimes, the narrator's unreliability is a little more obvious from the get-go. Eaglesmith threw himself into "Time to Get a Gun" with gusto, and if one wasn't listening too carefully one might have concluded that this was an NRA rally.

In fact the song is a sendup, albeit subtle, of the mentality that thinks the answer to being pushed too far by social and political trends is to turn oneself into a private militia.

Other highlights included "Big Ass Garage Sale," which was being held to raise money for mom's bail (during intermission, fans could purchase authentic "Big Ass Garage Sale" tag-sale signs).

"Alternator" was a double-time honky-tonk number about car trouble ("Might be the alternator/Could be the coil"). "Good Enough" was an angry lament over an upwardly mobile ex-girlfriend. "I was good enough when she was on parole," sang the narrator, who poked fun at her newfound, uppity behavior, like wearing "store-bought clothes."

Eaglesmith had his more serious moments, too. "Alcohol and Pills" catalogued the pointless waste that has afflicted the likes of Hank Williams, Elvis Presley, Janis Joplin, Gram Parsons and Jimi Hendrix. "The story just goes on and on/And I guess it always will/They ended up on alcohol and pills," sang Eaglesmith very matter-of-factly.

Throughout his show, which reportedly lasted until close to 1:30 a.m. (I left around midnight), Eaglesmith peppered the crowd with good-natured asides and repartee to match his material. He jammed with his bandmates from the dance floor in a show that Fredheads on the Internet are already calling one of his best ever.

[This review originally appeared in the Berkshire Eagle on April 2, 2001. Copyright Seth Rogovoy 2001. All rights reserved.]