Sharing the Lonely Spotlight

by J.Thomas Perdue

On par with the Arch and the Chapel Bell, the Georgia Theatre is one of the geographical cultural pillars of Athens, Georgia. Its white marquee adorned with red letters and bright flashing lights is certified iconic in a town that has been defined by its popular music over several decades.

On February 26, the Theatre hosted a diverse audience, evolving as the night went on, to three distinct troubadours of country and bluegrass. Kendell Marvel, Chris Shiflett and Elizabeth Cook split time performing to a half-seated, half-drunk audience, which added almost as much to the experience as the performers.

Marvel was the first of the three to play. The crowd was still filing in as he exhibited songs from his first solo album, "Lowdown and Lonesome." While new to touring solo, Marvel is a veteran songwriter. Indeed, he has written for popular country singers such as George Strait, Jamey Johnson and Chris Stapleton. He recounted his long career as a songwriter, and addressed his album, lamenting, “I guess country music has been so shitty, I couldn’t bring myself to jump in on my own until I was in my late forties.”

"Lowdown and Lonesome" is as its title suggests. Marvel’s set list is a journey of emotional solitude, accented by his appearance: bald, goateed, aging, dressed in black and playing alone in the spotlight. He transitions between high and low energy. The title track is a rocker that gets the crowd going, but his deep, twanging voice is best displayed in the smooth and somber tracks, like “Gypsy Woman.”

By the time Marvel’s set ends, the crowd is as big as it’s going to get. A man steps in front of me, trips, partially spills his beer and then departs upon realizing he’s blocking several people’s views. The front of the crowd is seated. They are mostly couples aged forty to sixty. There are a few who appear to be connoisseurs of the genre, and others on date nights. Behind them are college students, Theatre staff and merchandise salesmen. I sit sandwiched between them, and I’m able to observe them due to the brief transition when the lights turn on and Willie Nelson songs fill the sound void over the speakers.

Next up is Chris Shiflett. In contrast to Marvel’s lonesome Texas biker look, he is dressed like Lieutenant Dan. He wears a green jacket, headband, and fuller beard. His style of country is different, calling down elements of “California psychedelic,” as he put it, in his first few songs. Shiflett is perhaps better known as a long-time guitar player for the Foo Fighters, making this an interesting setting for him. He is well-versed in grunge/post grunge, punk rock, the aforementioned psychedelic, and apparently country. It appears to be nothing short of a full-blown persona for Shiflett. He’s not a character actor, he’s a split personality.

In this instance, Shiflett exhibits his new album, West Coast Town. His set list is filled with nostalgia and reverence for lessons learned. There’s the soulful, cautionary “Fool’s Gold,” the catchy, Old Crow-esc “West Coast Town,” a song written for his son titled “Your First Heartache,” and the energetic kiss-off, “I Thought You’d Never Leave.”

As Shiflett exits stage right, the crowd is much more talkative, and in some cases, rowdy. I feel someone leaning on my back. I ignore it, thinking someone leaned over to pick up a dropped phone or beer. It persists. The man behind me, about fifty, has fallen asleep, so his buddy and I rouse him as a fourth party approaches, two plastic cups of water in hand.

Elizabeth Cook comes out dressed in a red, polka-dotted onesie with long tassels. She too will play alone. As she addresses the crowd, I hear a loud bump. My new friend has adopted a starfish position on the floor of the Georgia Theatre. He is only able to lift his arms up helplessly for assistance, like a baby wanting out of his crib, and mouth what I believe is “I’m so sorry” from his drooling mouth. His friend and I oblige, this time telling him to stay put.

Cook came to moderate fame as an XM radio DJ and a frequent guest on "Late Night." She reminds me of Dolly; somebody mentions an early Miranda Lambert. After her first song, she addresses a heckler, “I didn’t come here to f-ckin’ talk to you.”

Her set is comprised of a good deal of love songs, heartbreak songs and some tongue-in-cheek humor. She also includes peppy, girl-power anthems “Big Georgia Woman” and “Sometimes It Takes Balls to Be a Woman” (from her 2007 album Balls).

This show was certainly more introspective, rowdy, lonesome and fun than most people get on a Tuesday night. But that’s one of the beauties of a music town, and among those, Athens is hardly rivaled. Spectacles come in many forms, often within the same building, and I saw quite a few at the Georgia Theatre. Despite my moral accomplishment of not getting fall-down drunk, I felt humbled to get to know three thoughtful country artists, and to witness a show from one of the South’s most venerable halls.