Chairman Ralph's Ministry Of Truth

Wrapping my head around the phrase "new normal" has never felt righ to me. It's one of those classic oxymorons -- like "military intelligence," for instance, or "Sears cocktail dress" -- that pepper our lexicon, but fall apart when you think harder about what they actually mean. Yes, we're hunkered down in our various bunkers, venturing only when we must -- mostly, to get whatever ready cash, or household staples, we think we need. (I never thought I'd witness a run on one of mine -- French fries, of all things. Seeing all those empty spaces where the Ore Ida and Our Family bags once sat jammed together still boggles my mind.)

We're doing these things, of course, because we're caught up in a pandemic that makes literary scenarios like "The Masque Of The Red Death" -- or the modern version, Stephen King's The Stand -- seem like a kiddie picnic. Hearing King pooh-poohing comparisons to his 1978 novel ("It's not anywhere near as serious") feels downright surreal, too, to put it mildly, though the interest in more recent fare, like Contagion (2011), is apparently spiking a roaring demand on pirate sites.  The brakes have slammed on virtually every aspect of the economy, with the world map turning a brighter, angrier shade of scarlet red, and no discernible exclamation mark in sight. Yes, it's new, all right, but what feels normal about any of that crap? Case closed. Defense rests.

Only a couple weeks ago, we got a glimpse of the real "new normal," in White Summer's return -- or "encore concert," as the band called it -- to the DANK, the second marker of what we might now call the post-Jimmy Schrader era. (See my entry below for my further thoughts on this score.) Drummer-vocalist Jimmy Watkins returned, along with original co-founder, Rick Lowe, with his wife and son, Edie and Matt, rounding out the lineup -- all of whom sing, and swap on guitar and bass -- for what ended up as a night of double-barreled rock 'n' roll, with a few surprises along the way, as always.

That feeling became apparent right from the start of the second set, when I arrived, to find the band blasting through "Two More Bottles Of Wine," by Delbert McClinton, and recorded by Emmylou Harris in 1978. But there's no tender country-rock treatment going on here; in White Summer's hands, the song turns into a galloping guitar fest, with Matt Lowe leading the way, and Edie turning in a gutsy lead vocal, one that suits its subject, of the romantically shafted Everyman ("Oh my baby moved out and left me behind/But it's all right, 'cause it's midnight,/And I got two more bottles of wine").

Suitably primed, the band then dives into heavier, rockier territory, with extended, energetic strip minings of "Nasty Dogs And Funky Kings," and "That Smell." Watkins takes the vocal on the former, as he's often done on past ZZ Top covers, while Matt Lowe leads the charge on the latter, by Lynyrd Skynyrd, peeling off mile-a-minute leads underneath what ranks (after, say, "Chinese Rocks," or the infamous Wings twofer, "Medicine Jar," and "Wino Junko") among rock 'n' roll's most harrowing descriptions of drug abuse committed to tape ("Say you'll be all right come tomorrow/But tomorrow might not be here for you"). Having seen White Summer play this song several times, it's always a highlight for me, as the band never fails to capture the undertow of lyrical menace, beneath the driving riff that powers it ("Ooh, that smell, the smell of death surrounds you"). 

The Southern rock mood continues with a Watkins-led trip through another Skynyrd song, "A Simple Man," and arguably, its best-known anthem, after "Free Bird," and "Sweet Home Alabama," one that carries an equally somber heft, given the 1977 plane crash tragedy that ended the original band's run ("Oh, take your time, don't live too fast/Troubles will come and they will pass"). Just as quickly, however, the mood turns on a dime, though, with "Last Chance" -- an original song co-written by Schrader, which appeared on the band's last album, in 1990. (For those who want to shop and compare, as they say, the original version is posted on Watkins's YouTube channel: https://www.youtube.com/user/tallhandsomegenius/videos?view=0&sort=dd&shelf_id=0.)

It's tough, unsentimental, slow-burning blues-rock ("Last chance, what can I do?/Last chance, can I hold on for you?"), and -- to these ears, at least, sounding like the sleeper that Stevie Ray Vaughan never got around to writing -- which Rick Lowe delivers with plenty of attitude of burn, serving as a reminder of what White Summer could have achieved in the bigger rock 'n' roll scheme of things, if somebody had done, say, I don't know...actually woken up and given them a break, or something. But I digress.

The mood shifts yet again, with Rick Lowe leading the band through the Police's last big hit, "Every Breath You Take," which stays faithful to the original vibe -- only with a slightly heavier guitar skirting underneath it. Edie Lowe then returns to the mike for another spirited, guitar-driven look at "Done," The Band Perry's humorous country-pop kiss-off to an ex-lover who's crossed the line a few times too often for comfort ("I don't wanna be your just for fun/Don't wanna be under your thumb/All I wanna be is done, done"). It's essentially the night's sole country-rock number, aside from "Peaceful Easy Feeling" (featured in the first set), but again, offering up another reminder of White Summer's ability to tackle whatever song strikes its fancy.

The rock fever returns with a vengeance, as the finish line beckons ever so closer, as the pairing of "Stone Free" and "Shooting Star" exemplifies, with plenty of six-string rubber burned on the former, while the Lowes' vocal frontline achieves a killer harmonic blend on Bad Company's summary of fallen fortune 'n' fame...only Johnny's descent into the valleys of rock 'n' roll hell ("Don't you know that you are a shooting star?/And all the world will love you just as long/As long as you are") never sounded quite this crunchy, exactly.

But those blistering leads provide all the incentive for the dance floor to fill up again, and stay that way, during the final two songs, "Her Strut" (Bob Seger), which makes its original cousin sound well-mannered and polite, in comparison, and "Home In My Hand," Foghat's 1974 ode to the road ("Well, I got my home in my hand - travelin' across the land,/Tryin' to earn a living, givin' everything I can"), with the Lowes wringing out every last ounce of sweat from those chug-chug-a-chug-chug guitar lines that help it drive home -- and with that, it's over, after one last wash of feedback.

The house lights come up, the crowd calls for more. For a brief moment or two, the prospect of an encore hangs in the balance, only to flicker out almost as quickly. But the point's been made, and the mission accomplished, with all sorts of possibilities rearing up. Maybe more original music? I, for one, would like to hear it, especially in this climate of major bands touring behind full albums they recorded 20, 30, and 40 years ago. Maybe a deeper dive through power pop nuggets from the late '70s and early '80s (as I've also suggested). 

Maybe, perhaps, if only...we'll just have to see what the future holds. (Or, as Keith Moon told an interviewer, not long before he passed, about whether the Who would attempt full scale touring again: "Let's not count it out, but let's not put it too high on the agenda.") Hopefully, it'll include more frequent shows, which is something we can look forward to...whenever our current bout of cabin fever finally breaks, and the real new normal returns.