LUCERO
The Fleece, Bristol | November 27th
As Movember continued to sweep the nation, Mississippians Lucero rolled into Bristol and showed up all those pathetic top-lip sprinklings for the charlatans they are. This is proper fucking hairy, mate.
The band’s reputation for a unique merging of alternative country, punk and southern rock has been nurtured across a career spanning over ten years. It’s not hard to see why they’re still considered largely peerless. Teasing out moody, dusky melodies and widescreen country haze, playing each lick with incredible expertise, Lucero have spent more time playing their instruments than your favourite band, unless your favourite band is Lucero. Or Pink Floyd.
Their evocative Deep South hymns dart from a paean to a lost lover to the soundtrack to a bourbon-soaked bar brawl, transportative liquor-store reflections, 12-bar stomps and clap-along Wurlitzer boogies that you could probably enjoy a jolly old fuck to. The presence of Todd Beene’s pedal steel adds layers of traditional authenticity, while lead guitarist Brian Venable eases out the most delicate and pensive lines, with the most brutal, sturdy arms.
As evidenced in the crushingly sincere lovesong to your guitar My Best Girl, despite their none-more-gruff exteriors (it’s hard to imagine vocalist Ben Nichols ordering a panini or getting his photos developed in his sandblasted drawl), these boys are hard-drinkin’ but soft cuddlin’. “I don’t know if I’m homesick or what, but all I wanna do is sing sad songs and drink a whole lot of whiskey” he croaks as the stage is stripped to him alone, while the remainder of the band nip out for a smoke. As he plays requests from a persistently generous sambuca-provider, Nichols has the generously filled venue drawn together as one, sucked into the distant, romantic world of this very special band.
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Words: Geraint Davies
Photos: Lucia Harding
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