The faces at Miranda Lambert’s show at John Paul Jones Arena were not the usual ones seen at a Charlottesville music venue. Harley Davidson tank-tops and Cabela’s hats were proudly on display, Southern accents were flashed and Bud Light was flowing. Whatever bubble University students inhabit was memorably burst by the Lambert crowd. The audience’s enthusiasm for the show was both electric and profoundly mystifying for neophytes to country music.
The show included two opening acts — Aubrie Sellers and Old Dominion. Sellers admitted in the middle of her set that she was a “sarcastic lady,” and she performed several funny songs, mocking the overwrought affectations of standard love tunes.
This humor was especially relevant once second act Old Dominion took the stage. This is the sort of band capable of writing a book about country songwriting clichés. It should be a warning sign if, in one song, a band sets aside time for an acoustic piano solo in which the pianist repeats the song’s four chords as block-chords. Such a solo is rarely appropriate — even in the context of an especially tear-jerking Adele song. Old Dominion, for its part, included at least three such piano solos.
However, the band’s prevailing song structure soon caved in under its own weight. The repetition and sheer predictability of this structure belied the enthusiasm feigned by its performers. These glaring flaws could, have been redeemed by imaginative songwriting. In reality, the songs were an unbroken chain of empty-calorie love songs, resting nearly exclusively on hackneyed country affectations. The music begged, and then answered the question: How many car metaphors is too many car metaphors?
It was a great relief, then, when Lambert finally took the stage. Her songwriting and general stage presence were down-to-earth. Her songs are written from the perspective of a country diva, and she played the part during the show.
“I wrote this song from the perspective of giving zero s—ts,” she said about “Heart Like Mine.”
Lambert’s songs in the set touched on heartbreak, alcoholism and mental health with an endearing sense of humor. It was easier to forgive her for the persistent gun, cigarette and car imagery due to the grace with which she sold them.
“Y’all know I’m crazy, right?” she asked midway through the show. With pink sunglasses and drink in hand, Lambert had the charisma of a Janis Joplin in her prime.
It’s doubtful whether a Miranda Lambert concert will ever be a peak destination for University students. Still, there was much to be learned from the event. That night, a country vernacular was in turn ripening and rotting, and life wasn’t taken too seriously. This show, as Lambert sang euphorically, was open to “all kinds of kinds.”
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