On Sunday, August 15, William Elliott Whitmore, the tattooed, finger picking, friendly, grinning, whiskey-shooting, traveling troubadour, brought his brand of country-blues-gospel-folk-guitar rock to Off Broadway all the way from his farm in Iowa. Whitmore took the stage after openers Muscle Worship and the local band Strawfoot.
Whitmore dutifully hung out near the stage for both opening bands and cheered them on with a fervor rarely seen from headlining acts. He loves the camaraderie and the togetherness, a notion Whitmore commented upon like a preacher celebrating unity before a house full of the faithful.
Whitmore leapt up on stage and with his 100-year-old mountain man voice launched into an a cappella version of “Cold and Dead,” a track from his debut record ‘Hymns for the Hopeless.’ Whitmore’s singing was met with cheers and hoots from the crowd who sloshed and swayed to the song like blessed converts. Next came the rollicking, stomp laden “Lift My Jug.” Everyone hoisted their glasses to the ceiling, careened their heels into the wood floor and crooned right along with Whitmore, who churned out a more impassioned and energetic performance than the version found on ‘Ashes To Dust.’
Between songs, Whitmore would often stand up from his stool and stride around the stage like a coyote possessed with Duende energy, to shake hands and thank the crowd copiously. At one point, the swarthy Whitmore, who between songs cursed and drank like a bandit pirate, noticed there were some kids in the audience. He said, “Hello,” and tried to stop cursing, but as the night and the booze wore on, Whitmore’s excuse hilariously, became “the flood gates are already open.” Whitmore, no doubt, knows how true this is, not only for this specific blasphemous situation, but also for American culture both economically and spiritually.
“Diggin’ My Grave,” “The Day the End Finally Came,” and “Hell or High Water,” all slid by with a palpable diligence from Whitmore, whose lyrics, vocals, and strumming struck the audience near dumb. All they could do was whistle, sip, or sway with the heart-on-the-sleeve, work-a-day trueness of Whitmore’s music, who during “Hard Times” sang, “Hard times made us, you know that…and I would not trade them all for anything.” The audience, who most likely were on course to sink nails, move earth, drive trucks, serve drinks, serve tables, answer phone calls, guard a desk, or fill out rueful paper work the following day lapped it up like sentiment-hungry buffalo.
Whitmore played the crowd well, but it was he who fed off their collected, power-packed energy. The anti-police attitude conveyed in “Johnny Law,” brought the audience to an impassioned roar. They raised their hands skyward and mimicked being cuffed, as Whitmore’s loud vocals were almost lost in the caterwaul and singing along.
Whitmore gave and gave some more, playing around 23 songs in an epic two-hour set. At the end of it all, the crowd was still starving for more, but the proprietors of the wonderful Off Broadway brought the house lights up and demanded everyone depart. All that the sweaty and beaming Whitmore could do was shake hands and say, “Sorry, I’ve played too long,” to which every audience member wished to reply, “If only it could go on forever.”
Whitmore’s shows are transcendent, powerful, rowdy, and pulse with an energy rarely seen in today’s concert world. Please, for the sake of art, eardrums, good music, community, and love of life, get out and see William Elliott Whitmore. He is a gentleman, a musical genius, and quite possibly the strongest uniter of crowds in music today.
By William Kyle