Bruce Robison Brings Country to the Cactus Cafe

I should have been in Galveston Friday evening, catching Drew Kennedy and Rodney Hayden at the legendary Old Quarter before they headed off to Europe, but my partner in crime wasn’t in town. Instead, I was flying solo and zipped through the rain to catch a Bruce Robison show at the intimate Cactus Cafe. So I took the time to rub it in Brody’s face, since he was probably traipsing across the West Texas desert and sleeping with the coyotes and tarantulas somewhere.

Good tunes blared from the radio as I made the drive, almost making me not want to step out into the rain. “Rusty Cage” by Johnny Cash, followed by Hayes Carll’s “Beaumont,” but alas, commercials did the experience in and the Cactus beckoned, or rather, the restroom first, and the combination proved irresistible.

It’s kind of hard to be a singer-songwriter and not look up to, much less know, Bruce Robison. At least that’s how the opening act, Jenny Reynolds, put it. She’s no slouch on the guitar and breezed through a six song acoustic set, providing witty banter, gushing about Robison, and coming across as a little anxious, despite having done the singer-songwriter deal for awhile.

The crowd was calling for a happy song after her first three, so Reynolds played what she called a protest song titled “Simple Man,” saying she only had one hoot, which she saved until the end. And if “Whiskey and Pie” isn’t a hoot, I don’t know what is.

Shortly after Reynolds’ set ended, Bruce Robison made his way through the crowd, looking like he’d come straight from a ranch. He sported a short beard–he said his wife had only noticed it the day before despite the scruff looking a few weeks old–wore jeans and a dirty-blue Western shirt. Accompanied by his clean cut band (steel, electric guitar, keys), they provided a clear contrast, making claims that he’s 7 feet tall seem less like an exaggeration and more like the truth.

Continuing the singer-songwriter trend started by Reynolds, Robison said he had sad songs and slightly faster sad songs. He opened with three of them that included “Lifeline” and “Desperately,” before unveiling a new one. He followed that up with “When It Rains” and a rollickin’ truckin’ song, afterwards proclaiming that he wasn’t folkin’ it up enough when he spotted Griff Luneberg, the revered manager whose name has become synonymous with the Cactus Cafe over the past 26 years.

Later on, Robison said he secretly thinks Luneberg doesn’t get enough country in the establishment, so he had to make sure he got his quota. After launching into a cover of “Ridin’ My Thumb to Mexico,” Luneberg brought him a glass of whiskey personally, which is what Robison was vying for all along.

He said he was missing brother Charlie before playing “Rayne, Louisiana,” and played “Larosse” by request, then told a a few stories, including one about his wife, Kelly Willis, talking him into turning down a request by a group to record “Not Forgotten You” so she could record it herself (which she did splendidly). The group, though, was the Dixie Chicks and they wanted it for an album called Wide Open Spaces, which went on to sell “like 20 million copies.” For his part, Robison admitted he was still recovering from that, so we’ll forgive him if his numbers are slightly off.

After 12 songs to start the evening, he took a 20 minute break, but returned with a punch, opening the second set with a new song called “The Ballad of Houston McCoy.” Forty-three years ago, on August 1, 1966, a sniper ascended “The Tower” and shot 46 people, killing 14. It was a spine-tingling experience to listen to Robison sing about the incident and the officer–Houston McCoy, who killed the sniper–while we sat in the shadow of the building where it took place.

He lightened the mood with “The Hammer,” then went into “Travelin’ Soldier.” Someone requested “Drivin’ All Night Long,” a song of his covered by Jack Ingram in the movie Black Dog, featuring Meat Loaf and Randy Travis, which Robison sheepishly admitted he had high hopes for, but it didn’t meet his expectations.

When “Angry All the Time” came up, he recounted how the song was written for a female and Faith Hill had discovered the song and wanted to record it, but Tim McGraw pulled the trigger first. While I like the McGraw version, it does make more sense from the female perspective.

Robison ended the show with his “only sing-a-long” song, “Wrapped,” which wasn’t entirely true, but the audience played along and sang the whole thing. They weren’t going to let him leave that easily, though, and enthusiastically earned their encore. Seemingly without expending any effort, Robison captivated listeners like an old pro. Why Nashville isn’t tripping all over themselves to raid his albums–when so many have already had success with his material–is beyond me.

Luneberg requested “Tonight” for starters and Robison closed the evening with “Poor Man’s Son.” And with that, the rain had passed.