Concert review: Nick Shoulders and The Okay Crawdad at Isis Music Hall

Nick Shoulders is a balladeer, a yodeler, an Arkansas ambassador. A decade ago, he managed to kick his way out of the Ozark Mountains of Fayetteville with his punk band The Thunderlizards. Once the smoke cleared, he took to the country western road, writing biting, humorous, and pining songs about his homeland and the people he knows, not to mention all the inherent ridiculousness that can be found there. 

Find him on YouTube, and he’s sitting in a tree or perched atop a rock or wandering a long-deserted tunnel, strumming his guitar and singing in a pitch long forgotten by country radio. You have to go way back to find the kind of singing Shoulders does, back as far as the 1930s and ‘40s and theatrical movie star cowpokes, back before the voices in country music got whisky-rasped and bourbon-baritoned. 

For his sold-out show at Isis Music Hall on Dec. 16, the troubadour — who has spent his share of time busking street corners with his band The Okay Crawdad — brought the whole crew with him and dispensed with the serenade in favor of saunter, with not a little sermonizing thrown in. 

“You wonder why punks and weirdos and freaks got into country music,” he said over the mass of fans. “But remember: the fiddle was once called the devil’s instrument. We have always been here!”

New Orleans-based openers The Lostines set the mood for a good ol’ night of twang wrangling with their sweetly cooed duets, crowd coquetry, and sing-alongs, laying the groundwork for Shoulders standbys like “G for Jesus” and “Lonely Like Me.” And though there wasn’t any room for the two-step in the shoulder-to-shoulder Shoulders crowd, everyone seemed primed for a real fine time. Isis, approaching the final weeks before its closing on Dec. 31, was as lively as any Asheville venue this past year, and there was a sort of roadhouse feel to the vaunted venue.

The Okay Crawdad (Grant D'Aubin on upright bass, Chelsea Moosekian on drums, and Cass P. Ian on lead guitar) were less a backing band than a tightly wound outfit for the yarns Shoulders was spinning, putting the guts into songs like “Ding Dong Daddy from Dumas,” and a reworked, backwoods cover of Blondie’s “Heart of Glass.”

There was still plenty of room, however, for Shoulders’ storied yodels and whistling, and on “Too Old to Dream,” the crowd joined in on the high-register, Slim Whitman-style keen.

Shoulders can speak for himself, though, and he does. Even with what he called an ongoing “banter wager,” where he was tasked to eschew any lines already sown in previous shows, he still had plenty to share. “I feel like the Ozarks and Appalachia have a kindred spirit,” he said, even alluding to what he calls the “strange, smashed-up sausage” of country and Cajun he oft tips into. 

Shoulders is a charmer who doesn’t take himself too seriously, both in his songs and in his onstage banter, and the energy made for a rousing yet kicked-back show. But in that charm, as in his lyrics, there’s a slyness that makes you want to check your pockets when he departs. As he said, he and his band all have records, and not the kind you put on the turntable.

“This isn’t outlaw country,” he said. “This is criminal country.” And then he grinned and got on with the show.

(Photos: Brian Postelle)