Fake Mustaches, Taco Bell, Critters and Country-Folk Resistance In Deep Ellum

Or, how I had my weary pre-election heart soothed for a night.

Willi Carlisle and co. being rowdy n’ righteous at Dada (photo by Jonny Auping)

By Natalie

Willi Carlisle's four-piece band came out in what looked like paper maché animal masks, and together unfurled a banner with a simple message: Welcome. "Welcome" was indeed the feeling at Club Dada in Dallas on Sunday night, with the small room just full enough to feel lively with people who could not have been happier to be there. The old-time close harmonies started with vintage precision, and we were off for nearly two hours of dynamic, sincere and emphatic country music that wore its radical inclusivity on its sleeve.

Dada is one of the most storied remaining venues in Deep Ellum, the city's biggest nightlife district and one much more closely associated with punk, rock and hip-hop than contemporary Americana — so the show was something of a rare treat for locals. (Willi's peers tend to most often get booked at Tulips in Fort Worth, a great venue that nevertheless necessitates a 45-minute drive for Dallasites.) It is a neighborhood, though, that has always been associated with outsider culture — most often (and unfairly), because it has been a hub of Black music and community, though its punk scene was also notable. In that sense, Carlisle and Creekbed Carter Hogan, his opening act, fit in perfectly, expressing both musically and in their onstage banter a fearless, uncompromising vision of a better world deep in the heart of Texas.

There is a real risk in that, one certainly felt more deeply in a state that has been turned into a political laboratory for how conservatives across the country can best consolidate power and strip away everyday people's rights. But when Hogan said he was going to start his set by drawing on his mustache (because he can't grow one), and polled the crowd on which style of mustache they would prefer, the whoops and hollers were immediate and unflinching. "Dallas, you're weird — I like you," Hogan said from the stage, and the wide array of Dallas weirdos present (some of whom looked pretty normie, by most metrics) cheered with glee. 

The music was spectacular, performed with the well-honed deftness of artists who have steeped themselves in mastering traditional American sounds. Hogan's fingerpicked guitar is hypnotic on its own, and had the whole room rapt when combined with his smart, personal songs about medieval relics, family, anticapitalism and rage. By the time they wrapped up their set with a beautiful rendition of Willie Nelson's Taco Bell jingle (no, I didn't know about it!), the line at their merch table was already forming and I would be shocked if anyone there wasn't 100% sold on their music.

Carlisle opened his set with the aforementioned bang, drawing in the crowd with "What The Rocks Don't Know" — a song that sounds about 150 years older than it is. It was welcome world-building, bringing his fans into Critterland visually and theatrically as well as musically. Prettily painted backdrops featured lines from his songs ("Love is a burden if it isn't brave") and an open big-top circus tent ("Your heart's a big tent") welcoming everyone inside. 

The lengthy set that followed was a lovely mix of spoken and musical storytelling, with just enough flashes of old-time virtuosity from the drumless ensemble (the only percussion was occasional clogging and, on one song, bones) to keep things lively. Carlisle made his intentions explicit from the outset: this was about bringing this music back to its working people's roots, about advocating for better and more and pushing against the establishment. The music made that thesis catchy and vivid, with fiddle and harmonica and accordion (for what Carlisle called an old vaquero tune, which is all I'll be referring to them as from now on) and banjo fueling the rowdy, righteous party. In "the war between the haves and the have-nots," as Carlisle sings about on "Critterland," everyone in the room was certainly together on one side and it felt fantastic. 

I wasn't taking notes, but towards the end of the show he said something like "Standing up here and singing won't fix all our problems, but it's as good a place as any to start." The feeling I (and I can only imagine, everyone else there) had walking out seems like proof positive of that philosophy. 

Anyway, this is just a thank you to Willi and Carter and all the other artists who are out here speaking truth to power; your bravery and conviction and work aren't going unnoticed. As we gear up for the next week of too much news and not enough optimism, I have the words of singer-songwriter Carsie Blanton running through my head: "They oughtta be afraid of us/Cuz the whole world is made of us."