Live music review: Live Nation nails Two Step Inn Festival and T-Pain carried the day

When attending festivals, there’s a game of cat and mouse between security and journalists. And at the Live Nation-produced country music fest, Two Step Inn in Georgetown April 15-16, me and my media brethren bonded like a pack of wolves. I went into the gig with wholesome intentions to capture the heart and soul of the event, despite the sun’s rays beating down on me while my boots gathered layers of dust. 

Arriving at the designated parking lot, far out east at Georgetown East high school, I was impressed with the stream of buses, ready for concertgoers holding bag chairs but also looking to get rowdy. Pulling up into San Gabriel Park, I was prepared for a shit show, but I was ushered in with a fresh media wristband the color of a blue nursery.

Walking the Two Step Inn grounds, there were the countless dudes with ironic mustaches and mullets, while their girlfriends were decked out in the tried-and-true country girl uniform of short-shorts and cowboy boots. Parents regretted bringing kids, old folks fanned themselves in the sun, and more than one cowboy slugged away with two fists of ten-dollar beers, ready to spend his paycheck to catch a buzz. Passing through these groups of squared-toed hyenas, I scribbled away in my notepad, hoping to capture the essence of the festival. While David Lee Murphy strummed away into the afternoon, I was struck by how much of a 90’s grunge weaved through his sound. I’m not saying he was giving an Alice in Chains tribute, but there were plenty of Stone Gossard moments in his lead guitar player’s licks. 

Moving further into the afternoon, Tanya Tucker put on a scripted class of what it’s like to be on the country festival circuit, relying on mild chatter, thanking the audience for sticking with her as she belted out her classics. I started to test the waters of where I could get into via the backstage Press Tent. While I’m thankful for the free water, a place to charge my phone, and private bathrooms with air conditioning, I didn’t want to stand in lines up to fifty people deep for a meal. I was granted access past the general population, away from the sweaty hordes, much closer to the stage. 

Catching Travis Tritt, he didn’t mention the Bud Light thing, and no one booed him. But that’s no surprise, considering it’s a country festival. Tritt looks like your cool nana, complete with paisley shirt, giving off vibes that it’s ok to drink underage, just if you stay the night. Like Tanya Tucker, he cruised through thanking god, the military, and Georgetown for supporting him all these years. I FaceTimed with my mom. She likes his “I’m Gonna be Somebody,” and that’s fine. It’s a small joy for her. 

Despite sound and technical difficulties, Diamond Rio was a solid act for the Two Step Inn in the middle of a brutal afternoon sun, playing “Meet Me in The Middle,” and “Norma Jean Reilly.” Again, like the others from their era, the sets were old hat; they’ve been punching this clock for years, knowing what to say. By now, I regretted wearing boots as the sweat pooled. Just about every band made it a point to celebrate their love of Texas. Cliché, sure. Walking the festival grounds, there was so much Zach Bryan merch, like he’d easily sold two thousand shirts. Tyler Childers‘ merch couldn’t be compared by a country mile. (See what I did there?) 

I honestly didn’t realize how big Bryan is but given the number of twenty-somethings in his gear, he could have bought a Corvette and had change left to add a gazillion-dollar stereo aftermarket. 

Passing the tiny Chateau stage, I was ready to clown on whoever was DJing because it was all mid-00 hip hop, and so on the nose with its desperate appeal to that market that loves the country with the trap beats that I detest. But upon further inspection, as the vocals kicked in, I realized it wasn’t some cringe-fest of a DJ trying to get country girls to shake their asses. It was T-Pain doing a secret DJ set, and as I got closer to the stage, he ripped through renditions of his classics like “Apple Bottom Jeans.” Maybe 300 people caught it before his “Country Curious” set in a few hours. 

I was initially thrown off by many of the artist choices for the festival, but overall, it worked. Live Nation had paid a lot of attention to detail, just the same with reserving space for people to learn to two-step, while there was padding throughout the grounds set for people to dance. 

Making my way past the sea of those ugly dad cowboy hats with frayed edges like you’d imagine someone wearing on vacation in Cancun, I dropped into the Two Step Inn Press Tent for much-needed water and restitution from the masses, away from the bros rocking their versions of cutoff jean shorts and cowboy boots, which doesn’t look as cute as it does on the ladies, but do you, Brad. It was here where I met Melissa from KOXE, who became my accomplice over the weekend. Shenandoah was exactly like Diamond Rio and Tanya Tucker; they’re well versed in how to get people clapping and singing along due to their extensive experience through the years, so why to deviate from The Script of “it’s good to be here in Georgetown!” 

Melissa, being the firecracker whose “no” is never an answer she wants to hear, led me and some other local Austin folks through security barriers and into the high-dollar area where we managed to eat an exceptional meal and avoid the food shortages, long lines, and the brutal sun. I doubt we were supposed to be rubbing shoulders with those who spent their hard-earned money on the exclusive tickets, but my stomach thanked them for the grilled beef and salad. 

I like many of T-Pain’s hits. I follow his podcast, and after his Tiny Desk appearance, he converted me into a legit fan. And as he took the stage on Saturday, it’s easy to say that the dude dominated. Stalking back and forth, T-Pain is another old hand, but instead of charging with talking to people about loving Texas, he kept his set moving with hits like “the good life,” along with plenty of funny banter to keep the mood light, but also kinda horny. These songs are so ingrained in the public consciousness that it’s hard not to sing along, and plenty of folks did, bopping along to “Buy You a Drank.”

Returning to my spot in the high-dollar section, we girded loins for Zach Bryan. Having discovered him on a Spotify playlist, I fell in love and have kept him in rotation for months. And by the time he took the stage, the deafening roar of thirty thousand people let the young man know he was loved. From note one, everyone was all in, hollering every word. You could see on his face and in his mannerisms that even he, the artist who’s blown up, was in shock by how big this crowd was – to the point of Joe Rogan standing on the side of the stage. And as Bryan cruised through his set, he repeatedly thanked the audience out of nerves and shock. He and his backing band played like kids who had beaten the devil, and they won a secret lottery ticket, complete with infectious, genuine smiles. 

Working through his cadre of songs like “Open the Gate,” “Something in the Orange,” and “Oklahoma Smoke Show,” there were shouts of togetherness but also mumbling sadness because his lyrics are so relatable for so many. More than one person wiped a tear away because that’s what powerful music does to us – it gives us a mirror into our heartbreak. I watched the set with Laura Ord, a photographer who I’d also met Saturday. It was good to share that moment with someone whose life has also been a meat grinder like mine lately. 

Bryan brought out his friend Charles Wesely Godwin for their duet “Jamie.” I’m sad I missed Godwin’s set earlier in the day, but hangovers and heat don’t mix. I’m glad I got to see him do the song because I’ve had Godwin on repeat since and won’t make the mistake of missing him again. What was the highlight of Bryan’s performance was that for the encore, instead of making it about him, he brought the band and Godwin’s band out, too. And together, they all took turns playing a lick, one at a time, as they were called during the song “Revival.” It struck me that this is one of those dreams that every kid strumming away in a coffee shop or in their garage wishes for– that “we made it. This is ours.” And for a moment in time, in a little town north of Austin, it was theirs. 

 

Day II – The Ache of My Feet 

Because I was so amped from the first night, I wound up hanging out with my hoodlum friends at White Horse, bombing shots and chugging Lone Stars because I treat my body like a cemetery. Back in the mouth madness at Two Step Inn, it was my turn to two-fist, but cans of Liquid Death. Gliding past a phalanx of security like a pro with my tall boys of water in hand, I made a bee-line to the fancy lunch in the high-dollar area. And again, the food they laid out was incredible, with brisket, potato salad, and Brussels sprouts. Hanging with Melissa, I got to hear about her life in radio, about her son, her collection of vintage rock and roll shirts, and her views on country music at large as she navigates a world that swipes more with Spotify rather than turning their dials for new music out in Brownswood, where she lives. 

Scarfing down my meal, Clay Walker offered a respectable rendition of George Strait’s “Amarillo by Morning,” which is always a dare in Texas, where Strait is revered as The King. Midland also broke out a lot of covers and made the faux pas of saying “Austin” when the show was held in Georgetown, even if it is only a few miles north. Melissa and I caught Paul Cauthen’s set, where I tried to explain his sound, where I landed on “sleazy, lounge country.” Looking back on it, it feels wildly appropriate, given his gnarly riffs on cocaine, dirty sex, and one too many late nights. Dancing his way through his songs, Melissa looked at me, citing, “this is some funky, eclectic shit, man.” I hoisted my Liquid Death in agreement. Paul Cauthen was living his best life that Sunday. 

When Winona came out, she came out swinging. Maybe it was for her, for the memory of her mother, but instead of relying on the hits, her set was a country meets soul and blues gumbo peppered in with the classics she’s been belting out for years. “I appreciate you watching me, I’m Winona, the artist formerly known as The Judds. I hope my music touches a few of your hearts.” And she continued to rip through a supercharged set that was more rock and roll than it was classic country. 

Security was getting wise to Melissa, who was trying to get radio one-liners for her station back out in Brownswood, which is literally her job. One of the head honcho dudes was on the lookout for her like in a bad cop movie, so I kept my head on a swivel, watching out as she did her best to snap a photo with someone who’d played.

As for Diplo, I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve seen Diplo a few times, and this new “white trash” version he’s currently promoting was a different vibe. It was also a bit strange to have a DJ on a bill called the Two Step Inn but whatever. During his set, complete with strippers and fire, Diplo mixed his signature beats with guitar anthems but some of the big country bangers from the last few decades, trying to find a balance between throwing your hands in the air and wiggling ass in those little shorts.

Paul Cauthen was drunk at the Two Step Inn, juking in the photo pit, grabbing randoms, and cutting a rug. It’s a surreal scene to watch thousands of white cowboy hats bop in unison to beats typically reserved for the drugged-out raves of Miami and Vegas, which I assume is why Diplo is trying his hand at the country world for an audience that’s tuned into what he’s doing instead of just being there for “the drop.” 

It was time for Tyler Childers to take the Two Step Inn main stage, and I was curious which version we’d get. Opening with the classic “Lady May,” everyone was given hope because so many people wanted to hear songs from his records Purgatory, the Red Barn Radio Sessions, and Country Squire. But, that hope was short-lived as most of Childers’ set revolved around his newer, “saved” sound. When Tyler Childers appears before you, there is conflict, you can see it in his eyes, his mannerisms, that when he slings a guitar over his shoulder, the demons come out, that who he was when he snorted rails of cocaine and sang about his late nights and sins, that’s the authentic him – but when he’s up there, armed only with a microphone, it’s a man who’s lost despite his best intentions. The sound and songs are there, but nothing on his later records carries the darkness like “Nose on the Grindstone,” or “Whitehouse Road,” which everyone had hoped to hear. It feels like those songs are kept in Pandora’s box, only pulling one or two out because they take him back to a place rife with damage and ghosts of the past capable of pulling him back into the shade. His set was fine. I count myself lucky because I’ve seen him back on those early tours. 

Whatever demons he’s facing, there’s a stark difference between the aura of Tyler Childers and Zach Bryan, but we’re lucky to have them each as a guiding light when there’s so much bad music gnawing at what we call “country.” Two Step Inn was a success for its first swing, and I assume it’ll be back next year, and I’ll be doing my best to score a free lunch and pee in the air conditioning because, as a journalist, I have to get the whole festival experience.

Featured photo by Roger Ho for Two Step Inn. Other photos by Roger Ho, Allison Narro, Charles Reagan and Gaby Deimeke