September 25, 2004

We saw Lyle Lovett last night at the Schnitz, pompadour and all. The crowd presented a cowboy-hat-bespeckled array of jeans-wearing cross-bearing 40-somethings who sang softly sometimes but mostly listened as Lyle joked and crooned and his band honky-tonked and blue-grassed and pedal-steel-guitarred and got all acoustically quiet as Lyle's gravelly, honest vibrato floated over the crowd. For the encore, the First Baptist Church clapped and swayed and sang with such joy that their open mouths quivered on the long notes. And I wanted to be a black gospel singer so bad. Man, if I could sing and move like that, I would be a believer too.

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