Awesomeness
At 8:50 last night, a line snaked out the doorway of Layla's Bluegrass Inn, past Tootsie's Orchid Lounge and even past Legends Corner. The ever-punctual Pith thought to himself, It's Lower Broad. Just show up. You'll get in.
Never mind that the show starts at 9. Or that the act taking the stage is the third generation of a country music dynasty — the progenitor of which is the High Priest of Country Music, Hank Williams, Sr. The line hadn't budged in minutes and before long Pith began to hear the clash and hiss of cymbals and the thrum of what sounded like a stand-up bass. So we called Layla's, perhaps sounding a little desperate, beseeching and generally unmanly. Please?
Filled to capacity, came the answer. Every wristband had been handed out. Nobody inside wanted fire marshal trouble. But Pith couldn't help but notice that there was a line out the door in this finger-numbing cold, each fan clutching a sliver of hope that a spot would open inside the dark, cloistered and now humming honky-tonk, allowing a lucky few to bear witness to a young man coming into his legacy: Hank III, the reedy fella with the mournful voice that makes the hair on Pith's arms stand on end because it sounds like that man from Alabama is singing again.
It was a rough road that brought him to Layla's, but it was a thing to behold (though we couldn't really behold much through the window blinds). Another Williams playing on a reborn Lower Broad, practically in the shadow of the Grand Ole Opry. We're glad he made it.
