Concert Review: Murder Ballad Ball at Crosstown Station

There are several versions of the story of Pretty Polly. However, most will agree that the shallow grave that was to be her final resting place wasn't deep enough to keep her spirit subdued.

Her essence -- and that of other assorted thieves, lovers and gunslingers -- was channeled Friday night at Crosstown Station for Stay Down Pretty Polly: the Murder Ballad Ball, a six-plus hour event featuring some of KC's finest Americana acts.

Scott Spychalski

Click Shaun Hamontree's powerful maw for a slide show.

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I arrived just in time to catch a bespectacled Cody Wyoming, swathed in fake fog, reading an excerpt from an 1895 issue of the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. He told the story of Stagger Lee, a man who killed another over a Stetson hat. C.W.'s version of the song (the tale has also been covered musically by Sam the Sham, the Grateful Dead, the Clash and others) had a lot of "motherfucker"s in it, a la Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.

The language was appropriate, though. Considering his story has been a subject of over 200 different recordings, Lee Shelton was obviously a badass motherfucker.

The Columns, fronted by Bill Sundahl, played the shortest set of the night with just three songs. Sundahl's voice is like an inner tube ride on a lazy river. It's dreamy, languid, and the man can probably sing a fine lullaby. Keeping with the theme, the band (along with Betse Ellisof the Wilders, who would accompany many of the acts on her fiddle) closed out with a version of "Cocaine Blues," a song whose whiskey-and-dope fueled protagonist shoots his ladyfriend.

For the first 45 minutes I was at Crosstown Station, I didn't recognize the mature, rather stately-looking woman in front of me as Abigail Henderson. I think it was the skirt that threw me. With or without jeans, her voice was still the same when she sang with her husband, Chris Meck, in their duet project Tiny Horse.

It's taken me a while to figure out who Henderson sounds like and I've decided that it's alt-country singer Maria McKee. Enhanced by Meck's breathy voice, their cover of Nick Cave's "Where the Wild Roses Grow" was one of the evening's best performances.

Friday night was the first time I'd seen Cadillac Flambe (pronounced "flaw-um-bay"). The band has been quietly moving about the scene this last year with their harmonica-heavy brand of Delta blues.

Scott Spychalski

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I was approached halfway through the set by Kenneth "Judge" Bean, V.P. of the KC Blues Society. He told me that Cadillac Flambe had helped contribute to the success of his Blues in the Schools program with their easy-to-follow formulas that translate well to the younger musicians.

The magic most likely comes from husband-and-wife lead vocalists Kris and Havilah Bruders and mouth harpist James Garrett. Their thick, bluesy grooves rendered seamless performances of "Banks of the Ohio" and Robert Johnson's "Love in Vain." At the end of its set, Cadillac Flambe delivered an original called "Stuck by the Knife," a brooding, ominous ode complete with upright bass action. It was the ultimate murder ballad of the evening so far.

Playing to the biggest crowd of the night were Betse Ellis and Mark Smeltzer. Bathed in red light, these Rural Grit members shared one microphone and changed instruments several times. At this point in the show, I had moved to the back of the room and found myself sitting next to a group of overly chatty women, so it was difficult to decipher lyrics and song titles. The duo's fiddle-banjo mix proved to be a winning combination though for their traditional style. With his large beard, husky voice and Charles Ingalls-style hat, Smeltzer was the King of the Murder Ballad Ball.

I discovered a Kansas City gem on this night: Tony Ladesich. I know it's blasphemous to admit that I was never much of a Pendergast fan, and that when I have seen him play before, I didn't pay the man proper attention. On Friday night, though, Ladesich and his guitar played beautiful tunes, all originals in fact, except for the Bruce Springsteen cover he closed with. Looking at Ladesich, you'd never think he had such a resplendent voice. "Dollar General" and "Bellefontaine" were simple, formulaic songs about murder and vice in the Northeast neighborhood. After three and a half hours of murder music, Ladesich gave a delightful pick-me-up.

I decided to end the evening after American Catastrophe's. I couldn't leave without seeing my favorite local band play a set at a show so perfectly suited for their dark sound. They even looked the part as they went on half past midnight: Shaun Hamontree seated, eyes closed as he sang (from far enough back, it looks like you can see the whites of his eyes like the Undertaker), Amy Farrand in a dark suit with bass in hand, wailing into the mic, looking like a funeral director, and Terrence Moore dressed as a Confederate soldier, picking his banjo.

I had hoped that AmCat would treat the audience to some fresh material. It's been a little over three years since the release of their debut, Excerpts from the Broken Bone Choir. But alas, there were no new songs to be had. I couldn't really complain, though. I still get goosebumps every time I hear the opening bars of "The Farm." AmCat killed it , like they always do, playing really fuckin' loud and hard, sweating like slaves under a southern sun.

It was, for me, appropriate exit music after nearly five hours of murder.