Sounds That Grow On You With The Kudzu Ranch, Southern Culture On the Skids go it alone…again By Fred Mills
H
onest, officer, it wasn’t my fault — it was the chicken’s. Um, well… so maybe I am the one to blame. See, I’d taken a young friend of mine to his first Southern Culture On the Skids show, back in July in Asheville. Good sound, solid crowd, fun vibes — just what you want from a SCOTS show. Oh, and the Kentucky Fried. Didn’t tell my friend about that. Figured the surprise would leave a lasting impression. Boy, did it ever. I jockeyed us down front into position just in time for the band’s culinary anthem “8 Piece Box” in which they invite some of the more willing and eager females onstage to dance and gyrate while helping themselves to a few cartons of the Colonel’s finest, which has been a standard item on their touring rider (“no chicken, no show,” it advises) for years. Now if you know anything about SCOTS, you know how the deal inevitably plays out: those wings and drumsticks are
26 SCOTS shuffle ten
Photos by Ron Keith
soon airborne. Me, I learned to duck a long time ago, as have the band members — guitarist Rick Miller, bassist Mary Huff and drummer Dave Hartman, plus recent recruit Tim Barnes on second guitar — who understand how, as Miller puts it, “the velocity at which that chicken leaves the stage is multiplied when it gets returned.” My friend, he wasn’t so lucky: SMACK. Middle of the forehead. I am not making this up. But I’m happy to report that after being momentarily stunned, probably more psychologically than literally, and after the quick application of a handy moist towelette (okay, it was actually my handkerchief, just work with me here), my friend emerged from the incident unscathed. And, judging by his purchases at the record store the next day, a new convert to the SCOTS cause… • • • “That was a good show!” recalls Miller, talking on the phone about a month later. “We played a bunch of new songs and had