Where: Jacob’s Farm, Leelanau County, Northern Michigan.
When we moved to Traverse City, Michigan nearly two years ago from Baltimore, I assumed we’d be giving up a heap of culture. And I’m not the only one who arrived with preconceived notions that were skewed. Even my new local pastor (a missionary’s kid who grew up in Brazil) makes jokes about exactly how white it is in this corner of The Great White North.
Little did I know that I’d have access to culture in spades — Specifically, art and music.
I’ll save my observation of the Up North art scene for another post and focus on Friday night’s show. It took place at Jacob’s Farm, a centennial farm very near to our home. It’s not just a great place to get hitched or have a country mouse photo op. The farm itself is a working cherry farm (we live in the cherry capital of the nation), with hundreds of acres and other agricultural offerings as well. This includes the self-service raspberry-picking with the honors system of payment (a lockbox with a slot). I still had time to pick a pint of perfectly ripe berries ($3) after the show. There’s also a busy barn turned take-out spot with picnic tables dotting the hills and the best pizza I’ve smelled in years, as well as lighter fare, local beers and wines. I had a local Rose’ that blew my categories.
The five-man band was warming up on a small stage carved into a hill with folks sitting along the edges on blankets and even a guy with his dog. Beyond the treed portion was another large, lovely barn on a hill covered in native grasses where children waded as dusk settled in. Up here, it doesn’t get dark until 10pm, which doesn’t quite make up for the cold dark winters, but it is something...
Beneath a canopy of hundred-year-old hardwoods lit up in café lights, outfitted with sleek natural wood folding chairs, my fella and I had the pleasure of becoming familiar with The Luke Winslow-King band, who until recent years had been stationed in New Orleans. Now they tour Europe and play well-known but intimate venues across the USA. Winslow-King spent Covid with his lady in Spain and now he and his guys are finally sharing their talents in-person again. Winslow-King and Roberto Luti (Tuscany, Italy) are the primary draw, but the twosome picked up three Michigan boys to round out the cast, and provide bass and percussion. The music was fluid, well-rehearsed and without a snag the entire night.
Luke Winslow-King, or “Cadillac Slim,” is a tall, cool drink of water, who can apparently riff with the best of them on acoustic guitar, swing a tambourine with gusto and whisper naughty sweet nothings with a voice convincing enough to have nearly every middle-aged single female on the property encounter unforeseen hot-flashes. Like, an hour of them. Just for reference, it was only 64 degrees out Friday evening, so we weren’t exactly roasting like the rest of our great land.
Libations of nearby wineries and suds of local hops and grains were making their way down the pipes of anxious patrons of the band. There are 40 wineries on the 45th Parallel and the region is a vibrant hub of viniculture, yet with freshwater beaches every few miles and temperate summer temps that cannot be found anywhere else on the globe.
A clutch of chicks with suds arrived, celebrating a 60th birthday and signaling a steep increase in people-watching potential. Women over 40 simply don’t care about what other people think, which is precisely why I’m enjoying this season of life more than any other. The girl-party was stationed at the outdoor bar all evening. And once the music started, one of them with cups overflowing got busy like Baloo from The Jungle Book, working her backside on an unsuspecting tree. Hopefully, she and the tree had a proper introduction before the methodical debarking of de trunk.
The fact that Luke Winslow-King is big and pretty was just a bonus. Once settled into the set of familiar compositions for everyone there (but me and my fella), we both realized why this guy has been successful. He’s good, fresh, amusing and playful, just like Blues singers should be. LWK’s lyrics are fun and deliberately encourage snuggling, particularly with “Longhorn Leg Women” and their “finer jellyrolls”. Not exactly sure what that means but it made me giggle. That song reminded me of “Turkey Leg Woman” by Dr. Ross, a goofy song that also applauds the carnal delights of a woman built for comfort.
My husband was baffled by LWK’s choice of clothing (business casual), but it worked entirely for him (and for me.) I thought the light gunmetal sweater and some pale blue summer-weight slacks looked pretty slick. I’ve been trying to dress my husband that way since we met in 1999 with no success whatsoever.
Winslow-King’s great head of lettuce (!) and charismatic murmurs would be enough to sell a decent number of tickets given today’s very low musical bar. But he can sing, play guitar, tambourine, and write catchy tunes that stick. Again, not poetry, but refrains that are memorable and easy to pick up and sing along. Think Jimmy Buffett if he were thin, could sing, had a mess of hair, and offered high quality entertainment to people who are not thoroughly pissed.
Countering LWK’s tall cool one is his super lean, ripped and tanned electric guitarist who was the most talented musical human I’ve ever admired within arm’s reach. Despite Winslow-King’s successful cooing and lyrical foreplay celebrating the cat and mouse games of men and women, the surprising stand out was this lead guitarist and collaborator, Roberto Luti, “Tuscany’s Slide Guitar Hero”. Luti, a grungy-meets-gypsy, smooth and svelt fellow, also 40ish, stole the show and saved our date. Luti is all Italian with none of that Midwest boy-next door and humble pie stuff.
My husband is an ‘80s hairband metal historian and avid electric guitar player. Easily bored and starting to twiddle on his phone, my fella locked in when Luti took full advantage of his first solo. I know when my dude is thoroughly impressed with someone (and his choice of guitar). He didn’t even get mad when I borrowed his phone for the clip above.
I’m still somewhat new to Pre-War Blues and I’ll admit that Fat Tuesday is the only day of the year that we play Zydeco music in the house, but those influences coupled with early Americana, traditional Jazz, heavy guitar and bongos (!) were intoxicating and had my head bobbing from the start. An hour later, almost everyone was dancing and looking amorously at their intended, smiling, laughing, and doing funny white folk gyrations like people who only get outside four months of the year.
Best part? It was the best free show in my 48 years. Jacob’s Farm must have paid them outright to entertain their guests free of charge. Stubs for this band from Germany to Spain to summer blues festivals across the Midwest average about $20, which is a steal given the cost of a night out these days. But Friday night there was no charge, no merch table, no tip jar. Just one mention of a new album release, If These Walls Could Talk (2022) then onto the music. Only in the Midwest would performers offer a jam session that lingers in one’s memory for a good three days without pushing t-shirts, pins, and bumper stickers -- not that I blame them as we all need to eat and well, food is expensive and gas for a diesel tour bus right now? Ouch. It was almost like the band was playing hard to get.
And they got me for sure. As soon as I got home, I was shopping for albums on vinyl. I can’t wait to hear “Honeycomb” live again. Much to my surprise, my fella even liked it and commented. He was paying attention and perhaps taking some cues from Cadillac Slim on the sexy talk. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud when my husband started singing (way off key) the “Peaches” song to me in the pickup on the way home. The fact that he’s knowingly the world’s worst singer only made it more fun…
The verdict: Go! LWK’s lyrics may not be meant to be sonnets or otherworldly, rich or dignified, but they are smart, fun, loose, and playful for people who don’t take themselves too seriously. LWK can both sing and play guitar and his bandmate, Roberto Lido, made the show fully suitable for serious stringheads (music not cheese) and lovers of articulate fingering. Luti could have stood up there by himself and had us all mesmerized just as easily. But then again, we would have missed Baloo and that unfortunate tree.
A High Caliber Jam in A Cathedral of Trees: An Evening with The Luke Winslow-King Band