Wilder things and Hi-Beams

Today I've come to realize just how spoiled we are out here in the West, where we can just throw some clothes in a bag, put on a pair of sunglasses and be under the Big Sky in just a few hours.

As if gallivanting all about Montana wasn't entertainment enough, we managed to take in Halden Wofford and the Hi-Beams three times and got plugged into the electrical outlet that is the acoustic honky-tonk music of The Wilders.

This was supposed to be a no-holds-barred, big-iron-on-your-hip, kind of excursion and Bozeman and Livingston, Montana did not disappoint. Tom and I set out on Thursday morning and plowed straight through to Bozeman, aided by a 20-hour iPod soundtrack prepared especially for the adventure.

After seeing Halden Wofford and The Hi-Beams bless 2,000 revelers in downtown Bozeman with some pure 'lectric honky-tonk music, we headed to the outskirts of town to a little honky-tonk called The Filling Station to catch their show there.

Little did we know what was in store for us there.

The Wilders look harmless enough, armed with only an archtop, dobro, doghouse bass and a fiddle. About two minutes after we made it through the door, we found out they came loaded for bear.

Now, I've never been in a riot, but I have to guess that the frenzy The Wilders whipped up when they broke into the most fantastic, wailing version of the old chestnut "Muleskinner Blues" was just a splash of gasoline away from burning the honky-tonk to the ground.

I looked over at Tom while the paint was peeling off the walls and the whipsaw of 200 people swingdancing in a 20x20 foot area was threatening to turn us into chaff and sparks were coming from his eyes from the volts being pumped into him with every megawatt smash of the fiddle bow on the strings.

After The Wilders had finished their destruction, HW and The Hi-Beams took it home.

Because we knew we still hadn't wrung all the fun out of the trip, we decided to follow HW and The Hi-beams over the pass to Livingston. We set up shop in a dive-y downtown hotel and caught that night's show at the Murray Hotel, surrounded by the strangest mix of ranchers, millionaires on fishing tour, meth tweakers with 5 teeth, frat boys, 75-year-old honky-tonk regulars, three dogs, silicone-enhanced washed-up strippers and a "reformed" Mormon girl drinking whiskey.

I guess it goes without saying that I survived all of that and the 7-hour drive back through Montana to Cheney.

Now I have to marshal all of my resources to prepare for the serendipitous arrival of The Wilders at the Medical Lake Bluegrass festival next month. I'm really not sure if that crowd and the venue will do the band justice, though.