Standing outside in the chilly air is a strange mix of people.  An odd array of cowboy hats, trucker caps, rockabilly tats, skater mohawks, and metalheads sing “Smoke & Wine” at the top of their lungs.  The line wraps around for two blocks—oblivious to the fact that Fat Tuesday is going on right next door.  A car pulls up and a girl wearing Mardi Gras beads asks what the line is for.  A slurred voice rings out with an open beer in hand, “We love Jesus!”  Hoots, hollers, and laughter rise out of the crowd.  “Jesus is my high motherfuckers!”  The car pulls away disgusted by the sarcasm just in time before an empty beer can hits the pavement behind them.  “Repent sinners!”  Just as if on cue, some guy vomits in line.  If Jesus was outside, then Satan was certainly inside 4th & B humping two sloshed girls at the same time and throwing a thumbs up to Hank on stage.  If you think you’ve seen the best live show and haven’t seen Hank III, then you obviously don’t know shit.

            There’s no one easy way to describe one of the best live performers.  In a time when artists rely on studio mixing and Myspace videos to get their music across, Hank III, the Damn Band, and Assjack rally up the dregs of society and play. . .and play well indeed.  The crowd chants, “Hank, Hank, Hank!”  As soon as the straw hat skeleton walks out on stage, they all loose their fucking minds.  As an anthem for all the damned listening, the band starts out with “Straight to Hell.”  From then on, the energy never stops.  “Six Pack of Beer,” “Long Hauls” and “Punch Fight Fuck” are a few of the songs played from his latest release Damn Right, Rebel Proud.  Few new spectators realize this ain’t their daddy’s country show.  Stagediving, crowd-surfing, and mosh pits here and there don’t exactly fit in with today’s Nashville artists.  Neither does Hank.  The niche of true hillbilly listeners embrace the rebellious nature in all its piss and glory.  Just as you think things couldn’t get any crazier, a demented soul looking like he just step out of slasher movie, joins the band on stage for a few songs.  Gary Lindsey (Assjack) taunts the crowd for what they have coming next.  Hank removes the country hat, slides on a trucker cap, and dons an electric guitar.  As if it were a shift change, the country kids move back and the hellbillys move forward.  Welcome to the hellbilly set.  The energy just revved up like NASCAR on crack.  Classic tracks like “Dick in Dixie” and Johnny Cash’s “Cocaine Blues” spit in all the sweaty faces and they’re lapping it up.  Surprisingly enough, Adam McOwen’s fiddle doesn’t snap in half, Andy Gibson’s slide guitar doesn’t explode, and Daniel Mason punked up on a banjo.  Yeah, that’s right, a fucking banjo!  The pit is bigger and crowd is rowdier.  And just when you thought it was safe to join in, you’re sadly mistaken.  After a quick instrument switch, Hank takes off the trucker cap and reveals his true colors.  A raw symbolic gesture, he no longer wears a hat and lets his metal hair flow.  Get ready for Assjack.  Again, like a swarm of insects, a sea of black tees and shit-kicker boots make their way to the front.  Most of the country kids don’t dare get involved.  They shouldn’t.  It’ll be a bloody mess.  Gary Lindsey takes over lead vocals and screams in a violent rage that even baby Jesus can hear from the manger.  Zach Shedd (on tour) switches from stand-up to electric bass and finally Shawn McWilliams can be let loose on the drums.  Thrash, metal, hardcore—the closest thing I can describe Assjack is like watching someone’s autopsy video and reading their eulogy at the same time.  Morbidly wicked and oh so wrong in the best way possible.

            If you still don’t understand what a Hank III show is like, stay home.  I’m sure there’ll be a way cool episode of “The Hills” on MTV.  Yeah, that’s sarcasm bitches.