George Strait’s Enduring Appeal: Nissan Stadium Live Review 

To understand why 71-year old George Strait has been an enduring sex symbol, one need only examine his first five songs at Nashville’s Nissan Stadium. During his July 28 show – the first of two nights at the stadium – Strait adroitly moved through all the phases of desire: innocence (“Write This Down”), tentative connection (“I Got A Car”), raw romping (the frisky swing “The Fireman”) “ absolute appreciation (“How ‘Bout Them Cowgirls”) and erotic consumption (“Run”). Beyond the crisp starched shirts and winning smile, he understands – and plays to – the gears of romance like no other.

More importantly, Strait remains the most worthy inheritor of Merle Haggard or Willie Nelson’s mantle of country icon through the meaningful fluidity with which he moves through country’s various sub-strains with the same ease and enjoyment that marked both men’s Country Music Hall of Fame careers. Strait also suggests great tavern stylists like Frank Sinatra or recently passed Tony Bennett with his delivery’s smoothness that steps beyond genres. And – true Texan – he is a man who knows how to evoke real rodeo emotions with “Cheyenne,” which crowned the opening five songs as a man saddling up to ride away.

In a world where the word “authenticity” is tossed like rice at a wedding, Strait lives the life as a rancher and competitive rider; he understands the complicated underpinnings and steadfast emotions that come with being a man in full. Those things, plus a good dose of humor, have made his catalog one of the most admired in modern Nashville.

Early hits like “The Chair” can sit next to his Academy of Country Music Single/Song and Country Music Association Song of the Year half-spoken “Give It Away,” while mid-career smashes “Ocean Front Property” and “Check Yes Or No,” as well as his early Western swing-leaning #1 “Unwound” sounded at Nissan as fresh as when they broke ground on country radio.

But all pales against the 1, 2 punch of what was introduced as his favorite song he’d ever recorded – the yearning “Amarillo By Morning” – into the career-crowning summation, the pensively resolute “Troubadour,” which proclaimed “and I’ll be an old troubadour when I die.”

That commitment drives not just his own songs, but his preservationist’s instinct to keep classic artists living and breathing. After his own No. 1 “Blue Clear Sky,” he delivered a funky version of Waylon Jennings’ “Waymore’s Blues,” which was as muscular as it was lean. Later he brought that saloon smoothness to Merle Haggard’s minimalist raw ache “Mis’ry & Gin,” a lament for every loser who’s lost someone, as well as a rompy, twin fiddles-blazing frolic through Bob Wills’ “Take Me Back To Tulsa.” Then set then evolved into a sultry extended rave on “Milk Cow Blues” that slinked and double-timed, demonstrating how much room Western swing embodies

To build a career that can go toe-to-toe with the greats speaks to song choice, seeking songs that extend what the genre can hold without losing sight of its roots. He came out of the iconic, ironic Dean Dillon-penned “All My Exes Live In Texas” into a hard-charging rendition of Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues,” proving intensity and longevity don’t come from volume, but the excellence of the musicians and material.

With little production and a day of scalding temperatures, Strait held the capacity crowd enthralled for two hours. It’s a different aesthetic, one that cuts against today’s flashy, neuron-punching aesthetics, but it built Strait a career that’s still packing stadiums – and it seems to be the mandate for Chris Stapleton, who joined Strait on Townes Van Zant’s “Pancho & Lefty.” Then the pair shared two songs Stapleton had written and Strait recorded: the album cut “You Don’t Know What You’re Missing” and the #1 “Love’s Gonna Make It Alright.”

Stapleton, all throttle, soul and power, is a tough act to sing with because of how he attacks a song. Yet, together, the Hall of Famer and the current Academy of Country Music Entertainer of the Year looked like the ghost of country music present and future.

Stapleton’s own 90-minute set was also devoid of production tricks, never egging the crowd into clapping along or racing around a relatively bare stage. Falling somewhere between the Allman Brothers and Willie Nelson & Family, Stapleton’s road band includes Musicians Hall of Fame steel legend Paul Franklin, who’s toured extensively with Vince Gill, Dire Straits and Jerry Reed. An impossibly evocative instrument that can pool tears or seer an uptempo rocker, there’s a velocity to even Stapleton’s slowest songs that pulls listeners into what he’s singing.

Wife Morgane Stapleton, in a black dress that suggested Stevie Nicks meets Jessi Colter, was the perfect vocal foil, molasses-toned spark to Stapleton’s gritty tenor. From the opening salvo of “Nobody To Blame,” the pair tangled in a way that created urgency without rushing.
Whether it was the fat-tired rock of “Arkansas,” the slow burn soul of “You Should Probably Leave” or the raw face of rejection in “Cold,” Stapleton tears moments open as a vocalist – and as a guitarist who sets the thrust for his band.

For a set that eschews obvious radio fare, the audience was all in from the start. But the final four songs – the loping “Traveler,” taut facing a moment “Fire Away,” the delicious grace of “Broken Halos” and the career-igniting take on George Jones’ “Tennessee Whiskey” – created a torque that rivals any performer. It is not obvious, but it is undeniable.

Like Strait, who refused to buy into trends, Stapleton’s straight soul/Southern/roots amalgam could open a door in today’s country the same way Waylon and Willie’s Outlaw movement turpentined what was happening in Music City.

Kicking things off in the heat advisory early evening, Little Big Town once again proved they’re country’s must under-recognized entity. Beyond being four lead singers with Mamas & Papas’ quality harmonies, they exude pure joy. With enough legit hits to fill their hour and have fans singing and clapping along, LBT offers a silky California Canyon country/pop approach that can swing down into Cajun, funk or their own kind of dance rhythms.

More than mere party music, songs like “Pontoon,” “Wine Beer Whiskey” and “Little White Church” all have that summer, freewheeling sense. But it’s the foreboding “Tornado,” the Taylor Swift-penned realization “Better Man” and the lush “Girl Crush” that suggest the group’s depth. Karen Fairchild, Kimberly Schlapman, Phillip Sweet and Jimi Westbrook wisely never drown the audience with how serious or acclaimed their music is.