Nearly a year ago, I made a nine hour journey from Cincinnati, Ohio to Marshalltown, Iowa by way of Mount Vernon, Iowa in order to attend what I could arguably call the most important show of my, and many of my peers’, lifetime. This show would take place within the Marshalltown Moose Lodge, nestled within the dreary town that four young men have called home throughout the course of their life with both love and hate – but most importantly with a ferocity and passion that will never be recaptured. These four men were Modern Life Is War and it would be their last hometown, and final, show – defining an entire career within a set that will be remembered with one word: epic.
However, this is not about them. Or the human stage barrier created so the MLIW set could even take place. Or the stage collapsing within the first thirty seconds of the first MLIW song. Or the amazing Holding On reunion set. Or the amount of people that fit inside of the Moose Lodge itself. Or the community that was represented by the kids in the Moose Lodge. No, this is about one man from that memorable night, three months shy of a year ago.
Many men are humble. Many men prefer their beer with a blue ribbon and a bottle of whiskey. Many men pretend to be dirt tough and honest to boot. Many men, however, are liars and cheats. Conversely, William Elliott Whitmore is all of the aforementioned and not one bit of the latter. An Iowa native himself, Whitmore took the stage that April night to a crowd of hardcore and punk rock kids with a banjo in one hand, a charming grin, a heart and soul full of something that not many people possess – sincerity, and without the slightest inclination of the fact that he seemed completely out of place in the lineup. This is a trait of Whitmore’s touring habits, however – he’s shared the stage with such acts as varied from Converge to Murder By Death, so individuals familiar with Whitmore didn’t find this the bit out of the ordinary.
However, many of the kids in the audience were unprepared for what they were about to witness; in a room filled beyond the maximum capacity with loudmouthed, War ready kids – and seconds into his first, a cappella, song, the room fell silent. William Elliott Whitmore had brought more attention the stage than any act before, or after, him aside from the hometown heroes. This act, however, was easy to understand.
With a voice more whiskey and grit than honey and silk, Whitmore commands a stage in a way that would make Bono jealous – and he doesn’t even have to move; Whitmore performs from atop a single stool for over an hour, consistently, and not a single eye leaves him the entire time. William Elliott Whitmore is a pastor, full of farm-boy charm and captivation, and his audience, ranging in age and background, form the ever-adoring congregation. And nothing has changed since that night in Marshalltown other than the congregation has gotten bigger and Whitmore even more devote.
Since that night in Marshalltown I have managed to catch Whitmore just once more (this will change in February, when I plan on seeing him twice at the Picador in Iowa City); however, this time it was from a small stage at an otherwise sleepy Midwestern college – Grinell, to be exact - and the crowd was much more primed for the set to follow. This could be due to the fact that you can bring anything and everything you wanted of the alcohol variety to consume at the show or it could be because, well, these Iowa kids love Whitmore as much as they love their booze.
And there’s not a damn thing wrong with that.
(P.S.)This entry has little to do with review, really, or anything substantially, more so just an admiration for a man who lets his listeners call the shots – Whitmore doesn’t make a setlist, he lets the crowd scream out what they want to hear – and loves every single second of it.)
William Elliott Whitmore Setlist from 12/05/08 (roughy):
Dry
Porchlight
When Push Comes To Love
Black Iowa Dirt
From The Cellar Door To The Gallows
Lift My Jug (Song For Hub Cale)
Midnight
Diggin’ My Grave
The Day The End Finally Came
One Man’s Shame
The Train That Carried My Girl Away
Old Devil’s
Take It On the Chin
[Photo credit www.onmilwaukee.com]
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