He's lean, he's mean, he's a -- well, he's got a nice hat. But Dwight Yoakam is more than the sum of his style and practiced scowl. He's a closet beatnik and he eats tofu and will discuss goofy-ass shit forever, once you get him revved. His new album, Blame the Vain, is self-produced (a first for Yoakam), but it has all the spunk and flutter of his best, with a little added juice because he's on the line. Now he's tearing through the nation on his tour bus, letting people know he's undiminished as a honker and tonker. Actually, Yoakam is getting better as he moves into his third decade, and he's never been more at ease onstage or on disc than he is these days. This is an outdoor gig -- at dusk, on the amazing vast void that is the Gila River Res, behind the surreal oasis of the casino -- and Yoakam's the first to appreciate and take full advantage of the strangeness of it all. It's a tailor-made gig, tight as them bolero jackets and skinny jeans he's so fond of. Check it out.
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