You big city twerps don't know how good you've got it. You have access to dozens of worthwhile live shows on a weekly basis, and I hate you for it. I live in Fayetteville, AR. I have access to maybe three or four good in-town shows each year. And for everything else, I have to drive. I drive from my podunk settlement to slightly less podunk settlements. This past weekend, I rode four hours on a balsawood wagon and fought off several hordes of Confederate midgets just to make it to Lawrence, KS (and that place ain't so hip either). And that was just to see Iron & Wine, a decidedly South-friendly act. (You wouldn't believe what I have to go through to see Autechre.)

Thankfully, the show didn't disappoint. When Sam Beam first appeared on stage, he had a strange look in his eye and was carrying some kind of small, discreet contraption. It was difficult to make out exactly what the thing was at first. Sam made his way to the mic, waited for the applause to quiet down, and spoke softly, "This has been a long time coming." The crowd had no reaction, as they, like myself, had no idea what the man was talking about. He then flipped a switch on his contraption, and a thin buzzing noise filled the room. Gasps from the crowd eventually started to surface. It was then clear... Sam's contraption was an electric razor. God only knew what kind of crime against authenticity was about to be committed. He held the blade up to his mane-encrusted grill as if he were threatening his own life. The crowd broke out into a wild banter. A girl next to me actually fainted. After hesitating for quite a few seconds, Sam let it rip. At that moment, the banter quieted itself on a dime. It was as if everyone in the room had called his bluff. But having observed the thick wads of beautiful facial locks descending to the floor, the joke was clearly on us. Once the deed was done, a jackrabbit scampered out of the fallen beard fragments and off stage, its home having been impolitely bulldozed.

Sam looked around. He appeared 17 years younger, his authenticity significantly dimmed. Just as the audience members started to re-hinge their jaws, he began frantically buzzing away at his scalp. At this point, the crowd was thrust into a state of oblivion, unable to muster up any remaining thread of astonishment, as it was simply all used up. Sam finished trimming down that last pesky cowlick and tiptoed over to what appeared to be a pedal steel. He ripped off his shirt, exposing his completely shaven torso. His chest displayed the word "SOCKET" in expertly placed black electrical tape. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Meanwhile, the pedal steel began to wobble on its legs and eventually transformed into two shiny CDJs and a mixer. For the next four hours, Sam played Detroit techno.

After the exhausting set, he picked up his much-neglected geetar and was joined on stage by six accompanists, two of whom were on percussion. Many of Sam's tracks were significantly reconfigured due to the presence of "the band." The highlight for me was the pseudo-funky, almost reggae-infused version of "Cinder and Smoke." Thankfully, for the sake of the purists, the band left the stage on a few occasions so that Sam could do his thing solo (or almost solo). At one point, the jackrabbit re-emerged to hum along to "Naked As We Came."

Overall, a mildly memorable show.