Chuck Berry w/Ludo | 1.18.06

Sure, he doesn’t get every note of his trademark guitar riffs, and sometimes he misses more than he hits, but he’s Chuck Berry, and that the man still plays his heart out and never gives less than his very best—even down to a game, albeit muted, shot at his famous “duck walk”—leaves audience members longing to claim Berry as their own kindly, long-lost rock ’n’ roll grandfather. Man, is it good to see him up there. Even though he never plays “Maybellene.”

 

Blueberry Hill, St. Louis

 

Remember when John Lennon told the world that without Chuck Berry, there would never have been the Beatles? Me too. And so do the people from all over the world who fly across oceans to catch one (or more) of Mr. Berry’s monthly sold-out shows at one of St. Louis’ most intimate venues—the Duck Room, a 300-capacity club located in the basement of world-famous juke joint Blueberry Hill.

For St. Louisans, having this kind of access to a Living Legend™ on a regular basis is a real treat, and with the show’s tickets running a super cheap 25 bucks, it’s not priced over the heads of the average concertgoer—or even the curious but way broke college student. And for the lucky St. Louis bands that get picked to open for one of these shows, the experience can transform the busy U. City Loop into their own personal Rock ’n’ Roll Mecca. It’s a sweet deal for the band—play a bill with Mr. Berry, actually make money, and forever tell your friends that, Holy fuck, dude! We opened for Chuck-freaking-Berry!

This being my third time attending one of these packed shows, let me tell you that the Mr. Berry Experience varies little from show to show. The 79-year-old Berry is as magnetic as ever and remains a true master of the stage, playing an hour-plus set of nonstop classics—plus a couple songs from his ever-upcoming new record—interspersed with charmingly corny jokes and fun improvised banter with an adoring crowd. Sure, he doesn’t get every note of his trademark guitar riffs, and sometimes he misses more than he hits, but he’s Chuck Berry, and that the man still plays his heart out and never gives less than his very best—even down to a game, albeit muted, shot at his famous “duck walk”—leaves audience members longing to claim Berry as their own kindly, long-lost rock ’n’ roll grandfather. Man, is it good to see him up there. Even though he never plays “Maybellene.” Ever. But having gotten that out of the way, let’s focus on the lucky openers performing on this particular night.

St. Louis–based guitar-pop goofballs Ludo managed to overcome a slow start and an underpowered, anemic sound mix—Moog-ist Tim Convy’s melodic lines were shamefully inaudible throughout—to win over the capacity (and extremely chatty) 40-and-up crowd with an energetic, harmony ’n’ hooks–laden set. Currently touring behind their sophomore release, the fun but totally straight-faced rock opera EP Broken Bride, the band’s skewed-pop arrangements and complex harmonies were road-tight—nearly as tight as Convy and frontman Andrew Volpe’s witty stage banter. The set’s high points were easily the three Bride tracks—anthems-in-the-making “Broken Bride” and “Save Our City” and a crowd clap-along version of “Tonight’s the Night”—and a new melancholic on-the-road song, “Topeka,” that uses the wistful refrain “I found God in a catalytic converter in Topeka on a Monday night” to great effect. The set ended on a light note, with the silly breakup song “Good Will Hunting by Myself” from their self-titled debut. While not my favorite Ludo song by far, the band’s live version—including a more visceral take on the tell-off coda featuring the spoken words “Buy your own gas, you bug-eyed mooch!”—brought the house down.