Charley Crockett’s surprise ‘Clovis’ show in Deep Ellum had heart, history and hometown pride

On Friday night, multi-Grammy-nominated troubadour and headline mainstay Charley Crockett closed a spontaneous, three-city run of surprise pop-up shows at the historic Sons of Hermann Hall, a stone’s throw from the Deep Ellum corners where he once busked. The show, announced Tuesday, sold out in hours, despite Crockett’s most recent string of controversies, but his high-quality performance proved why his fans remain loyal — he puts on a good show.

If you’ve been following along, you know the tale. Crockett surprise-dropped his latest album, “Clovis,” in April, just weeks after “Age of the Ram” capped his Sagebrush Trilogy, a three-part concept album series. Then it mysteriously vanished from streaming amid a contract tangle with Island Records, only to ride again on July 4th weekend via Atlantic Outpost. Crockett has been slinging limited-signed vinyl at the pop-up shows before the album’s wider September pre-order — one more reason Friday felt like a night worth circling on the calendar.

And yes, all of this arrives in the dust of a very online summer. To make a long story short, Crockett fired Twin Temple, a self-described “Satanist” doo-wop duo from California, from opening his recent West Coast shows due to the band’s imagery. He then spent the next few days posting and deleting various long-winded posts doubling down on faith and values. Ironically, or maybe intentionally, his show at Sons of Hermann Hall booted the usually scheduled Panoptikon, which is one of the city’s longest-running goth nights, usually attended by at least one person accessorized with a pentagram.

Doors opened at 7 p.m. to a lengthy DJ set from Honky Tonkin’ in Queens, whose crate of 45s was genuinely impressive — the kind of deep-cut selection that gets Texas folks nodding. Still, spinning records for the better part of two hours tested the patience of a room hungry for a live band. Chants of “Charley” rippled through the crowd more than once.

Around 9:20 p.m., the records went back in the sleeve, and Crockett and his band finally took the stage. He opened not with a song but with a memory, talking about what the streets of Deep Ellum mean to him.

“I’m Charley Crockett, and I know y’all could be doing anything tonight,” he said. “But you’re here with me, and I sincerely appreciate it.”

Later, he’d reflect on “spending two years straight down these parts playing two to three gigs a day.” Venues like the bowling alley, the Thursday campfire jams at Sons of Hermann Hall and the Balcony Club over in Lakewood fill such memories. This was a man standing in his own origin story.

Then he launched into “Clovis” top to bottom, kicking off with “The Hallelujah Trail,” one of his groovier, more vocally limber cuts.

Here’s where the night nearly went sideways. For the first 45 minutes, the sound at Sons of Hermann Hall cut in and out, dropping like a record skipping. Crockett, ever the trooper, powered through as flashlights bobbed around the booth and the crew scrambled to fix it. The crowd grew audibly restless.

Crockett kept his cool, offering just one sly outlaw jab in the sound tech’s direction between songs: “If you got a pistol on your hip, be careful coming into town.” After he finished “Last Night at the Alamo,” he called an intermission. For about five tense minutes, the room wondered if the show had been derailed for good. Then came the thumbs up, and everything changed.

The second half of the show was so immersive that the earlier stumbles all but evaporated from memory. Crockett finished “Clovis,” and played a stripped-down solo acoustic run while his band caught their breath, then dug in for another hour.

There’s a commitment to Crockett’s performance that’s hard to overstate. He shakes and rings out his guitar like the sound might shake loose from his bones, holding it out and away, squaring off with a room. At its peak, the set could have conjured, summoning its own musical ancestors — the warmth of Johnny Cash, the swagger of Waylon Jennings, the ache of George Jones, the sting of B.B. King, all channeled through one man in a big hat. You felt it in your chest.

The highlights kept coming: Crockett twanged through the swampy stomp of “Fire and Brimstone” (a Link Wray cover), into the tender “I Need Your Love” and followed with the local anthem “Lone Star.” But the emotional summit was “Trinity River,” an early gem that hit home hard as he sung lyrics like “such a dirty little river/but that don’t bother me” while the whole room sang every word. “Crucified Son,” “Tennessee Quick Cash” and “Kentucky Too Long” kept the momentum, and his spirited take on Tanya Tucker’s “The Jamestown Ferry” nodded to the tradition he clearly reveres.

Crockett also made sure to spotlight his rhythm section, including players with North Texas roots. He closed with “Run Horse Run,” and the room was reluctant to let him go.

If you missed this one, don’t fret. Crockett brings the “Age of the Ram” tour to Billy Bob’s Texas in Fort Worth on Aug. 28 and 29 — your next chance to see whether lightning strikes twice. Based on Friday night, it just might.