Buck Owens, Cramps Provide the Hoot in Hootenanny

Hootenanny ‘98, a two-day festival celebrating all things twang, got weird and unwieldy on its second day Sunday as it shifted quickly from rockabilly to rootsy punk, vintage country to ska-tinted swing.

The crowd that gathered at Oak Canyon Ranch in Orange County didn’t seem to mind the mix. Imagine your typical Lollapalooza throng dipped in the ‘40s and ‘50s. Next to every green Mohawk and tongue-stud was an exaggerated ‘40s up-hairdo and a tattoo of a dagger piercing a martini glass.

They may have come for Social Distortion, the Cramps and X, but judging from between-song comments, the most anticipated performer of the day for the Hootenanny musicians was Buck Owens.

The Bakersfield country-music patriarch and his five-piece band dug into a highly professional set that focused on real-life stories about heartbreak and high hopes. It peaked with two songs, the unforgettable “Act Naturally” and “Love’s Gonna Live Here Again.” During the latter, Owens nimbly pulled off a baroque guitar solo that underscored the fact that the 68-year-old country luminary still has talent to spare.

In the oddest concert pairing in recent memory, Owens was followed by the bizarre trash-punk explosion of the Cramps.

Looking like the unholy offspring of Iggy Pop and Vampira, singer Lux Interior took the stage under the midday sun in a glittery black catsuit and a long, black velvet coat. “I’ve never been out in the daytime before,” said the pale-faced Interior, seeming on the verge of melting, “What’s that strange light in the sky?”

The Cramps then blended songs about junk television and ‘50s horror flicks with its strange, reverb-drenched sound, a mix of hillbilly howls, punk-rock and surf music.

During a rendition of the Count Five’s psychedelic garage classic “Psychotic Reaction,” Interior climbed atop the speakers and ripped his catsuit into tatters. It was a primal, cathartic rock moment that was hard to beat, and the subsequent sets by the Reverend Horton Heat and Social Distortion. seemed deathly bland in comparison to the Cramps’ nihilistic antics--as well as to Owens’ sturdy, textured artistry.