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I’m writing from the morning after a Greta Van Fleet show.
If you’re not familiar with Greta Van Fleet, let me introduce you. The rock band, composed of three brothers and a childhood friend, hails from Frankenmuth, Michigan. Their band name was inspired by an octogenarian resident of Frankenmuth named “Gretna Van Fleet.” If you think their name is strange, wait till you hear them.
Although the four members are all still in their late 20s, Greta Van Fleet channels pure classic rock vibes. Imagine if Led Zeppelin merged with Queen and dressed up like David Bowie, and you’re getting close to what these young rockers have pulled off.
Despite their obvious influences, last night’s show was, quite frankly, unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
It started with a curtain, a huge black sheet that came down from the rafters while the roadies set up the stage. The curtain heightened the suspense, the mystery, before the show ever got started.
When it did start, it went off with a literal bang.
Orchestra music gave way to fireworks and a dizzying pyrotechnic display. I stood in awe, waiting for the curtain to drop, but it didn’t. The sheet remained, dangling over the now silent, smoky stage. I thought maybe there’d been a malfunction. I was wrong.
A voice came over the loudspeakers, saying, “We’ve got a flair for the dramatic, don’t we?”
And then, of course, the curtain came down, revealing the four young musicians in all their bedazzled-jumpsuit-wearing glory. The voice from before climbed to an ear-splitting, alien octave as the band came in behind him.
The singer’s name is Josh Kiska, and to say he stole the show would be putting it mildly. The only way I can think to describe Josh’s voice is some sort of mix between Robert Plant and Freddie Mercury, but even such a lofty comparison falls short.
Josh is his own thing, through and through. He’s an enigma, a shot-taking ball of unbridled energy packed into a 5’5 frame. Did I mention he has some sort of curly mohawk hairdo? Oh, and he changed outfits five times over the course of the two-hour show.
The rest of the band was impressive as well. Each member had his moment in the sun. All flatout shined. The drum solo lasted ten minutes. The guitar solo a solid fifteen. And the bassist also played a mean piano.
The whole experience felt like something from another time. Like I’d been transported back to the 60s or 70s and was watching Jethro Tull or Uriah Heep in their prime.
Thanks to my dad, I grew up on classic rock. We listened to Magic 105 and The Point, 94.1. By the time I was a teenager, I could name every song, every artist that played through the speakers in Dad’s old Ford.
For years, I yearned for bands like that. I wanted something that had the same verve, the same musicality I’d grown up with, and last night, I found it.
It’s morning now, just a little past nine. I’m cotton-mouthed, sandy-eyed, and in a few more hours, I’m scheduled to proctor a final exam. It's all good. I'll survive. The show, as they say, must go on.
| Books authored by Eli Cranor |
Broiler
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The troubles of two desperate families—one white, one Mexican American—converge rest in the ruthless underworld of an Arkansas chicken processing plant in this new thriller from the award-winning author of DON’T KNOW TOUGH.
Gabriela Menchaca and Edwin Saucedo are hardworking, undocumented employees at the Detmer Foods chicken plant in Springdale, Arkansas, just a stone’s throw away from the trailer park where they’ve lived together for seven years. While dealing with personal tragedies of their own, the young couple endures the brutal, dehumanizing conditions at the plant in exchange for barebones pay.
When the plant manager, Luke Jackson, fires Edwin to set an example for the rest of the workers—and to show the higher-ups that he’s ready for a major promotion—Edwin is determined to get revenge on Luke and his wife, Mimi, a new mother who stays at home with her six-month-old son. Edwin’s impulsive action sets in motion a devastating chain of events that illuminates the deeply entrenched power dynamics between those who revel at the top and those who toil at the bottom.
From the nationally bestselling and Edgar Award–winning author of Don’t Know Tough and Ozark Dogs comes another edge-of-your-seat noir thriller that exposes the dark, bloody heart of life on the margins in the American South and the bleak underside of a bygone American Dream. |
Don't Know Tough
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In Denton, Arkansas, the fate of the high school football team rests on the shoulders of Billy Lowe, a volatile but talented running back. Billy comes from an extremely troubled home: a trailer park where he is terrorized by his mother’s abusive boyfriend. Billy takes out his anger on the field, but when his savagery crosses a line, he faces suspension.
Without Billy Lowe, the Denton Pirates can kiss their playoff bid goodbye. But the head coach, Trent Powers, who just moved from California with his wife and two children for this job, has more than just his paycheck riding on Billy’s bad behavior. As a born-again Christian, Trent feels a divine calling to save Billy—save him from his circumstances, and save his soul.
Then Billy’s abuser is found murdered in the Lowe family trailer, and all evidence points toward Billy. Now nothing can stop an explosive chain of violence that could tear the whole town apart on the eve of the playoffs. |
Ozark Dogs
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In this Southern thriller, two families grapple with the aftermath of a murder in their small Arkansas town.
After his son is convicted of capital murder, Vietnam War veteran Jeremiah Fitzjurls takes over the care of his granddaughter, Joanna, raising her with as much warmth as can be found in an Ozark junkyard outfitted to be an armory. He teaches her how to shoot and fight, but there is not enough training in the world to protect her when the dreaded Ledfords, notorious meth dealers and fanatical white supremacists, come to collect on Joanna as payment for a long-overdue blood debt.
Headed by rancorous patriarch Bunn and smooth-talking, erudite Evail, the Ledfords have never forgotten what the Fitzjurls family did to them, and they will not be satisfied until they have taken an eye for an eye. As they seek revenge, and as Jeremiah desperately searches for his granddaughter, their narratives collide in this immersive story about family and how far some will go to honor, defend—or in some cases, destroy it. |
| Previous columns: |
• Writing from a Tee Ball Field
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• Writing from a Plane
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• My second novel’s publication
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• An Invitation to the Party
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• Writing on the day of the college football National Championship
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• Writing from the crowd before the start of a Shovels & Rope show
• Writing from the depths of a post-book-festival hangover
• Writing from the Ron Robinson Theatre
• Writing to you on Halloween Eve
• Writing from my bed on a Saturday morning
• Writing from my office with two darts clenched in my left hand
• Writing from the shade of my favorite tree
• Writing from my desk on a Tuesday morning
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• Writing from my wife's Honda Pilot
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