Some shows punch you in the chest and leave a bruise. Others pull up a chair, pour you something stiff, and tell you a truth you never knew you needed to hear. On Friday, December 12, Whiskey Myers’ unplugged show at the Palace Theatre in Albany did both, sometimes within the same song, never letting the room get comfortable enough to forget it was alive.
This small run of only seven shows, was deliberately planted inside of historic theaters across the Northeast, felt like a quiet dare. No arenas. No Amphitheaters. No hiding. The tour kicked off December 5th at the Metropolitan Opera House in Philadelphia and wrapped December 13th at the Orpheum Theatre in Boston.
Albany sat near the finish line, and by the time Whiskey Myers stepped onto the stage, the idea had calluses. The concept felt confident and worn in. Dangerous in the best, non-traditional way.
Before Whiskey Myers ever appeared, the tone was set by Bones Owens and Rob Leines, who shared the opening slot but refused to split the spotlight. No backing band. No safety net. Just two songwriters, one acoustic guitar at a time, and a coin toss to decide who went first.
Bones won the flip on this night and laid claim to the room immediately. The exchange between the two felt like a living room jam that suddenly started eavesdropping on your secrets.
Between songs, stories slipped out naturally. Not rehearsed banter, not filler, just human moments finding air. Bones paid his respects to Bruce Springsteen with a cover of “I’m On Fire” that landed with a quiet Outlaw Country authority.
In that moment, the Palace stopped feeling like a venue and started feeling like home. Strangers leaned in like old friends. There was an unspoken agreement in the air, nobody needed to be impressed. Everyone just needed to listen.
That sense of welcome carried straight into Whiskey Myers’ set. When they took the stage, the visual alone told you this night would play by different rules.
Guitars lined the stage like trusted tools. Wingback chairs and couches replaced the usual barricades. Lamps glowed warmly, lighting the way into what felt less like a concert and more like an old school Friday family night where the outside world stayed outside.
The Palace Theater itself mattered, it’s a room with a pulse. Built to amplify voices and stories, not just volume. Its ornate bones have hosted music and events for nearly 100 years. There’s a reason musicians talk about this place with pride and reverence. Sound blooms instead of bouncing and silence carries weight. On this night, the Palace wasn’t a venue, it was a collaborator.
The experience was stirring the echoes into memories of MTV Unplugged from back in the 90s, when Music Television actually catered to well, music. That era meant something because it stripped artists bare and trusted the songs to survive on their own.
Pearl Jam. Alice in Chains. Nirvana. Those performances worked because there was nowhere to hide. This show lived in that same spirit without chasing nostalgia or trying to recreate it.
Whiskey Myers didn’t ease into their set. Opening with “Die Rockin” in an acoustic format was a bold, almost confrontational decision. That song is born of rebellious grit and volume, but here it was stripped to the bone and made alarmingly different. The three-woman choir tattooed themselves into it, the harmonica’s harmony sliced through the quiet, the solo swelling lush and unprotected. It worked. It stunned. It laid down a vow: that nothing about this night would be safe and nothing would unfold as expected.
“Tailspin” followed immediately, pulled from their newest album Whomp Whack Thunder. The set leaned heavily into newer material, and it felt like a declaration rather than a gamble. These songs stood tall without amplification. They breathed. You could hear the scars in the writing, exposed and unflinching.
One of the night’s biggest surprises came with “Bitch,” a longtime setlist staple and the only song guitarist John Jeffers sings lead on. Pulled apart and peeled back, it felt unfamiliar, but still just as biting and raw. It stood as proof that repetition doesn’t dull a great song when it’s met with honesty and care, rather than habit.
“Broken Window Serenade” and “Stone” were emotionally devastating in Cody Canon’s delivery. The acoustics carried every word, every pause, every inhale. The audience went still together, like everyone understood they were standing inside something fragile and no one dared be the one who broke it.
The covers were curated with love. “Chain of Fools” by Aretha Franklin and “Angel from Montgomery” by John Prine were carried with restraint and respect. During “Chain of Fools,” Lecretia Ann, Angie Smith, and Charlene Hueston took over completely. The emotional impact was overwhelming and undeniable, the kind of moment that resets a room and leaves people contemplating their own personal inventories afterward.
At its core, Whiskey Myers is a rock band. Country rock. Southern rock. Call it what you want. But flipping the script like this reveals something deeper. No light show. No effects. No production tricks. Just the band, the instruments and the power of song. That takes confidence. That takes inner-peace. But most of all, that takes balls.
This felt like a defining moment for Whiskey Myers; not for flash or spectacle, but for its openness and vulnerability. These songs felt like old friends, because they were treated that way. With respect. With honesty. With space to breathe, linger, and quietly shine.
Walking out of the Palace that night didn’t feel like leaving a concert. It felt like leaving someone’s house after a long conversation you wished would never end. For a few hours, the walls fell away, time slowed down, and everyone inside belonged to the same story. It was the quietest Whiskey Myers has ever been and yet the loudest its ever felt.
Setlist: Die Rockin, Tailspin, Bar Guitar and a Honky Tonk Crowd (Brent Cobb cover), Ramblin Jones, Heavy On Me, Rowdy Days, Angel From Montgomery (John Prine cover), Deep Down In The South, I Got To Move, Broken Window Serenade, Icarus, Bury My Bones, Monsters, John Wayne, Chain of Fools (Aretha Franklin cover), Early Morning Shakes, Bitch, Stone, The Chain (Fleetwood Mac cover)
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