Chicks Review: Superb Harmonies and Proof of Staying Power in Anniversary Show

At New York's Bacon Theatre, the trio celebrated two decades since the country group was blacklisted for opposing the Iraq war and the long road of their unapologetic album. But this was only the start of the clash that erupted Monday night at the Bacon Theatre, where the Chicks played the second of three sold-out shows. In March 2003, eight days before t

Last month, with almost no fanfare, the United States officially ended its troop withdrawal from Iraq after 23 years of violent quagmire. But that was just the beginning of the conflict that unfolded Monday night at New York's Beacon Theater, where the Chicks played the second of three sold-out shows. In March 2003, eight days before the US invasion of Iraq, Natalie Means, the lead singer of the country's supergroup, said on stage in London that she was "ashamed" that then-President George W. Bush was from Texas, prompting a quick, self-righteous and frighteningly prophetic backlash.

More than one person at the Beacon wondered aloud where fellow fans were at the time, when a comment played on AM radio and cable news, leading to CD-burning protests and death threats. (High school, was a common answer.) I was nine years old myself, with a child's keen view of morality and consequence. I knew our country was at war in a far away place and my favorite band was paying the price. One day I could hear Blue Sky songs including Travelin' Soldier, Landslide and Cowboy Take Me Away on the radio on the way to school. Then, they were gone.

According to Means, the incident, nicknamed "Blessing," was spotlighted Monday night at one of the few shows commemorating the 20th anniversary of The Long Walk, the Chickens' Scorched Earth, a scathing response to what many now recall as perhaps "more cancellation." (To be precise and ominous, seen as a form of early social media, coordinated post-truth harassment). Though it sounds like a niche crowd—mostly white and female, lots of queers—I almost didn't recognize the moment the band played that 2003 clip on stage as a prelude to their bittersweet Not Ready to Make It Good , as Means laughs, chattering through it. People forget, it was never meant to be that serious.

If only During this statement show, the band revisited several clips from Barbara Koppel's essential 2006 documentary about their fall and rise. In one, a montage of cable news anchors and pop music randos denounce "Saddam's Angels" as "traitors" who disrespect soldiers, talk too loudly, break the rules of country music.

"Well, imagine that ... we thought that was the worst it could get," Means told the angry crowd on Monday, still laughing. "Now I kiss George W. Bush, because now we're ashamed that the president of the United States is from the United States." Time has not been kind to the country, unfortunately on the band's seminal fourth studio album as hypocritical, vindictive and perhaps irrevocably divided. But it's been kind to the artists formerly known as the Dixie Chicks (they dropped "Dixie" in 2020), whose exquisite, industrial-standard harmonies and liberating bluegrass pop have aged like fine wine.

The trio was honed by the duo decades after the release of "The Long Way" — which included a 14-year hiatus, several tours, another album (2020's Gaslighter ) and a deeply fractured nation. The album, played in its entirety at the show's first performance, now seems unsettlingly prescient, at turns an elegy and a kiss-off for cities that may have been parted forever. Maine — joined by sisters Marty Maguire and Emily Strayer on fiddle and banjo, respectively (and fitting for the pop-rock axis with the help of Rick Rubin, a full backing band) — kept the 14-song performance as strong and trained as her never-better vocals. It was just songs interspersed with documentary clips that captured both public and private storms — backlash but also young motherhood, navigating IVF (So Hard), finding words for, say, a grandmother's battle with Alzheimer's (Silent House).

The band used short interludes to shout out collaborators including Chad Smith of the Red Hot Chili Peppers (who I learned played drums on Not Ready to Make Nice). Means' father, legendary pedal steel guitarist Lloyd Means; Semisonic's Dan Wilson, who wanted to call the album Undivided and initially suggested an apology ballad ("We said, 'Screw you,'" Maines recalled onstage). They also mentioned Mike Campbell, who brought his experience with Tom Petty to Lubbock or Leave It, the Chicks' most straightforward rock song, and steel gospel guitarist Robert Randolph, whose closing track, I Hope, brought its antiquated belief in "romantic" dissent through the backdrop of civil rights protests then and now.

But perhaps nothing cements it like a blistering second act that shreds the works, reminding us that even scratching the surface of the band's electric discography, it's going to be a full-throated, full-on singalong. From the karaoke staple Goodbye Earl to the liberating anthem of open spaces, a welcome bluegrass moment in White Trash Wedding to the ultra-loyal version of Take Me Away Cowboy, the nine-song finale is more mutual catharsis than a concert. By the time the band reaches its raucous finale on Sin Wagon – Cheeks is perhaps one of the few mainstream shows where a fiddle solo gets a standing ovation – the case has long been made. The incident may have turned chickens into a cautionary tale, but in the long run there is justification.