Eric Church – Insider

At the apex of Eric Church’s Erwin Center show Wednesday, a grainy video played to an empty stage. In it, the singer talks through “Princess of Darkness,” intro rant to “Devil, Devil” from 2014’s chart-topping The Outsiders. When the band re-emerged, Church stood centerstage with a middle finger thrust out to a huge inflatable Satan at the back of the arena.

“Screw you, devil,” he growls, as Satan’s eyes glow red. Around the inflatable’s waist is giant belt buckle that says “Nashville.”

Such is the conundrum of Eric Church. Amid the ridiculous dust-up about who actually “exists” in country music, there’s no denying that Church not only exists, but thrives. Find proof in his regular round of CMA Award nominations, blockbuster radio play, and the fact that he can draw an impressive crowd to a basketball arena on a winter-racked midweek night.

In fact, Church remains one of contemporary country’s biggest, most undeniable stars. One that’s positioned himself to fans as the industry outsider. He’s the outlaw who’ll declare the following on his major label album:

“I’ll tell you a well-known secret,
In a tiny place known far and wide.
The Devil walks among us folks,
And Nashville is his bride.”

Church plays the role expertly. There’s enough Waylon, Hank Jr., and David Allan Coe touches to his harder songs that even pandering shout-outs like “Pledge Allegiance to the Hag” don’t ring as cloying. His tours come stocked with far-from-mainstream openers like last night’s Drive-By Truckers.

He can also pen a radio hit like “Talladega” with enough saccharine nostalgia to cause country-pop diabetes.

Cynics declare that Church stands as a marketing ploy, a foil to an industry that needs its safe edges. And Church isn’t anywhere close to the level of real outlaw risk or fuck-all bravado of the aforementioned outlaws. He’s the kind of outsider that can smartly exploit the edge with t-shirts declaring “I Only Drink at Church” and “Good Girls Go to Church.”

Those cynics are wrong. There’s no questioning that Church exudes authenticity. He can fire up a crowd like the best country entertainers that understand – unlike so many contemporary artists – how to actually connect with fans and a city.

There are the requisite nods to the pretty local girls and “insert your city here” song lyrics, but when Church talks about Austin, he doesn’t mention playing the 2013 ACL Fest or last year’s “I Heart Radio Fest.” Instead, he reminisces about his first show at Stubb’s in 2006. And when he leads into the closing sing-along hit of “Springsteen” with a botched version of “Pancho and Lefty,” he can laugh genuinely, “Well, I tried.”

Church has managed to thread a needle in country music of authentic pushback on the industry, while expertly playing its game. As he says in the prelude to “Devil Devil,” “But me, I’ve shook his hand, and I know that he is real. So devil, you can go screw yourself, and then go straight to hell.”

Church isn’t an outsider, but if popular country music has any hope of recovering from its current opportunistic party-rock formula, it needs songwriters and performers like Church on the inside who are willing to push the boundaries.