A Name Carried Through the Dark at Val Air: Larkin Poe and Gov’t Mule in West Des Moines
Val Air Ballroom, West Des Moines, Iowa — April 15, 2026
Some venues feel functional. You show up, find your place, watch the band, and leave. And then there are rooms like the Val Air Ballroom, where the walls seem to hold onto every note that has ever passed through them. Walking in that night, I could feel it immediately. The place has history in its bones, but it never felt dusty or frozen in time. It felt alive. Restored, yes, but still haunted in the best way, like the past had not been cleared out so much as invited to stay.
That made it the perfect setting for a night with Larkin Poe and Gov’t Mule.
Larkin Poe
There was already a strong crowd in the room by the time Larkin Poe took the stage, and what struck me first was how quickly the room gave itself over to them. Conversations dropped off. The noise of people settling in disappeared. That kind of hush is hard to force and impossible to fake. It only happens when a room decides, almost unconsciously, to listen.
Watching Megan Lovell work through lap steel and Dobro was one of the real pleasures of the set. Some musicians are impressive in a technical sense, but she was something more than that. There was a kind of ease to it, a command that made the whole thing mesmerizing. Rebecca matched that with a presence at the front of the stage that kept everything grounded and sharp. Together they pulled the audience into their orbit without ever looking like they were trying too hard to do it.
When they played “Mockingbird”, the connection with the crowd deepened in a way that was easy to feel. That seemed to be the point where admiration shifted into full investment. This was not the kind of crowd that needed to throw elbows or wave fists in the air to show they were having a good time. It was subtler than that. Heads were moving. Toes were tapping. Bodies were swaying. The whole room seemed to fall into step with the blues-rock pulse coming off the stage. It was steady, warm, and completely in sync.
And maybe that feeling suited the band more than anything louder would have. There is something in Larkin Poe’s sound that feels inherited, something rooted and carried forward. Knowing the band’s name comes from family history, from an ancestor named Larkin Poe who was connected by bloodline to Edgar Allan Poe, only made that feeling stronger. It gave the set a shadowed edge without turning it into theater. Not darkness for the sake of darkness. More like the soft weight of ancestry, of names and stories handed down and still breathing. In a room as old and storied as Val Air, that note landed beautifully.
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The Ballroom and the Blaze
The Val Air Ballroom itself deserves some credit here too. After its restoration, it feels like it has found a way to honor what it has always been while still making room for what live music looks and sounds like now. With its hardwood floor, its history, and that balance between intimacy and energy, it does not feel like one of those blank modern rooms that could be anywhere. It feels specific. It feels like Iowa. It feels like a place where a show can still mean something a little extra.
Then Gov’t Mule took over and the whole night opened wider.
What I loved about their set was how locked in everything felt without becoming stiff. The audience had already been engaged all evening, but Gov’t Mule brought a different kind of force. It was focused, but never rigid. Loose, but never careless. The energy stayed high and constant, and visually, the stage looked incredible. For photography, it was one of those setups that makes you want to keep shooting because every few seconds there is another frame worth chasing. The digital backdrop was vibrant without becoming distracting, and the lighting hit that sweet spot where it felt artistic and dramatic while still letting the performers live inside it.
Then came one of the biggest moments of the night, when Rebecca and Megan from Larkin Poe joined Gov’t Mule onstage. Those are the kinds of collaborations that can sometimes feel like a nice bonus, but this one felt bigger than that. It felt natural. It felt earned. There was no awkwardness to it, no sense of a forced crossover moment. It just clicked. Seeing both acts share the stage turned an already strong show into something more memorable, the kind of thing you replay later because you know not every crowd gets a moment exactly like that.
I also loved the unexpected nod to Beck’s “Loser”. It caught me completely off guard, and maybe that is part of why it worked so well. It added this little flash of surprise to the set, a quick left turn that made the whole night feel even more alive. Not everything has to be monumental to matter. Sometimes a small unexpected choice can make a show feel even more human.
And then there was “Soulshine”.
That was the moment the room changed.
The audience had been with the band all night, no question about it, but there was still a kind of invisible boundary in place, as if everyone had stayed mostly inside their own little square of space. When “Soulshine” hit, that disappeared. Suddenly people who had held back all night were dancing like they had been waiting for permission. The crowd loosened all at once. You could feel it. What had been controlled became joyful. What had been contained became open. And with the stage lit up the way it was, everything about that encore felt amplified. It was one of those endings that does more than close a set. It sends people back out into the night carrying something with them.
The House Pours Its Own Footnotes
The venue even found a way to weave itself into the experience through the bar. Two signature cocktails had been created for the occasion, and of course we had to try them. The “Make It Rain” had more of a spicy kick, with Fireball and ginger ale, while the “Soulshine” leaned smoother with Jack Daniel’s and lemonade. Both were genuinely good, and both felt like a fun touch rather than a lazy gimmick. They fit the night. They fit the bands. They also came with a very rock-and-roll price tag, which, well, felt about right.
By the end of the night, we were back in the car a little after 11:00, stuck in a line of traffic trying to leave the parking lot. Not exactly the most glamorous ending, but honestly, it didn’t matter much. The evening had been strong enough that even sitting there idling felt like part of the afterglow. We spent that time doing what you do after a show really lands: going back over the best parts, comparing notes, reliving little moments. Igor, who normally wants no part of the review side of coverage, even started offering thoughts on what absolutely needed to make it into the article, including the specialty drinks. That alone says a lot.
By the time I got home, I was done for the night. No dramatic epiphany. No staying up until two in the morning trying to force extra thoughts onto the page. Just the simple feeling of having been at something worth remembering.
Afterglow
Maybe that is what stayed with me most. Not just that the performances were strong, though they were. Not just that the lighting was beautiful, or that the crowd was locked in, or that the room itself seemed to hum with its own past. It was the way all of it came together without strain.
An old ballroom with fresh life in it. A band carrying a family name that already sounds like it belongs in candlelight and shadow. Another band seasoned enough to know exactly how to bring a room to full bloom by the end of the night. The surprise of “Loser.” The release of “Soulshine.” The slow crawl out of the parking lot afterward, still talking about what had just happened.
Some nights are easy to summarize and even easier to forget. This was not one of those nights. This one lingered.
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