Notes and Musings

Selena Etc. Boutique Closes in Corpus Christi

2009-07-01T11:35:00.004-05:00

The one interview I had with Selena, nine months before her death, all she wanted to talk about was her new boutiques in San Antonio and Corpus Christi and her fashion line. Music was almost beside the point. The boutiques were one of the few things that was not a family enterprise, but rather hers and hers alone. She was clearly proud of being an independent businesswoman. The San Antonio boutique shut down shortly after she was killed. The Corpus boutique however has remained open, largely as a touchstone for Selena fans. Until now. It's another reminder of what once was, and what could have been. There has been no one like Selena, before or since, which makes her passing nearly 15 years ago all the sadder.

from the Caller.com website, home of the Corpus Christi Caller-Times:

Boutique and salon named after slain Tejano singer opened in 1993
By Fanny S. Chirinos (Contact)
Originally published 01:51 p.m., June 29, 2009
Updated 05:20 p.m., June 29, 2009

CORPUS CHRISTI — Selena Etc. Boutique and Salon, named after the late Tejano singer Selena, has shut its doors.
The store’s phone number has been disconnected, there no longer is merchandise inside and there’s a for sale sign in the window of the building in the 4900 block of Everhart Road.
Calls and e-mails in the past week to Selena’s family were not returned.
George Clower, vice president of The Clower Co., said the for sale sign went up about a week ago, just after the merchandise was removed. The building is owned by Chris Perez, Selena’s widower, and appraised at $91,454, according to the Nueces County Appraisal District.
Clower said the asking price is $165,000 and he has received several inquiries.
“Some of it could be due to the history of the place, but it’s in a good central location and has plenty of traffic,” Clower said.
Attempts on Monday to reach Perez were unsuccessful.
Selena was killed in March 1995 and at the time of her death was known as the Queen of Tejano Music. She won a Grammy in 1993 and later that year opened two Selena Etc. boutiques, one in Corpus Christi and the second in San Antonio.
The San Antonio boutique closed after Selena’s death.
The stores featured a full-service salon as well as Selena memorabilia and fashions, some of them designed by the artist. They also sold jewelry, hats and other accessories.
Fans still may enjoy her designs and mementos at the Selena Museum inside Q Productions at 5410 Leopard St.

And from the mysa.com website, home of the San Antonio Express-News:
by Michael Quintanilla, Express-News

The boutique and salon named after Selena, the slain Tejana singer who was killed 14 years ago, has closed its doors, the victim of a slow economy, according to her father, Abe Quintanilla.

The Corpus Christi Caller-Times online edition reported that a "for sale" sign for the Selena Etc. Boutique and Salon, owned by Selena's widower, Chris Perez, went up about a week ago. Merchandise has been removed, the shop's phone number is no longer in service and the asking price for the property appraised at $91,454 is $165,000, George Clower, vice president of The Clower Co., a real estate service company told the paper.

The popular singer, who was born in Lake Jackson, a Houston suburb, was killed in March 1995, a month shy of her 24th birthday. At the time of her death she was known as the Queen of Tejano Music, having won a Grammy in 1993 for Best Mexican-American album, "Selena Live!"

Later that year she opened two Selena Etc. boutiques, one in Corpus Christi where the family had moved in 1981, and the second in San Antonio. The San Antonio boutique closed after Selena's death.

Her boutiques featured a full-service salon as well as Selena memorabilia and fashions, some designed by the singer who was known for creating many of her own stage looks, including her famous purple — her favorite color — sequined jumpsuit.

Selena's father, Abe Quintanilla, told KRIS-TV in Corpus Christi that he decided to close the boutique because coupled with a weak economy the boutique was outside of the main focus of "Q Productions" which has always been on the music. He said the family kept the boutique open out of respect for Selena as the shop was her special project.

Quintanilla reported Selena's fans can find some the boutique's merchandise at the gift shop inside Selena's Museum at Q Productions in Corpus Christi.

The songstress was part of a band called Los Dinos that included her brother AB on bass and her sister Suzette on drums. They played in the family's restaurant and later at weddings and parties. The band's big break came in 1987 when, at 15, Selena won the Tejano Music Award for Female Entertainer of the Year. That led to a contract with Capitol Records and six successful albums.

In the early 1990s Selena branched out musically as well as clothing designer with her own line and married Perez, a guitarist.

Selena was murdered by Yolanda Saldivar, her friend and president of her fan club on March 31, 1995, the day she was due in a studio to work on her first English album. Saldivar was found guilty of first degree murder and sentenced to life in prison.

When Michael Jackson sang with Joe "King" Carrasco

2009-06-25T19:26:00.005-05:00

(click on the headline to read the story in Mojo)

Back in the fall of 1981, the band I managed Joe "King" Carrasco & The Crowns, signed a recording contract with MCA Records to make their second album, Synapse Gap (Mundo Total) We lived at the Tropicana Motel on Santa Monica Blvd., ate breakfast at Duke's and spend the rest of the time at Studio 55 at 5555 Melrose, right by the Paramount Studio gates. The studio was a tricked out facility with two rooms that was owned by Producer Richard Perry. The other room was booked by the Jackson family who were mixing down their live album. Over the course of the next two weeks, we got to know the Jacksons, hang with them in the rec room where the TV was, and even share some of the fried chicken their aunt had bought them.

Michael was already a star, having hit platinum with his Off The Wall album; the best selling album of all time, Thriller, would be issued in less than a year. Michael seemed like a nice guy for a twenty three year old. He was quiet, shy, and polite, not saying a whole lot except when asked. The only indication he was Michael Jackson was the Rolls Royce Bentley he drove to and from the studio. Once he had a flat about a block from the studio but summoned help by using his mobile phone, the first wireless cell phone I'd ever witnessed. Then again, there were those times I'd walk into the men's room and see MJ standing in front of the mirror, playing with his face, like he had a big zit problem, or was contemplating some alterations......

About a week and a half into the recording session, Joe "King" mused, "Wouldn't it be cool with Michael Jackson would come in and sing harmonies on 'Don't Let A Woman (Make A Fool Out of You)'?"

It was a reggae-fied tune Joe had written that sounded more than a little like "No Woman, No Cry."

Someone said to Joe, "Why don't you ask him?" So he did, and Michael said Yes.

So there he was, headphones covering his ears, trying to figure out just who was this Joe "King" character, while he professionally stepped up to a microphone facing Joe, nailing the high harmonies and making Joe sound good. Someone by the mixing board wisecracked that Joe's vocals should be mixed out of the recording so we could release a dub version of Micheal Jackson singing the song.

As it turned out, the song was mixed with both voices and released on the album and as a single which generated some airplay for a few weeks before dying (dirty little secret: MCA didn't give a shit about Joe "King" who was signed by the label as a favor from their president, a former accountant, to another accountant who was doing JKC's books; and you wonder why the music industry is dead).

I had to pay union scale for Michael on the session, and cut him a check for $100. which was cashed. The album came and went, although Joe and band did tour with the Police behind the record. Within the year, Michael would release the best selling album on all time, Thriller.

Say what you want about his music career, his personal life, his plastic surgery and his love of children and of childhood, which he didn't have much of because he was too busy working. At the heart of it all, he struck me as a nice person, cocooned in a not-so-nice business.

Hacienda - Loud Is the Night (Alive Records)

2009-06-21T19:58:00.003-05:00

The other day I asked my Facebook friends for their own local variations on the locally popular “Keep Austin Weird” bumpersticker after I spotted a “Keep Houston Ugly” sticker on a northbound pickup on the Southwest Freeway in H-Town, which reminded immediately me of Richard West’s report of “Keep Dallas Prentious” stickers on the back of a Mercedes blasting up the Bush Tollway doing 90 mph as if there were any good reason to want to hurry to get to Addison.

Then there was Keep San Antonio Lame.

That kept going through my head during the first listen to Hacienda.

Here were these four young Latino cats – the three hermanos Villanueva, and TK from Laredo - holed up in bedrooms, living rooms, and garages on the fringe of the metropolis, making recordings of themselves singing and playing songs they wrote themselves, anonymously churning out some of the most stirring, glistening pop music heard since the Sixties.

Put that together with the Krayolas post-Beatles obsessed home town rock with Augie Meyers along for the flavoring and Michael Corcoran’s current fave the deliciously punky Girl in A Coma, and you've got a scene, even if everything sounds and feels like it was created in their own private environments.

Mike Thompson, Alejandro Escovedo’s webmaster, turned me to Hacienda Loud Is The Night (Alive Records) after the band from San Antonio opened for Al in June at Antone’s in Austin and Floore’s Store in Helotes.

Never heard of them, I told Mike, which figures, since it’s San Antonio. It’s a big city full of different sounds and styles, but most of it is under the radar. Whether it’s too close to Austin or so far from everywhere else, SA is more of a vacuum than a scene.

Hacienda’s obvious references are the Beach Boys and the Beatles because harmonies, melodies, and a soaring bass line jump out from the get go, defining a simple sonic wash that sounds effortless to create. It's a fitting complement to their lyrics which mostly revolve around girls and love.

I checked out their website to search for clues and saw a pic of a black key Vox organ, a totally Sixties instrument that hinted of an Augie Meyer connection. The photos on the CD insert show guys sitting around in various stages of playing in anonymous bedrooms, garages and studios. No pretense, no audience.

Producer credits to Dan Auerbach, the keyboard half of the Black Keys, which explain the wide spaces in Hacienda’s sound. The Vox as a rhythm sticke hits a groove that approaches trance state on the ride out of “Sun” and cements a testifying gospel foundation to “Degree of a Murder” that shows los Hermanoss Villanueva con amigo are smarter than they let on.

The pleading blended vocals and Buddy Holly drumbeat on “Hear Me Cryin’” comes off so honest, Marshall Crenshaw wishes he'd of written it and the Ravonettes should start thinking about covering it. Sometimes, Hacienda almost steps over the line as being too poppy; “Little Girl” is so cloying peppy and upbeat it would fit in seamlessly on any Top 40 Morning Drive radio show if such a thing existed anymore.

By the time they come around the stretch with “Where the Waters Roam,” their angelic three part harmonies are triggering visions of Fleet Foxes and transcending decades past or present. OK, “Leave It That Way” dives into schmaltzy sincere territory in the trad of ol’ Toby Beau from San Anto, but every couple needs to dance to a bellyrubber sooner or later.

Redemption comes in the form of Hacienda’s one and only cover, Sonny & Cher’s “Baby Don’t Go,” an S. (“Is it dumb enough, Phil?”) Bono composition, with a harmonica-embellished rhythm that has held up so well over the years than it should that all of a sudden, “Laugh At Me” is worth reconsidering and listening to again. Brother Abe V's lead vocal is so faithful to the original all the way to crooning the line “you’re the best boy I ever had,” just like Cher did

Then closer, “Wishbone” with its sad fiddle/ accordion/ Appalachian funeral moan and stomp, and all that space between the notes again, gets me thinking all over again - Are they The Band? The Gourds? I don’t know who to compare them with, only that Hacienda are a group worth paying attention to. There’s something going on here.

Keep San Antonio Lame.

Postscript:
Turns out, the album came out last August, almost a year ago. Word travels slow, I guess. They’ve been touring with Auerbach to get some seasoning because they really hadn’t played in public as a band. Now they’re opening up for Alejandro, finishing writing their second album, and Al’s spreading the word too.

Mike Thompson emailed the band and got this response from Dante Schwebel:

“All the brothers were raised in San Antonio, Abraham (oldest) went to O'Connor High School, while the younger brothers Rene and Jaime went to Boerne High School. I was born and raised in Laredo, TX where I went to St. Augustine. After graduating I went to college at UTSA, and started spending time with those guys. Their mom and my mom are sisters, so we spent a lot of time together growing up. We played for a while, never as a band, but just as people. Abraham got a job and a recorder, and we began recording songs. We never played to other people, we just figured nobody would get it or like it.

“The band wasn't playing any more and Jaime and Rene met Dan Auerbach at a show, got him a demo, and then everything changed. We got an email within a month or so. He asked if he could show it to some people. Next thing we knew, some showbiz people put us on some showcase. They asked if we could play live, and we lied. We figured we had a week a so to figure it out. The show went well, and Dan invited us to play a show with the Black Keys in Austin later that year. We knew we did O.K when he contacted us about recording. He was building a studio in Akron and invited us. That’s where we recorded, and he's been part of the family ever since. People always say he's adopted us. I like to think that we've made him an honorary Texan. He's almost as big a part of our band as we are.

“Once the record came out we started touring and hustling to make a dent in the music world. We've been amazingly fortunate to run across people who have helped our band’s career. We just figure if you hustle those opportunities are more likely to keep presenting themselves.”

With that kind of backstory, you can't help but look forward to what's next.

http://www.myspace.com/haciendaspace

http://www.haciendaonline.net/

why aren't all automated walkways like this?

2009-06-13T10:45:00.002-05:00

Texas Accordion Kings and Queens

2009-06-09T11:04:00.017-05:00

The 20th annual Texas Accordion Kings & Queens show in Houston, presented by Texas Folklife, may have been the best one yet. Santiago Jimenez, Jr. and Mark Halata and Texavia with Mark Rubin on tuba brought out the traditional sounds and the polka dancers in their bright red jackets (none of whom brought up the Grammys dropping the polka category because they were too busy dancing); Lady D and the Zydeco Tornadoes, Cedryl Ballou and the Zydeco Trendsetters featuring three generations of the Ballou family from guitarist Classie to hard-pounding drummer Camron, and Sunny Sauceda and his band put modern twists on classic sounds (Sunny's cover of ZZ Top's "Tush" was pretty Out There) ; and the Big Squeeze finalists (Gloria Jean Cantu, Juan Vasquez, winner Heri Rodriguez, and Anthony Ortiz Jr.) demonstrated exceptional chops.
It was a special treat getting to watch Big Squeeze finalist Anthony Ortiz Jr. from Austin back up his grandfather Shorty Ortiz, leader of the infamous Shorty y Los Corvettes, the first band my compadre Joe "King" Carrasco played in when he came to Austin. El Shorty sizzled on guitar and vocals on his old hit, El Troquero.
The range they covered through the night left me smiling with the knowledge the future of Texas accordion is as bright as its past and present. Vamos a get down,l laissez les bon ton roulet, and Jak Se Mas were rallying cries heard from the huge crowd sitting on the grassy hill under a full moon. "Viva Seguin" was performed at least three times. Too much was not enough.

Nowhere but Houston.

El Gran Jam

Sunny and bajo player Leroy Esparza mixing it up

Cedryl Ballou on squeeze box, Camron Ballou on drums, Classie Ballou on guitar

Santiago Jimenez, Jr. playing songs for his father

Mark Halata mixing it up with Bruce Brosch and Texavia

Anthony Ortiz Jr. and his grandfather El Shorty

Gloria Jean Cantu

New York street life

2009-06-07T21:00:00.021-05:00

Everything looks vaguely familiar, but nothing else quite compares to the streets of New York. (with a tip of the Hatlo Hat to Gary Winograd)

Blaze Foley from a Georgia perspective

2009-06-01T21:32:00.003-05:00

My friend Scott Freeman, who wrote the definitive Allman Brothers biography, sent a note recently, having read my No Depression story about Blaze Foley, one of the greatest unsung singer-songwriters to have ever rambled around Austin. Scott sent me a note explaining he knew Blaze from a completely different perspective when he was living in Georgia and known as Dept'y Dawg. That version of Blaze is well told by his former girlfriend Sybil Rosen in her heartfelt book published by University of North Texas Press this year. I asked Scott to flesh out his memories, and here's what he wrote:

I have the rather dubious distinction of having been Blaze Foley's bartender.

In Carrollton, Ga., there’s a restaurant/bar called the Maple Street Mansion. It’s inside an old Victorian mansion that was rumored to be haunted by a ghost. There was a stylish restaurant in the front but back in the bar, back in the day, that was where the local hipsters hung out.

The guy who became my best friend in college took me there not long after I’d moved to Carrollton, with the promise that he was going to play me the best cry-in-your-beer song ever written.

I probably told him that was impossible. I’d grown up on Hank and George Jones and Jim Reeves and those were some pretty serious cry-in-your-beer singers. But after we’d drank a couple, he dramatically and confidently announced that it was time. He walked over to the jukebox, plopped in a quarter, punched 117-A and sat back down. And that was how I first became acquainted with a song that I have held dear for my entire adult life: Blaze Foley’s “If I Could Only Fly.”

As he played the song for a third time, my friend told me the back story: The song was written for maybe the most gorgeous of all the Mansion waitresses (working at the Mansion was high social status in the hipster scene). That was why it was put on the Mansion’s jukebox, and why it had remained there for years. Of course, all that turned out not to be so true, but it still made for a great story. And having that song on the jukebox was one of the things that defined why the Mansion was cool.

The Mansion became my hang-out, and I don’t think there was a time I went there without at least once playing that song and the B-side, the hilarious “Let Me Ride (In Your Big Cadillac)". I wasn’t the only one; some nights, “If I Could Only Fly” would play four or five times.

Around the Mansion, Blaze Foley was this mysterious character that you weren’t even sure really existed. Except for the record on the jukebox, he seemed like another ghost that haunted the place. Everyone seemed to have heard of him, a few claimed to have talked to him but it seemed like hardly anyone had ever actually seen him.

The basic information was that he’d grown up near Carrollton and he’d used the moniker of Deputy Dawg before he morphed into Blaze Foley. A few years back, he’d left town and moved out in Texas somewhere to find his fortunes. His single wasn’t ever really released, but the reasons were vague. And at some point word came that he was recording an album in Muscle Shoals.

At the time, I was working my first newspaper job and eventually burned out and quit. That’s when I found myself working as a bartender at the Mansion. By then, I’d met one of Blaze’s friends, Jim Bob Shaw. And Jim Bob walked in one night with a big smile and bearing the most improbable news, “Blaze is coming to town.”

None of us really knew that Blaze had become a fairly big deal in Austin, or that he was hanging out with Townes. Hell, Townes was barely known himself at that point. We just knew Blaze was a local guy with a great 45 on the jukebox who aspired to play country music.

I worked mostly afternoons at the Mansion and Blaze was crashing at Jim Bob’s apartment, conveniently located next door. So we got to know each other fairly well. I was known for giving starving musicians free food and free beer, and I fed Blaze more than once. The Duct-taped shoes gave him away.

As Townes has pointed out, there were two Blaze Foleys. There was the quiet, soft-spoken and thoughtful guy with a wicked sense of humor. Just a beautiful soul. And then there was the drunk Blaze, who could suddenly transform into the kind of asshole that you went out of your way to avoid.

There was one night I’ll never forget. It was a Saturday night and Blaze had obviously spent his afternoon pounding back the Budweisers. He was sitting at the bar, and trying hard to inspire someone, anyone, to fight him. Just saying anything nasty and insulting that came to mind. It was uncomfortable and unbearable. People were getting up and leaving. Both me and the other barkeep kept warning him to chill. Finally, I ordered Blaze to leave the bar. If he wanted to stay, he had to go find an out-of-the-way booth and stop picking on people. That seemed to calm him down.

As it happened, the other barkeep’s parents came in that night. They were standing at the bar, this lovely old couple, talking to their son. And Blaze walked up to get a re-fill. He turned to them and snarled, “Your son’s a fucking asshole.”

Enough was enough. I told Blaze to leave and, instead, he went back to his booth. Finally, I picked up the phone to call the cops. That’s what we did with the occasional unruly customer. And I was pissed, disappointed in Blaze. I dialed the first six numbers, but couldn’t bear to hit the last number. I hung up the phone. How could I call the cops on a guy who’d written one of my favorite songs in the world? I just didn’t have the heart. Instead, I walked over to him. “Blaze, I just almost called the cops on you,” I said very calmly. “And I don’t want to do that. You are going to have to chill out, and you’re going to have to leave.”

Amazingly enough, he did. The next day, he came in to apologize, and to thank me for not calling the police.

He was in and out of town every few months to come see his family. And he’d always hang out at the bar. Blaze always had a free beer with me. And a meal. That fact alone qualified me as one of his best friends.

At one point, I’d put together a band, and Blaze and I played a house party together. My band played a set, then his make-shift band played a set. We traded off until the wee hours. Blaze didn’t have a guitar, so I let him use my Strat. That guitar has never sounded sweeter. I remember I was surprised by the blues influence in his music because “If I Could Only Fly” was my only frame of reference. I’m glad I have that night to remember. I’m glad I got to see him perform. I’m glad I have a guitar that Blaze Foley once played.

During one of his visits, Blaze came armed with 20 or 30 copies of an album he’d recorded in Muscle Shoals. I watched him carry them into Jim Bob’s apartment. Of course, it was Blaze so there was going to be some strange cloud of catastrophe hanging over it. This time, there was some story about how the record label president had been arrested by the DEA, who promptly seized all the copies of Blaze’s album except for this batch that he somehow spirited away.

Not long after he left town, Jim Bob came in and mentioned that Blaze had left the albums in his safekeeping. He must have noticed my face light up. “Do you want one?” he asked, hesitantly, almost as if he was afraid I’d say no. “There aren’t many copies left, but Blaze would want you to have it.”

Oh, I burned to hear that album. I couldn’t get home quickly enough. It was no big-budget production, but the songs … “Picture Cards” and “My Reasons Why” and “Oval Room.” I now know them all by heart. Plus, the deliciously lewd “Girl Scout Cookies.” I played it so often that I decided to record it onto a cassette so I wouldn’t wear out the album. I knew I’d never see another copy.

I eventually moved to Macon to take another newspaper job. On one of my trips home, I ran into Jim Bob and he told me the news. Blaze had been killed in Austin.

When Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard recorded “If I Could Only Fly,” I was filled with pride for the memory of Blaze. And I began to realize that Blaze was a bigger deal than any of us knew. Townes Van Zandt, who had written the liner notes for the Muscle Shoals album, immortalized him in a song. And I also read a Lucinda Williams interview where she mentioned that she’d known Blaze.

I was a big Lucinda fan long before “Car Wheels.” I’m pretty sure I bought my first Lucinda album because she looked so hot in the cover photo, but it was her voice that seduced me. And those great songs.

So I eagerly picked up “Car Wheels” the first day it was released. One of the songs was called “Drunken Angel” and by the third line, I knew the song was about Blaze. Had to be. Then she sang the line about the Duct-tape shoes. That was Blaze. No doubt. And the tears just swelled up in my eyes.

Not long after I moved, I came home and swung by the Mansion. When I walked over to the jukebox and it was like being hit by an electric jolt: 117 was no longer Blaze Foley. The soul of the Mansion had just been taken away.

The manager walked in a couple of hours later, and we sat and talked. After a while, he said, “I’ve been holding something for you.” He got up, walked behind the bar, reached behind the cash register and pulled out a 45 record. “I thought you’d want to have this,” he said.

That single is on my iTunes now and though I cleaned the record the best I could, I could never get all the grit out of its grooves that had accumulated from its years on the Mansion jukebox. But I like it better that way. I still hear it now the same way I heard it then: That deep, otherworldly voice with a lonesome-sounding harmonica blowing behind it. The trembling first line seemed to summon every drop of sadness ever known in the world. And the great kicker: A man who wants to fly but happens to be too drunk and wasted to even stand up.

A record like that should rise out of the static and pop from years spent on a barroom jukebox. That’s only apropos. After all, like my friend said, it does happen to be the greatest cry-in-your-beer song ever written.

Texas BBQ, The Book

2009-05-18T07:53:00.008-05:00

As both a connoisseur and critic of barbecue in its many manifestations, I am not easily swayed by other critics, much less books on the subject. But I gotta say, nothing comes close to the wonderful book of photographs and essays focusing on the Central Texas barbecue belt that my colleague Wyatt McSpadden has put together for the University of Texas Press. John Morthland's essay sets the table (no silverware required) and Jim Harrison's essay pumps up the whole carnivore thang. But McSpadden's images are the star here, focusing on the cuisine's basic elements - meat, pits, wood, fire, knives and the men who make the ritual happen. He chose the some of best locations to zone in on - Kreuz Market and Smitty's in Lockhart, Louie Mueller's in Taylor, Gonzales Food Market in Gonzales, the New Zion Missionary Babtist Church in Huntsville, Hallettsville, Prause Meat Market in LaGrange, Luling City Market (best in Texas and the world, I think) - and the best people manning the pits, especially his portraits of Roy Perez, all muscle and grit framed by his mutton-chop sideburns.

This isn't a complete guide or a cookbook - Robb Walsh's book is still the best in those respects. What McSpadden achieves is getting to the heart of the culture of Texas barbecue, peeling back the crust to reveal its smoldering soul.

From the butcher paper inner cover images to the school desk seats at Sonny Bryan's in Dallas, the smudged walls at Smitty's and the faded signage ("If the Bears kill, we'll cook it") at Mama & Papa B's in Waco, Wyatt McSpadden captures the essence of Texas barbecue so well, you can smell the smoke every time you turn the page. It doesn't get any better than that.

(in case you can't tell, the following are my own BBQ photographs, not Wyatt's)

Stephen Bruton, Six-String Maestro

2009-05-09T13:42:00.017-05:00

Turner Stephen Bruton, the Fort Worth flash and "the best damn rock and roll guitar player in the world," as his friend, mentor, and bandleader Kris Kristofferson would introduce him night after night, rode off into the sunset on Saturday at the doorstep of the Pacific Ocean.

Stephen was music, a genuine player's player. He was a mandolinist, banjo picker and guitarist who trafficked in bluegrass at Arlington Heights High School where he was recognized as Most Talented and performed with the Brazos River Ramblers. His mom and dad ran Record Town, a record shop across from TCU that his brother and mother still run today, and one of the greatest dispensers of "hep" Fort Worth ever had, educating critic Dave Hickey, producer T-Bone Burnett, and western swing scholar Kevin Coffey, among others.

He rambled around briefly after graduating from high school, hanging out in Woodstock with Geoff Muldaur and the players in the Band before hooking up with Kris Kristofferson, for whom he ended up playing lead guitar for 17 years. Back home, he dove into the blues at local jooks, most prominently the New Bluebird Nite Club, where he and his high school music buddy T-Bone (formerly J. Henry) Burnett co-produced an exceptional gritty live recording of Robert Ealey & His Five Careless Lovers, a band that included Stephen's brother Sumter. Stephen fronted his own occasional Fort Worth band, Little Whisper & the Rumors with Jim Colegrove, whom he'd met up in Woodstock, when he wasn't hanging in his new hometown of Los Angeles, where he was the kid with the gig to a cadre of hungry Fort Worth expats including Delbert McClinton and Glen Clark.

After leaving Kristofferson, Stephen joined up with Bonnie Raitt just as she was enjoying her second burst of fame for Give It Up for an extended spell, writing songs for her. He briefly worked with Bob Dylan.

In the 1980s, Stephen drifted from LA down to Austin where he reinvented himself as a producer (Alejandro Escovedo, Marcia Ball,Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Hal Ketchum, Chris Smither, Storyville, among others) and a session player, recording with Elvis Costello, T-Bone,Delbert, B.B.King, Lowell George, Bob Neuwirth, and the Wallflowers, while playing solo and band gigs inAustin. His songs were covered by Hal Ketchum, Kris Kristofferson, Rita Coolidge, Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, Patty Loveless, Jimmy Buffet, and Bonnie Raitt.

His movie star good looks were the real deal. He appeared in a number of films beginning with "A Star Is Born" and "Songwriter."

For the past 13 years, he fronted the Resentments, a collective of clean and sober players (Jon Dee Graham, Scrappy Jud Newcomb, Bruce Hughes, the late Mambo John Treanor and John Chipman)who held court early Sunday evenings at the Saxon Club, an under the radar joint where they developed a bar band groove so cool, they were "discovered" and toured Japan and Europe, but hardly anywhere else in the United States.

His sobriety helped inspire others, including Stevie Ray Vaughan,to straighten up and save themselves, which he shared with me for the book Stevie Ray Vaughan: Caught in the Crossfire

Stephen was diagnosed with cancer in December 2006, a few days after I visited him to talk about Willie for the book I was working on. We ended up talking about Fort Worth's rich but hidden music history, touching Sock Underwood, Robert Johnson, and graveyard jams involving white and black musicians in the days of segregation.

After a long fight with his sickness, he left Austin this past winter when T-Bone Burnett chartered a jet for Stephen the night after T-Bone won a Grammy and brought him to Los Angeles where they were working on a movie soundtrack.

Stephen had a full life despite barely making it to 60. He had so much more in him, though, his early exit is a huge loss for those who knew him and loved him and those who simply knew him through his music.

Condolences to his mother and brother, his wife, and all his family and friends.

Godspeed, music maker. You sure sound good.

UPDATE:

Services for Turner Stephen Bruton will be at 10 am Saturday, May 15 at Holy Family Catholic Church, 6150 Pershing, in Fort Worth. Burial at Mount Olivet Cemetery will follow.

There will be a viewing at Thompson's Harveson & Cole Funeral Home, 702 8th Avenue in Fort Worth on Friday evening beginning at 5:30 pm.

Edwin Bud Shrake, Literary Lion

2009-05-09T07:58:00.002-05:00

Bud Shrake had twenty years on me, and went to Paschal not Arlington Heights. He was already working at the Fort Worth Press on Jones Street in Hell's Half Acre when I was born. He was mentored by sportswriting legend Blackie Sherrod and had Dan Jenkins and Gary Jap Cartwright as mentors. He dated a stripper from Jack Ruby's club, covered the Dallas Cowboys at their birth, wrote for Sports Illustrated, was part of cafe society at Elaine's in New York where he drank and bullshitted with the leading literary lights of his day. He moved to Austin in 1968 before any cool did and dreamed up his own Texified cafe society with the Mad Dogs, a group that included Cartwright, writer Jan Reid, county commissioner Ann Richards, and music bard Jerry Jeff Walker. He was successful enough to fund the Armadillo World Headquarters with a few well-placed loans. He proceeded to write novels, ghost Willie Nelson's autobiography and partner with golf pro Harvey Penick on his Little Red Book of Golf. When Ann Richards was elected Governor of Texas, he was her First Gentleman and Significant Other. I don't think either of them ever got over the serendipity of it all.

A younger writer who moved to Austin to soak up the culture and write about it couldn't help but fall under Shrake's spell and influence. So it was with some trepidation that the same writer would approach Shrake to look through his papers to see how he wrote Willie's autobiography before contemplating writing his own biography of Willie. Shrake was nothing but encouraging. Still, there was more trepidation when the young writer asked Shrake if he could talk to him about the process and what he learned, and relief when Shrake invited him to coffee. At the end of a five hour coffee, interrupted by several breaks so one of two older men could go pee, the not-so-young-anymore writer heard nothing but encouraging words from the literary lion. That validation emboldened the not-so-young-anymore writer to take the leap and write a book like no other he'd written before. It might not have been Shrake-level literary brilliance, but it exceeded what the writer thought he had in him.

Texas writer had been a description reserved for early 20th century lights such as J. Frank Dobie and Walter Prescott Webb. Shrake embodied that term for late 20th century writers all the way to the here and now, defining the modern Texas and its culture better than anyone had before or has since. What stuck with one writer who came up in Fort Worth two decades after Shrake did was his ability to delineate between "hip" and "hep." Lots of places and lots of people flattered themselves by thinking they were "hip." Fort Worth, Shrake had observed many times, was never "hip." But it sure was "hep" - hepper than just about anywhere on earth. The images that Bud Shrake conjured with words - like when someone was thirsty they needed a "drank" and his description of the "perp walk" the police would make the hoodlums do for the edification of reporters every week - made it so.

So call him what you want. I'll just call him the heppest cat who put words on paper in this corner of the world.

Thanks for the wisdom and the advice.

Poodie

2009-05-06T17:47:00.009-05:00

Poodie Locke passed away today. You might know him as the proprietor of Poodie's Hilltop Bar & Grill, or as the stage manager for Willie Nelson & Family.
I've known him as a larger than life figure, a wild man, the heart and soul of Willie's storied road crew, and a genuine friend.

He's was the Go To Guy for translation and better understanding when I was working on the Willie biography and the most fun cat I've ever played golf with, even thought I never picked up a club. He was also a hard working sumbitch, working the phones or his laptop even when he was having fun, always looking out for the boss and fronting for him without anyone ever realizing how smooth he was getting things done because his MO was total duct-tape.

Between him and his Momma Locke, who ran a boarding house, I realized Waco had more soul than most folks gave it credit for. He always knew where he came from, and would get the busses to stop for burgers at Cupp's whenever they were passing through.

He was the only roadie to have his own line of barbecue sauces. He was funny as all get-out, a great storyteller (oh, the time he talked about Larry Trader having told too many lies at the picnic at Spicewood, he had to be helicoptered away) and so real, I witnessed the alleged crazy man Johnny Knoxville kneel in fealty in Poodie's presence. Poodie was the real wild man. On the road, he was always plugged into the action, leading daytime tours of medical marijuana clinics (how he got access was a testament to his prowess and reputation) and to Alcatraz for a cadre of friends and followers when Willie did the Fillmore for a week a couple years back.

Last time I saw Poodie about three weeks ago, we talked about surviving. He told me he'd never been sick a day in his life. I asked him what his secret was. "Genes, I guess," he shrugged, before going about his business. I was going to catch up with him at Carl's on Saturday and when I couldn't swing that, I was going to drop by Spicewood and see him today. They say it was a heart attack. I'm glad it was quick. Poodie was too full of life to fade away slowly. He exited stage left at the top of his game, and at the top of his boss' game. I miss him already.

My condolences to Gloria (Mamma) Locke, his sister Cindy, his girlfriend Shaye, and all his family and all his friends around the world.

UPDATE (mil gracias, Texas Clem)
James Randal "Poodie" Locke
1948-2009
Rest in Peace Big Boy

He will be buried Monday in Waco at Conally Compton Funeral Home.
There will be a Memorial Celebration in his Honor in Austin in a few weeks. Details to follow.
I'm sure there will be something scheduled at the Hilltop as well.

In the meantime, Clem passed this along to make us smile.

AND THIS FROM BUDROCK, WILLIE'S LIGHTING DIRECTOR AND POODIE'S BEST FRIEND:

By Buddy Prewitt

May 7, 2009 2:32 PM | Link to this

It is tough losing your best friend. He was my Brother. 33 years side by side. Godfather of my kids. Nobody’s enemy.

I know it is harder for Shaye, Mama Locke, Cindy, and the rest of the Family.

My thoughts and prayers will be forever.

Rest in Peace Big Boy, you deserve it. There is not enough space for the words that you deserve. If you knew him, you know.

Now somebody else is gonna have to write the book.

You will NEVER be forgotten.

Your Best Friend Forever, Budrock

Sonny Rollins

2009-05-04T08:27:00.008-05:00

Witnessing a living legend can be a dicey proposition. Chuck Berry at 70 was an abomination, one of those Wish I Hadn't moments that destroyed whatever respect I once had for the cat. James Brown in his 60s made me wince and wonder about his knee pads.

So Sonny Rollins, the great tenor saxophonist whom I'd never seen, was a calculated risk. At 79, I should just be thankful to have witnessed him in the flesh. As he walked on the stage of the Bass Concert Hall on Sunday night with an uneasy, limping gait, the impression was underscore: after more than fifty years of jazz innovation, I was fortunate to experience a live Rollins performance before he exits Stage Left from this good earth.

But once his microphone was fixed five minutes into the first tune, age and time vanished, and performance he led his five piece group was just that: a performance of a great player essaying lush ballads, familiar ballads and even flashes of hard bop, no perspective required. His tone, his command, his presence, the players around him - everything was what great music should be. His brass counterpoint, trombonist Clifton Anderson (his nephew) provided the perfect counterpoint to Sonny and riffed improvisations as satisfying as the front man's. Guitarist Bobby Broom, who played his first gig with Sonny when he was just sixteen – at Town Hall, no less and also served briefly as Miles Davis’s guitarist, as the only guitarist to work in Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers, and had a long stint with Dr. John (a tip of the Hatlo Hat to Matt Farmer), took his improvised leads on his Gibson to places where the bus doesn't run before bringing it all back to the basic groove. Rollins' showed his obvious delight, pushing him and urging him on, mouthing his approval whenever Brown's breaks moved him. The rhythm section of Bob Cranshaw's cool and understated bass, drummer Kobie Watson's expressive fills, and Victor See Yuan's smooth conga and percussive fills provided a solid foundation for all the riffs that flew from the players.

Rollins' improvisation was a joy to hear and see, working his tenor hard, extending a note while letting his right hand drop to his side, walking out to the plank where only Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders went with confidence, then downshifting to full and mellow clusters of notes that shimmered in their luxuriance on "They Say It's Wonderful" back to back with "My One and Only Love," both from the Johnny Hartman-John Coltrane studio collaborations in 1962-3.

Over the course of an hour and a half, the ensemble grooved and wailed steadily on a handful of tunes, earning a string of standing ovations at the completion of each. The only pause in the articulated groove was towards the end when Sonny limped to the microphone to growl out "AWWWW-STIN" in appreciation of the crowd, noting twice that the last time he'd passed through town was playing the Armadillo, which he pronounced with the kind of conviction you could tell he had a soft spot in his heart for place. The band closed with "Don't Stop The Carnival" a Rollins standard with it signature Second Line backbeat. While it was clear Rollins don't do no encores (at this stage of his career, encores are redundant and standing up for close to two hours on those old legs of his is no cakewalk), the audience was not going to let him go, so he gathered the group to walk out on stage one more time and wave, then walk off. The cheering didn't stop, so the group reluctantly came out for one more, with Sonny playing AND singing lead on a blues shuffle "It's a Lowdown Dirty Shame." The band played, departed, came out for one more wave at the crowd, and everybody went home tired and happy, the cats who made it all happen included.

TWO POSTSCRIPTS

The acoustics at the redone Bass were pretty sweet once the sax mic glitch was resolved.

And Hank Alrich of the Armadillo World Headquarters recalled the last time Sonny played Austin for me today, via email:

"The airplane had hit a huge air bump and he'd smacked his upper lip against solid structure and split it open. He played a long and amazing set with blood running down his sax, took a break and did another one. What a fucking hero.

"How the hell can Austin not bring back Sonny for all those goddamn years? That is beyond pathetic. Live music capitol, my ass."

Nine Pin Bowling

2009-05-02T09:52:00.007-05:00

from the May issue of Texas Coop Power (click on the headline for the whole PDF file)

STILL STANDING AFTER ALL THESE YEARS

BY JOE NICK PATOSKI
PHOTOS BY WYATT McSPADDEN

IT’S SATURDAY AFTERNOON AT THE Fischer Bowling Club, a humble building
beneath shady oaks on a two-lane county road in the Hill Country with a
red-wood storefront exterior made distinctive by eight white bowling pins
arranged in a circle on the wall around a red pin in the middle.

Inside, it feels like a long time ago. Four teams of bowlers are keeping the
pin boys at the end of the alley under the Willkommen zum Fischer sign busy, setting up a new diamond-shaped rack of pins whenever all the old rack of pins are all knocked down, or the red pin in the middle, also known as the kingpin, is the only one left standing.
The bowlers sit in the rooster benches—as the three rows of bleachers are called—waiting their turn to roll, exchanging pleasantries and small talk, while the team captain records the team scores on the chalkboard by the side of the lanes and calls up the next team bowler. After rolling balls and knocking down pins for a while, on cue, everyone takes a break, with half of the bowlers going outside to stretch and the other half heading to the bar, popping open $1.50 beers and 50-cent sodas, keeping tabs on the honor system, firing up the jukebox or flipping through the pages of the bowling club scrapbook on the counter while three kids scamper beneath them. After a few minutes’ respite, a petite, gray-haired lady blows a whistle, and
everyone goes back to bowling.

Step inside any of the 19 ninepin bowling clubs clustered around Comal,Bexar and Guadalupe counties, and step into Texas as it used to be. Ninepin bowling is one of the last Old World traditions that Germans brought with them when they settled a broad, fertile swath of Central and South-Central Texas in the mid-to-late 18th century. Ninepins were the most popular form of bowling in the early United States, but since the 1930s, when the game was outlawed in several states for its associations with gambling and other shady activities, Texas has been the only place
where ninepins remains popular.Tenpin bowling replaced ninepin, and its popularity was sealed in the 1950s when pinsetters were automated.

But ninepin, along with the kids who “set ’em up,” never lost favor in Texas.
Today, the tri-county ninepin clubs are the last place in America where bowling
is done like this. Ninepin bowling has a direct connection to a time when social clubs functioned as community centers for German immigrant farmers and others
working the fields. It was often the only social option outside the church.
Annual memberships under $25, a night of bowling for about $6 and beers under $2 are reminders of how fun used to be a whole lot cheaper and simpler. All one needs to do is commit to bowl one or two nights a week and (for the better bowlers) be willing to travel to “roll-offs” against other clubs.

The functional exteriors of the buildings,ranging from cinder block to limestone to modern metal siding; their lowfrills,full-service interiors with tables, chairs, ballrooms, bar and jukebox; and their locations at the edge of cultivated farmland, at crossroads or in oak-canopied oases, are testament to the industriousness and values of the clubs’ founders. The current members, who revel in the old ways despite encroaching cities and suburbs, are testament to the staying power of ninepins.

The specter of the Target sign hovering above the horizon marking yet another power-center mall going up within eyeshot of the Freiheit Bowling Club in New Braunfels does not diminish what the club and the corrugated tin-sided Freiheit Country Store next door symbolize. In the here and now,ninepin bowling clubs not only still
function as they were intended to when they were established more than a century
ago, they’re cool. You don’t have to bowl or even go inside to appreciate nuances such as the sign out front of Solms Bowling Club, just south of New Braunfels and
just west of Interstate 35, that spells out “Solms Bowling Club 100 Years” in
horseshoes. For all the intrusions thatso-called progress brings, most bowling
clubs have enough land for barbecue pits, shaded pavilions and horseshoes
on the side or around back to get away from it all.

One such example is the eight-lane Mission Valley Bowling Club west of
New Braunfels at the crossroads of State Highway 46 and FM 1863. The newbie
of ninepin clubs, established in 1943, it remains a surviving slice of countryside
in a rapidly developing area. Similarly, it may take some rooting around to find
the Bulverde Community Center Bowling Club behind the Bulverde Community
Center and next to a school on Ammann Road. Even the Spring Branch Bowling Club on busy U.S. Highway 281 conveys that feeling of refuge. Go around back where the pit and pavilion await under a thicket of oaks, and it still feels like country.

The presence of a ninepin bowling club means a drinking establishment or dance hall is in close proximity, often as not. The Bexar and Germania bowling clubs outside Loop 1604 east of San Antonio are within walking distance of the Double Ringer Lounge (known locally as “Teddy’s”) at the crossroads of Zuehl as well as a public shooting range. The Barbarossa, Bracken and Freiheit bowling clubs are all adjacent
to classic beer joints. The 120-year-old Freiheit country store and dance hall has a rep for its griddle-cooked hamburgers, shuffleboard, jukebox and a sign out front that says, “Gun Owners Parking Only, Violators Will Be Shot.” The Fischer Bowling Club, operated by the Agricultural Society of Fischer, which dates back to the 1870s, is adjacent to a 100-year-old dance hall also operated by the society that is available for private functions. The six-lane Blanco Bowling Club is most famous for the Blanco Bowling Club Café in front of the alleys, world-renowned for its
truckstop enchiladas and lemon and chocolate meringue pies.

People are perhaps the most crucial ingredient of all that makes ninepin what it is. There’s a lilt in the accents of many bowlers who act like they’ve known each other since they were kids. This may well be the case, since some bowlers go back three or four generations. Listen close, and what you thought was pronounced “bear” for
Bexar is referred to as “becks-are” by ninepin bowlers.

Folks at one club seem to know folks at other clubs, as was the case with Kendra, who ran the Freiheit Country Store next to the Freiheit Bowling Club, who said to say hi to Alvin Seiler at the Barbarossa Trough next to the Barbarossa Bowling Club; and with Sharon Coker, the manager at the Laubach Bowling Club, who showed off the bowling pin-themed curtains she redid and gave a brief history of the club founded by the San Geronimo Harmonie as Dean Martin crooned “That’s Amore” on the jukebox. She reckoned that the bowlers in Marion were tougher competitors to go up against in a roll-off than the bowlers over at the Bexar, Germania and Cibolo bowling clubs.

As long as there are good people like Coker, the balls roll, and the pins are reset manually (don’t forget to tip your pinsetter), ninepin remains the only way to bowl in at least one part of Texas that’s like nowhere else in the world.

THE CLUBS
Barbarossa Bowling Club, 4007 FM 758
(between Zorn and New Braunfels), New Braunfels,
(830) 625–2034
Bexar Bowling Alley & Social Hall, 15681 Bexar
Bowling Club Road, Marion (1.5 miles south of
Interstate 10 off Trainer Hale Road, east of San
Antonio), (830) 420-2512
Blanco Bowling Club, 310 Fourth St., Blanco,
(830) 833-4416
Bracken Bowling Club, 18397 Bracken Drive
(off FM 2252, north of Evans Road), Bracken,
(210) 651-6941
Bulverde Community Center Bowling Club,
1747 E. Ammann Road (west of Bulverde Road and
FM 1863), Bulverde, (830) 438-3065 www.bul
verdebowlingclub.com
Cibolo Bowling Club, 601 N. Main St. (north of
FM 78), Cibolo, (210) 658-2248
Fischer Bowling Club, Fischer Store Road (off
Ranch Road 32), Fischer, (830) 935-4800
Freiheit Bowling Club, 2145 FM 1101 (at FM 483,
1 mile east of Interstate 35), New Braunfels, (830)
625-0372
Germania Bowling Club, 1826 Zuehl Road,
Zuehl (near Bowling Club Road, 1.5 miles south of
Interstate 10 off Trainer Hale Road, east of San
Antonio), (830) 420-2675
Highland Social Club, 2929 S. W.W. White Road,
San Antonio, (210) 333-4567
Laubach Bowling Club, 1986 Laubach Road,
(1.5 miles east of State Highway 123), Seguin,
(830) 379-9033
Marion Bowling Club, 111 W. Krueger (north of
the railroad tracks by the Catholic church),
Marion, (830) 420-2205
Martinez Social Club, 7791 Saint Hedwig Road
(at FM 1516), San Antonio, (210) 661-2422
Mission Valley Bowling Club, 2311 W. State
Highway 46, New Braunfels, (830) 629–0028
Rogers Ranch Bowling Club, 1651 Rogers
Ranch Road (County Road 223 off FM 2001, 1.5
miles east of State Highway 21 between Lockhart
and Niederwald), Lockhart, (512) 398-2809
Solms Bowling Club, 175 N. Solms Road (1 mile
west of Interstate 35), New Braunfels, (830) 608–
9691
Spring Branch Bowling Club, 12830 U.S.
Highway 281 (less than a mile south of FM 306),
Spring Branch, (830) 885-4611
Turner Bowling Club, 120 Ninth St., San Antonio,
(210) 227-4412, www.turnerclub.org
Zorn Bowling Club, 12000 State Highway 1

The Life and Times of Vince Bell, Texas Songwriter

2009-05-01T10:54:00.003-05:00

Vince Bell has been a stalwart of the Texas singer-songwriter scene since he emerged in Houston in the early 1980s. He was a rising star in Houston and in Austin until he was almost killed in a car wreck in 1983. A severe head injury effectively wiped out his career. For awhile. His determined rehabilitation and subsequent comeback have culminated in a trifecta this year: an album, a one-man play, and a wonderful book titled One Man's Music, that tells the tale. Head injuries are difficult to diagnose and even more difficult to overcome, which Vince relates well in his telling. We see progress from the outside; he sees it from the inside looking out. Either way, his recovery alone makes for an inspiring story. But it's the details along the way that make this such a good read, capturing the vibe of the Old Quarter and Anderson Fair in Houston through anecdotes such as his wild night opening for Townes Van Zandt and recalling his last recording session before his car wreck in which Stevie Ray Vaughan, Eric Johnson and Chris Holzhaus added their guitars. Tim Leatherwood, Mandy Mercier, Kathleen Hudson and a cast of great pickers and poets all make cameos.

This is a fine book about Texas music, the singer-songwriter tradition, and a personal journey that ends triumphant in the here and now. I'm proud to know Vince as both a friend and a fellow traveler.

Click on the headline to go to his website, www.vincebell.com and catch up on all his exciting exploits.

Sarah Jarosz

2009-04-25T17:43:00.005-05:00

Her MySpace page identifies her from Austin, but as a real local, I'm proud to point out 17 year old high school senior Sarah Jarosz (pronounced Jah-Rose)whose debut album has just been released on Sugar Hill Records, is actually from the small hamlet of Wimberley, where I've had the pleasure of watching a community raise a great musician.

Kris remembered she showed initiative at kindergarten age when she volunteered to lead the assembly at St. Stephens School in singing "It's A Grand Old Flag." My memories are a sweet kid with supportive parents hanging around the edge of the Friday Night Picking Sessions at Catfish Charlie's, strumming her guitar or mandolin along with everyone else in a large picking circle led by Mike Bond. By the end of junior high, she was leading picking circles on her mandolin and clawhammer banjo at parties that our neighbors Alan Munde and Kitty Ledbetter throw, fingers blazing, but always in an understated manner. Then came standout performances at the Old Settler's Music Festival, gigs with the Austin Symphony, national appearances, numerous YouTube vids, a jam with John Paul Jones of Led Zeppelin and Uncle Earl, and European tours. Now comes her recorded debut, supported by the likes of Tim O'Brien and Chris Thiele of Nickel Creek.

So what's inside Song Inside My Head ? An album's worth of wonderfully atmospheric acoustic music, most of them originals that sound ancient, along with a few smart covers, such as the Decemberists' "Shankill Butchers" and Tom Waits/Kathleen Brennen "Come On Up To The House" that sound equally timeless. Collectively, they show an exceptional instrumentalist and a distinctive, still developing voice on the cusp of greatness. Her foundation may be bluegrass but no way does she fit into that box. Rather, Jarosz is a voice (and a stylist) who is already fully-developed, but young enough to be fun keeping up with over the years. Since she's headed to the New England Conservatory of Music after she graduates from WHS this spring, I'm looking forward to what comes next almost as much as I'm enjoying her engaging sound in the here and now.

Way to go, girl.

Ronny Elliott, Tampa's King O' Cool

2009-04-25T17:21:00.004-05:00

The music scene of Tampa, FLA is so under the radar, most folks don't even know it has a scene. But it does, as I've witnessed at annual Florida Bandango at Yard Dog during SXSW when a Tampa brigade usually shows up to play and hand out cigars. Ronny Elliott is the heart and soul of that scene, a cat too old to be discovered and too young to be a mystic legend, yet one of the best songwriters I enjoy listening to. OK, he caught my ear a few years ago with his sordid, droll ballad "Valentino's Dream," based on an article I'd written about the sordid record producer from Houston Huey P. Meaux, the Crazy Cajun. The song led an album's worth of sordid rock and roll tales based on true events involving rock and rollers and some kinda downfall. titled Valentine Roadkill. Ronny not only told good stories, he did in a laconic, quasi-hillbilly twang style that made you want to listen to him around the campfire. He was just as compelling live and in person behind Yard Dog, partnering up with long, tall Tampa Queen Rebekah Pulley, his Tammy to her George Jones. Kris went home after the show to play "Your Cheatin' Heart" in minor key on the piano like Ronny and Rebekah did.

So now comes Tales of Lust & Longing (BAAMO Records) a compilation featuring Tampa's leading musical lights in a totally cool kinda way. It's got psychedelic bands, kid singers, rockabilly, and other crazy ass shit but most of all it's got Ronny & Rebekah teamed up on a Ronny original, "Lust Never Sleeps" that had me cracking up over the repartee just when things are really heating up.

Click on the headline to check out the album details. And do visit RonnyElliott.com to get the haps on Ronny Elliott & the Nationals and listen to "Valentino's Dream" and cuts from his other albums including "The Twist Came From Tampa" and "St. Petersburg Jail."

Mr. CEE LIVES Well, at least he knows how much he's loved

2009-04-25T12:30:00.007-05:00

from Cutter Brandenburg's friend Susie Kleiner:

This was a cruel joke - he is alive and well, I just got an email from him took a while to confirm it, but he asked that people know he is alive and breathing.

Yes, I am totally serious, I just got several emails just in the last 1/2 hour from him. I also got a confirmation from someone who spoke to him this morning.

Pass the word that he is okay, he said he has gotten several calls and many, many emails.

Susie

Cutter's website is mrceecutter.com Click on the headline to go directly there. Visit him often.

Cutter Brandenburg

2009-04-25T10:32:00.002-05:00

Craig Lee Hopkins, keeper of the SRV fan club, sent this message on Saturday morning:

Robert "Cutter" Brandenburg passed away early this morning, reportedly of a heart attack while sleeping. RIP Mr. Cee.

Cutter was Stevie's rock when he was getting his act together, as well as his roadie and right-hand man. When times got tough, he lived in a storage locker with Stevie's gear. He ran a club in Killeen in the 1990s and early 2000s and was working on a variety of projects, but life was never the same post-Stevie.

When Bill Crawford and I were researching the book Stevie Ray Vaughan: Caught in the Crossfire, Cutter was the one who brought Stevie back to life in his tellings. He gladly shared his memories for which Bill and I will be forever indebted to him. More importantly, if Cutter hadn't been Cutter and taken care of Stevie and his Strat, no one would give a whit about Stevie Ray Vaughan today.

Godspeed, my friend.

The Accordion As the National Instrument of Texas

2009-04-04T10:53:00.003-05:00

The story's in the new No Depression bookazine, published by University of Texas Press and available at better bookstores, mag racks, and record shops nationally.

For most of its thirteen-year history as a print magazine, No Depression sought to be an instrument of change: to draw attention to the deep well of American musical traditions; to shine a light on performers whose gifts far exceed the size of their audiences or their pocketbooks; to provide a safe harbor for the best long-form writing about music on the newsstand.

These traditions continue through No Depression's twice-annual bookazine, a joint venture with University of Texas Press. ND #77, due out the spring of 2009, centers around the phrase "instruments of change," and the various ways in which those words may be interpreted: from actual musical instruments (a tale about the personal history Dock Boggs' banjo, an overview of Texas accordion culture) to renowned instrumentalists (profiles of virtuoso mandolinist Chris Thile and A-Team bassist Bob Moore) to artists who played instrumental roles in changing music (country-rock pioneer Chris Hillman, country-punk innovators Jason & the Nashville Scorchers).

As with ND #76 (which kicked off the series in the fall of 2008), the new bookazine – edited by ND co-founders Grant Alden and Peter Blackstock – also includes a photo essay (this one a series of shots from Santa Monica's Fabled guitar store/music venue McCabe's), and an appendix featuring reviews of some of the higher-profile roots-oriented records of recent months.

Here's the full Table of Contents for ND #77:

• Dock Boggs' Banjo (by Jesse Fox Mayshark)

• The Voices of Como Now (by Edd Hurt)

• The Accordions of Texas (by Joe Nick Patoski)

• Bob Moore's Bass (by Rich Kienzle)

• The Words of Bob Martin (by Bill Friskics-Warren)

• Photographs from McCabe's (by Roman Cho)

• Chris Thile's Mandolin (by Seth Mnookin)

• Chris Hillman's Country-Rock (by Barry Mazor)

• Jason & the Nashville Scorchers' Country-Punk (by Don McLeese)

• Jeffrey Hatcher's Songs Of Healing (by Paul Cantin)

. The Words of Phil Ochs (by Kenneth J. Bernstein)

• Appendix: Reviews of albums by Buddy & Julie Miller, Neko Case, Madeleine Peyroux, David Byrne & Brian Eno, and Bruce Robison, plus a Doug Sahm tribute disc.

The Space Opera odyssey, Chapter 5

2009-03-26T13:08:00.002-05:00

Frank Gutch does it again, with part five of his Homerian epic on Space Opera, the Fort Worth band from the early 70s who turned a few ears around.

Click on the headline for the link.

CHAPTER FIVE:

The Best Laid Plans of Singers & Sailors...

While Space Opera may have known what they were going to do entering the studio, as Scott Fraser had stated, it soon became obvious that their plans for the aftermath were lacking. As a result, the return to Texas was classic anticlimax. The band waited; for equipment and for a plan of attack from the label. The equipment eventually showed. The plan did not.

“We finished recording, left Toronto and moved back to Texas in July of 1972,” according to Bullock. “Then, we went to Hollywood to mix after which Cass went to Sterling Sound in New York City to create the master.

“Back in Texas, Georganne Deen and I were working on album cover design. Georganne gets most of the credit there. I was responsible for the layout of the lyrics page and the mockup of the tracking on the inner sleeve. Having artistic control meant that we did everything.”

“Rex and I were trying to push to keep the momentum,” said Mann. “We hired Boyd Grafmyre and had him working even while the band was still recording, in anticipation of hitting the ground running. I don't remember any specific shows that he booked, but he was working the East Coast. Rex had rented office space at 7 E. 84th where he owned an apartment. We had hired a secretary. We were getting a lot of pressure from everyone to get on with it.

“Initially after release, the guys from Columbia in Canada and Epic in the US were anxious to see Space Opera out playing and promoting the album. They were, however, a little frustrated with the time it had taken to record the album--- the cost, time for mixing and even getting the artwork for the cover ready.

“We shielded the band from the pressures so that they could focus on the mixing and artwork. I don't think anyone knew about the pressure from the record company other than Rex, myself and Cass, but even Cass was sheltered to a great extent because he was very much a part of the artistic process. Cass had a business head, but had his hands full working on the album with David.

“We had successfully negotiated strong artistic control, so there was not much the record company could do but wait. I think some resentment had built up because of that, but at the same time there was great hope that the album, when finally released, would be a huge success. I think (people at) both Columbia and Epic thought Space Opera had recorded an artistic masterpiece and that Georganne Deen had designed a beautiful album cover.

“In retrospect, however, because of the amount of control we had, we were a bit self-indulgent and too young and inexperienced to understand the potential consequences with the label and, ultimately, our careers.”

For the band, working at Manta had opened doors, particularly for Fraser. Sounds and effects, always a big part of Scott Fraser the musician, became even more important. Important to the degree that he felt it necessary to be able to duplicate that sound and those effects onstage. Cass Edwards was commissioned to design a full stage setup.

“Cass worked with a company in Chicago,” said Bullock, “to interface electronics found in the studios of that time such as Teletronix limiters and Pultec compressors, sought after 'retro' items in studios today. The power amps were Fender and Crown, with phasing and overdrive effects. The combination of those components could be dialed in and activated by a footswitch. Similar effects can be bought in music stores now, but in 1973, it was unheard of and sounded great.”

“For touring equipment,” Edwards elaborated, “I assembled the studio equipment used on the album as well as commissioning Model Builders in Chicago to build one of the first multi-function foot switches, customized for each players' rigs, including the chopped tops and Fender Super Reverbs customized to work with the foot switches. All speaker cabinets had already been handmade while in Williamsville by Gary Mann and Greg Boren, the band's all-around best hands.

“I was also fortunate to get Ed May to let us beta-test new speakers after he split as head of research and development for JBL and formed his new company, Gauss Speakers. The same with early experiences with Moog, who lived not so far away while we were in Williamsville, Dreadnaught Amplifiers and other equipment manufacturers.

“Also, earlier, I had had the luxury provided by various angels to acquire the best available regular gear. I had regular contact with the master luthiers at Guild and Martin as they made all of the guitars for the band. Phil had one on the first Alembic basses, and we worked with them on early improvements to their electronics and playability.”

To Mann and Farr, it must have looked like everyone was having fun but them.

“For us in New York and Canada on the business side, it was frustrating trying to set things up with no product,” lamented Mann. “With that and the band awaiting equipment, we had no band to promote.

“I think one of the biggest killers of momentum was the delay in the special equipment we were having designed, but it seemed crucial at the time that the band could play live what they had recorded. As I recall, Scott was adamant about not playing (without the equipment) and we all went along. It was a real shame because the equipment we awaited for almost six months and paid over $50,000 to develop could be bought off the shelf for a few thousand dollars today. I haven't done the math, but in those days $50,000 was a lot of money.”

Friction developed. Even Claudia Wilson noticed.

“Everybody was getting unhappy,” she commented, “and I guess this is part of putting things out of my mind, but at a certain point it became clear that, damn, what are we going to do? There was about a six month gap, as I recall, for the equipment to be ready. I feel, and I could be wrong, that the record company lost interest. They had spent a lot of money to cut that album. I mean, in 1972 dollars, it was lots of money, and when they couldn't go and promote the fool out of it, the company just lost interest and it never happened. There was no tour support. It was like the band said we're ready and the label said yeah?

“It was a combination of things,” she attempted to clarify. “First, the band wasn't ready. Then, by the time everybody got on the same wavelength, the label wasn't there. It just never happened.”

“The band started having problems when they went back to Fort Worth and stopped playing,” said Mann matter-of-factly. “They didn't even practice because they had not yet received the special order equipment. The thing that got Space Opera where they were was their live performance, because they were a great live band. Obviously, they were good songwriters and great in the studio, but practicing and playing live was what made them a band. By the time everything was in place, equipment-wise, they started practicing, but by then most of the momentum was gone.”

“While this was going on,” said Bullock, “ Cass and I visited studios to see where we might want to record album two. We looked at A&R and Electric Lady in New York. We were very impressed with Caribou Studios in Nederland, Colorado. Had Columbia honored the second album option, we more than likely would have recorded there.

“Even with all this activity, we were growing anxious because time was dragging on and we hadn't played onstage in well over a year. We had purchased a lot of equipment and bills were mounting with very little money coming in. It was a business on the brink of both success and failure.”

“They were in Texas and Michael and I were still in New York,” said Rex Farr, “working with Grafmyre, trying to set up a tour. (We had been working on it) for six months, from before the moment the album was completed. We were paying Grafmyre and the band was getting a bit of survival money. We kept going to and from Texas and talking to them on the phone: 'Guys, we need to get out there.' We might have had one voice. They had four. Maybe it wasn't explained to them, I don't know.”

As far as booking, communication between management and band broke down completely.

“We didn't try to book gigs, we did!” Farr continued. “I said to Grafmyre, schedule us a gig, from the very first day. Mike and I sat him down and outlined exactly what we wanted. His job from the get-go was to book a tour. That was his job and he did his job. But every time he would book a gig, the band would say 'no equipment, no play.' We're out there humping and stroking the record company and it's one month... two months... three months...”

When asked if it was difficult dealing with the record company, Farr said “Hell, yes. Hell, yes. You bet it was. But they had heard the music and we explained the situation to them and they said okay.”

“It was not so much the band turning down a particular date,” Mann explained. “It was just them saying, hey, we don't have our equipment.”

Space Opera, the album...

Finally, the album hit the streets. To Talona Phelps, the head of the old Mods Fan Club, it was worth the wait. “I believe it actually said 'Take 25' or 'Take 37' on it somewhere,” she said, “the point being that they really worked hard on getting everything down exactly like they heard it in their own heads.”

“The official release date for the album was March 21, 1973,” said Bullock. “Our stage equipment arrived from Chicago two months later.”

“The first show after the album was in San Antonio,” recalled Mann. “I rented a hall (The San Pedro Playhouse), bought some radio ads to promote the show and album. We had a decent turnout. The band played fine, but was a little stiff from not having played live for so long. Again, in retrospect, we would have been better off playing a few small clubs to get back in shape, but we were more focused on promoting the album. I think we had also lost perspective and may have thought the world was still waiting for us to conquer it.

“It was weird in San Antonio because Phil had hired David McMurray, his karate instructor, to accompany the band to San Antonio. He was backstage wearing a ghee (the traditional karate outfit) with a star hanging around his neck. The band was pretty uptight from not having played. Some Epic PR guys tried to get backstage, but Phil's friend David gave them a hard time. It was silly. No one was trying to get backstage but our record company, and we kept them out. And I'm not blaming the band because we were all pretty crazy by this time.

“The only other show I remember was the Scott Theater show. Epic sent down a guy named Kip Cohn to check us out. I think the main purpose was to decide if they were going to give us another shot with a follow-up album. Again, we probably would have been better off in a friendly club atmosphere. Meeker flew in some celebrities. I don't remember who, except for Mama Cass. The band played well, as always, but there was no sizzle. It was obviously a canned show to Kip. We had no new material and not much life in the old material. We were stiff onstage and so was the audience. The band played like they were just trying to get through the set.”

“Our first concert in Fort Worth after the album came out was back at the W.E. Scott Theater in Fort Worth where we had done our 'coming out' show for the Whistler, Chaucer album four years earlier,” said Bullock. “At this concert we used the stage equipment that Cass Edwards designed and had built by Model Builders of Chicago. The stage was filled with this custom-built, great sounding equipment and we were decked out in new Morty Sills' suits. There was the proverbial 'audible gasp' when the curtain rose and we kicked into 'Country Max'. The plush 500-seat theater was filled, we were well-rehearsed and we played all of the songs from the new album, most of which our audience was hearing for the first time. It was our first hometown show in several years and we got a very warm reception.

(above: at Morty Sills'--- Phil White, Scott Fraser, David Bullock, Brett Owen Wilson)

“It was really our Fort Worth homecoming and, yes, the presentation was more formal at that time. We had a grand piano and a pump organ onstage with us and we did a lot of changing instruments to get the textures we had gotten in the studio. This was what we wanted--- to play theaters with the audience seated and listening. Our music was getting more complex and our 'show' was just performing the songs. The tape of that concert proves that we sounded great with the new equipment, and the audience was very enthusiastic.

“There was a special guest in the audience that night--- Cass Elliott of The Mama and The Papas. Jim Meeker had met her in Los Angeles and invited her to hear us play. After the show, we all went over to Meeker's house to unwind and meet Mama Cass. Several of us sat together and chatted. Cass said that she enjoyed our music, particularly our harmonies, which was understandable since hers was primarily a vocal group.

“Before we headed home for the night, someone picked up a guitar and Cass joined us (or rather, we joined her) in singing 'I Call Your Name'. That was a thrill. She was a genuine star and had such gravity about her and yet was so gracious and sweet. It was really sad, a year or two later, to hear that she had died from a heart attack.”

“The morning after the concert,” Mann said, “I drove Kip to the airport. He was polite when I pressed him on giving a recommendation, but he was noncommittal. Evidently, the recommendation was not good.”

Mann felt the stress of the Epic deal as much as the band and, at this time, maybe a bit more. The delays had taken a lot out of him, as it had the members of the band, and communication between them lagged.

“Not long after the Scott Theater gig, I believe I went back to New York,” he said. “There was not much in Fort Worth for me to do, and evidently not much for David either, as he soon after moved to Dallas. Maybe I should have stayed in Texas, but I don't know if I could have made a difference. Besides, to me it was too depressing in Fort Worth. There was nothing there for me anymore.

“I think the band thought it would be a step down, playing clubs, and there was no money to promote our own shows. As crazy as it may sound, I never imagined we were really coming apart until I got the phone call from Phil telling me to come home and pay the bills. I was somewhat unaware of the state of mind the band was in at Fort Worth because I was totally focused on business and really didn't want any part of Fort Worth. I guess we had all become more disconnected that I thought. Only recently, talking to David, have I come to understand what they were going through.”

The band played only three more live shows before deciding to call it quits. On the evenings of Nov. 19th, 20th and 21st, they played a club in Dallas called Gertie's. At that time, they had no idea that it would be the last time they would be onstage together, at least as major label recording artists.

“Looking back,” Bullock said, “it's hard to explain the frustrations and emotions that would cause the band to split up just nine months after the album release. But, for one thing, we were no longer in New York, in the swing of things. We were in Fort Worth, with few prospects and few resources.”

Obviously, the lines of communication between the band and Epic failed shortly after the album's release. Communication was lacking, at best, and most of that dealing with the delays. What little help the band expected came in terms of a small number of ads posted in rock magazines like Rolling Stone and possibly a few regional radio spots. For all intents and purposes, Epic disappeared. Columbia/Canada vanished with them.

“I never expected the record company to support us in any major way beyond paying for the album production and distribution,” Bullock explained. “That's all they were obligated to do. It was always up to the band to promote its recordings by going on the road--- that was the prevailing business model. In fact, it was an industry dictum that 'a band makes its money on the road.' Our manager had never had problems finding work for us, yet he was unable to do so at the most crucial point. For the first time since we started, we had no work to do, so we dissolved the band.

“We decided to play a farewell show at the HOP, where we had gotten our start. It was on December 23rd and all our friends in town and all those who had scattered--- everyone was home for the holidays. That night, as we came through the back door of the club, we heard familiar music, “... late again...”, the refrain from Phil's song Outlines, playing on the radio over the club PA. KAFM-FM radio was doing a tribute to the band and announcing our split-up. Our families were there, as well as fellow musicians such as T-Bone Burnett, the Ham brothers and Cahoots. It was a warm, diverse crowd of about 80 people enjoying a loose and relaxed evening. We played all our songs as well as the music we loved by The Byrds and Bob Dylan and BB King. We didn't say anything about this being the last show, but we didn't have to. Everyone already knew. After three hours onstage, we ended the night by playing “Country Max” and said good night. Outside the club, we shared a smoke, shook hands and went our separate ways.”

One can only imagine the frustrations at that point. The handshake was not the end, but the guys did not know that and it must have been more like ending a family than just a band. To have been so close and yet so far...

“We were a young band with a new major-label album which had received great reviews and developed industry buzz,” remembered Bullock, wistfully. “We could duplicate that album onstage with a revolutionary sound system. We should have signed with an established booking agency. With or without support from the label, we would have thrived onstage. Despite all the frustrations and delays, we would not have dissolved the band if we'd been able to start playing again on an ongoing basis.”

But they didn't. Though the handshake was not a death knell, it closed that period of Space Opera for good. Future efforts, as good as they were, were never again looked upon with such favor by the major labels, and Space Opera knew too well that without them, the dream would not happen.

In retrospect, there was equal amounts of frustration and accomplishment. Still, failure rankled. White looked back with a shake of the head. “Basically, what we're talking about here is a lease deal,” he said. “We've got the product done and we lease it to you and use your machine, which includes distribution, promotion, vinyl pressings and things. (We thought) that was really all we required of them. We didn't feel like we required any help. We thought we had that down and that's why we did what we did and those guys in the offices did what they did.”

In a 2005 interview with The Oklahoman, Fraser capsulized the whole Epic experience in just a few words. “We ended up getting creative control and we paid the price,” he said, “because the trade-off was that we were pretty much left on our own. But the good thing is, all these years later, we can say, 'Well, that's our record. We did it, we're entirely responsible for it, and we're still proud of it.'”

Why San Antonio is San Antonio, and Why Augie Meyers is the Soul of South Texas and the San Antonio Sound

2009-03-23T15:57:00.006-05:00

Click on the headline

http://tracetv.wordpress.com/2009/03/21/south-texas-soul-san-antonio-augie-meyers/

and watch a wonderful video of Augie Meyers, the Vox Continental groover of them all.

Why Austin is Austin, and why SXSW is here

2009-03-23T15:40:00.003-05:00

David Carr, NY Times media critic, gets it. Click the headline for the direct link.

www.nytimes.com/2009/03/23/business/media/23carr.html?scp=1&sq=Austin Chronicle&st=cse

The Media Equation
In Austin, a Thriving Weekly With a Mission

By DAVID CARR
Published: March 22, 2009

Every day at the South by Southwest conference in Austin last week, I would leave my hotel room for events, and at each door in the hall, there would be various copies of complimentary newspapers. For the whole week, none of them, ever, seemed to be picked up. Over the course of a few days, as the Web and film conference gave way to the music festival, the papers sat, still as gravestones and almost as ominous.
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Curious, I hung in the hall and watched as the other people at the hotel, mostly younger, would leave their rooms, already staring into cellphones and PDAs — ignoring, or perhaps not even seeing, news they stepped over that was physically packaged and shipped many hours before.

They were riveted by news on the small screen, most of it up-to-the-minute and highly personal — a recommendation from a friend about a band or film to see, a blog post about a missed conference panel, or a feed of festival updates. Twitter, the text message application that came to prominence two years ago at the festival, was far and away the dominant news platform for the conference.

As a rule, these are not folks who want to know anything about yesterday, which is what most newspapers are about. Then again, these people would have never been thrown together were it not for, of all things, a newspaper.

The Austin Chronicle, a weekly newspaper as funky and idiosyncratic as the town it covers, continues to thrive with a relentlessly local news agenda — state government, the school board and the City Council, along with deep coverage of the arts — and a willingness to lead, as opposed to simply criticize, in artistic matters.

At a time when daily newspapers seem to be going away at the rate of one a week and weeklies are madly cutting to stay afloat, The Chronicle, which has revenue of approximately $8.5 million a year, has not laid off anyone, has no plans to do so, and its business is off just 7 percent in the last three years.

Part of the reason may have to do with price (free) but there is something else afoot. The Chronicle is knit into civic and cultural life in Austin to a degree that may make other newspapers nervous. While other regional news outlets do house ads and commercials about their connection to the community, The Chronicle started the South by Southwest conference, its founders have helped finance local filmmakers, and when you step off the airplane and see a huge bookstore branded with The Chronicle’s name, it’s clear that the weekly plays big for its size.

Louis Black, The Chronicle’s editor and founder — along with Nick Barbaro, the paper’s publisher — does not want to tempt the angry media gods. A very conservative person in some regards, he points out that the business has lived on cash flow since the outset and never has taken on any significant debt or partners. They own The Chronicle’s building and the building where the festival is set up.

The festival was founded by Mr. Barbaro and Mr. Black, along with their friend Roland Swenson, back in 1987, which, come to think of it, is just about the time that the newspaper took off as well. After taking a big hit from Craigslist — “let’s just say that the unlicensed massage category suffered significantly,” Mr. Black said — the newspaper has been stable and healthy.

It’s best not to generalize too much about a newspaper that covers a city whose unofficial battle cry is “Keep Austin Weird,” but there is a palpable connection to The Chronicle here. Many people will also point out that Austin is a notoriously liberal, literate place, but that hasn’t done a lot for The Austin American-Statesman, which, like so many other daily papers, is in decline and up for sale.

“They are a big part of the story here and always have been,” said Frank Hendrix, who owns Emo’s, a club here, and was overseeing three stages during the festival.

It’s an old-school love kind of love. The newspaper’s Web site, in spite of Austin’s reputation as a tech-savvy place, has never been a particularly remarkable one and is still basically a companion to the print version, which is crammed with all manner of editorials, deep political coverage and lots of articles rendered in almost unreadable small type.

“We don’t do gotcha journalism, our coverage is very policy-oriented, and always local, local, local,” he said. “Even during the Bush years, which were a very big deal here, we never put anybody that wasn’t local on the cover. We don’t do out-of-towners.”

Last Thursday night, sitting outside the Hilton Austin and later walking Red River Street, which was a riot of music performances and noise, Mr. Black said that the festival and the newspaper have been pretty much hand-in-glove all along the way. It’s hard to think of another American city where the newspaper has served as an engine for innovation. South by Southwest now has three vibrant legs — music, film and Web — that come together to create a stool that is the envy of every other American city.

“All of it has to do with Austin, and not us,” Mr. Black, who also produces films including “The Order of Myths.” “Apart from all of the music here, when Richard Linklater hit it big with ‘Slackers,’ he not only didn’t move away, but began helping other filmmakers. Mike Judge, who did ‘Beavis and Butt-head,’ same way. Robert Rodriguez as well.”

“We have a critical mass of culture, of government, of people who like to read, that makes this a good place to have a newspaper like ours.” A cop walks by and high-fives Mr. Black, which is not the general relationship between most newspapers and local law enforcement, but The Chronicle’s footprint is so deep here — millions and millions of dollars are flowing into the city this week — that people generally think that what’s good for The Chronicle is good for the community and vice versa.

It was getting on toward 11 p.m., which is high noon during the days of the festival, and Mr. Black dropped me at a club. I watched him walk down the street and he couldn’t get three steps without someone stopping him to say hello or tell him thanks. Imagine that: a newspaper man being one of the most popular guys in town.

E-mail: carr@nytimes.com

JNP on KERA TV's Think

2009-03-21T09:31:00.001-05:00

with the incisive and always curious Krys Boyd...

from the Friday March 20 broadcast.
It's about 16 minutes in.

http://www.kera.org/video.php?cat=1

Check it out.

Texas Barbecue Panel SXSW

2009-03-21T09:27:00.002-05:00

Kevin Bronson, Lord of BuzzBands.la , weighed in on the Texas Barbecue panel at SXSW http://buzzbands.la/2009/03/19/sxsw-yelle-natalie-portmans-shaved-head-bbq/

and went directly to the meat of the matter.

Rock bands are great and all, but I started my day at the “BBQ the Texas Way” discussion at the Austin Convention Center and came away thinking barbecue might be a metaphor for life — at least the way panelists were lamenting how the general homogenization of society is destroying barbecue traditions. Other things I learned at the noontime chat moderated by author Joe Nick Patoski (”Willie Nelson: An Epic Life”): Indie-rock snobs are no match for barbecue snobs; mesquite vs. hickory is quite a rivalry; Bobby Seal, the Black Panther, once did a book called “Barbecuing With Bobby;” and Kreuz Market in Lockhart, Texas, does not provide forks for its patrons. “They’re at the end of your arms,” proprietor Rick Schmidt saays. “You were born with them.”

Willie & The Wheel on NPR's "All Things Considered"

2009-03-17T17:13:00.004-05:00

photo by Lisa Pollard

Click on the header
or go here for the full story:

www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=102003062

WILLIE BRINGS IT BACK TO WESTERN SWING
by JOHN BURNETT

All Things Considered, March 17, 2009 - Willie Nelson has collaborated with everyone — or just about everyone — from jazz trumpeter Wynton Marsalis, to singer Julio Iglesias and rapper Snoop Dogg. But Nelson's latest collaboration brings him a little closer to home. He's playing the music of one of his idols, western swing master Bob Wills, with the band Asleep at the Wheel.

It's the kind of old-style music you might have heard when Wills' tour bus stopped at a honky-tonk beside the highway — a joint like Willie's Place. It's a combination truckstop, restaurant, and dancehall an hour south of Dallas in the tiny municipality of Carl's Corner. Nelson is part owner of the operation and it was one of the stops on his tour with Asleep at the Wheel.

The town was created for the sole purpose of selling beer in a dry county. In an earlier day, Carl's Corner was just the kind of place that Willie might've sung about — known far and wide as a way-station for lonely truckers looking for love on the interstate.

The proprietor, Carl Cornelius, is shocked — shocked — that anyone would suggest such a thing. "Don't have any of that kind of that stuff," Cornelius insists. "People live in a world of fantasy, somebody can say something as a joke [but] that's just not the truth."

Nowadays, eighteen-wheelers line up to buy diesel and a boutique bio-fuel called Willie's Bio-Diesel. Inside, it's a shrine to the 75-year-old country-music icon.

The Triangle Of Twang

Culturally, Carl's Corner sits in the heart of a region with rusting cotton gins, well-kept Baptist churches and deep musical roots. Call it the Triangle of Twang. Nelson grew up just down the interstate in the farming town of Abbott. Over in Mexia lived the great country-and-western songstress, Cindy Walker. And Fort Worth, the triangle's third corner, was home of the King of Western Swing, Bob Wills.

The new tribute to Wills was executive produced by the late, legendary Jerry Wexler — who helped launch the careers of Ray Charles and Aretha Franklin, among others. In the early 1970's, Nelson was signed, briefly, to Atlantic Records, when Wexler decided Willie should do a tribute to western swing.

"He always wanted to do this album," says Nelson. "He wrote down the titles of these songs, and he wanted to see me do 'em at some point because he loved western swing, and he knew the music."

It was a natural concept for Nelson, because this is the music he was raised on. "I've been in a band — ever since I was 10-12 years old — of one kind or another and we always sang Bob Wills because that was the hot music of the day," says Nelson.

He left Atlantic before he could do the western swing album. But Wexler never forgot the concept. In 2007, more than 30 years later, he called up Nelson's manager and suggested Willie team up with Asleep at the Wheel to do the record.

Wexler's Last Project

Ray Benson, leader of Asleep at the Wheel, says he was honored to co-produce Wexler's last project. "I'd send him mixes in the mail. He heard the finished tune on about seven of 'em, then he passed away a month before it was totally packaged," says Benson.

Wexler died last August at the age of 91, after a half century in the music business.

Nelson and Benson go back a long way themselves. It was Willie who first invited Benson and Asleep at the Wheel — then a cowboy-hippie band playing around the San Francisco Bay Area — to think about a new home.

"I told him he should go to Austin, bring his band, because I heard 'em I thought they were great," says Nelson. "I knew that everybody in Texas would love it."

Benson chimes in, "And we loved Willie Nelson because Willie's approach to music was ours: If it's a good song and there's a little bit of jazz, little bit of country, little bit of blues, that's what it was all about."

Joe Nick Patoski was in the crowd to hear Willie and the Wheel at Willie's place. Patokski is a Texas music journalist and author of the recent biography, Willie Nelson: An Epic Life — and Patoski has heard Willie's collaborations with Iglesias, Marsalis and Snoop Dog. To him, finding the swinging cowboy jazz band on stage in Carl's Corner feels like Nelson has come home.

"All these cats are pickers," enthuses Patoski. "Forget that they're songwriters or entertainers. They're jazz players, and they're playin' hot, and this is what counts."

Fellow country outlaw Waylon Jennings sang this about his old friend Willie Nelson: "He'll be the first to tell you, Bob Wills is still the king."