Guns in the Capitol

Earlier this year, some unbalanced guy entered the Texas capitol building with a gun, acted suspiciously, went outside and shot his gun into the air a few times. No one was hurt, but the incident opened the public debate about security at the capitol. Governor Perry weighed in, saying he was against metal detectors, and making the capitol look like DFW airport. This might be the only issue on which the governor and I agree. Any nut job can do unspeakable harm in this, or any open setting, if they want to make the news badly enough. Metal detectors and other obvious security measures only serve to provide the illusion of safety at such a symbolic location.

Then there is the combination of legal exceptions and political posturing which allows just about anyone to enter the capitol building with a gun. Texas, being a state with a concealed handgun license law, and a state where lawmakers aren't about to give up their guns at the door, or go against the gun lobby, is not going to take meaningful steps to make the capitol building a gun-free zone. So, as pictured below, we have metal detectors and a clump of state troopers manning the area. And then we have the express lane, where those with a concealed handgun license can bypass the line, and enter with their loaded weapons. I feel safer already.

When I read about the new "security" measures in the newspaper, I was especially struck by one detail. As an "open carry" state for long guns (shot guns, rifles, etc.), people can bring these weapons into the capitol. My first thought was, "Wow, that's crazy." My second thought was, "I'm going to do that, just to see what will happen."
Stephen F. Austin, role model:

At first this seemed like a bit of a stunt, maybe even a joke. Still, I knew to take it seriously enough not to just stroll up the steps with my gun. And not being a gun owner, I had to buy a Daisy BB gun, which at about 3 feet long, could pass to the untrained eye for a dangerous weapon. So I went to the capitol to do some reconnaissance. I spoke to the troopers about what I planned to do. One guy asked me for what purpose I wanted to carry a long gun into the capitol. I told him I wanted to exercise my rights, to the full extent of the law. This seemed to throw him off a bit, and he referred me to the sergeant in charge that day. I met with the sergeant, confirmed that what I planned was legal, but he could not tell me all of the security policies in place. He emphasized that a weapon should not be carried or held in a threatening manner, and that other people in and around the building might react to me if they sensed that I was a threat. He was very clear and very professional.

Gun themes are evident all around the capitol complex. I walked past this statue between my parked car and the front of the capitol.

Carrie knew that I was thinking about doing this. When I told her that I had been to the capitol to check out the situation, she said that she was worried about me getting arrested. I assured her that she need not worry about that. What I did not tell her was, rather than being arrested, I was more likely to be shot by someone with a concealed handgun, who perceived me as a threat. Not wanting to die, but in my mind committed to taking my gun into the capitol, I had to figure out the safest way to make it happen. I also had no interest in freaking out families and other tourists as they visited the capitol. Imagine seeing a man entering the capitol with what looks to be a shotgun or rifle. From any distance, one's first thought is not likely to be, "Oh, that's obviously an unloaded BB gun. No problem."

I made at least two more trips to the capitol, thinking that I would carry out my plan. Too many people. People I might scare. Scared people doing things I could not predict or control. The metaphor is too obvious, but I was sweating little metal projectiles. This was a bad idea. I asked a state trooper out front what hours the building was open to visitors. 7:00 AM to 10:00 PM.

7:00 AM. That was the key. A few days later, I arrived at the capitol just after 7:00. The place was not deserted, but it felt calm. I walked unarmed, to the security station inside, and told them my intentions. I wanted to walk around the rotunda a few times with my gun and then leave. The trooper I dealt with seemed unfazed, but told me he wanted to check the gun to see if it was loaded before I came past the check point. When I asked him later if someone could bring in a loaded long gun, he said, "We probably would not let you do that." From the way he said this, I got the feeling that he was revealing a security policy that they really prefer not to make public.

I went back to my car, and pulled the gun (still in its box) out of my car trunk. Though few people were around, I was amazed that my anxiety level was so low. I could tell that this was going to be fine. The same trooper met me just outside the doors and walked inside with me. I handed him my gun, and he checked it quite thoroughly, even stepping just outside to examine it in the natural light. He handed it back to me, and said that he would hold the box for me until I was ready to leave. During all of my dealings with the troopers, I had made clear that I wanted to cause the least amount of alarm to others as possible. He saw that my actions were consistent with this, and he projected a calm confidence, and a trust that I was in no way a threat. I'm pretty sure that he had alerted troopers in other parts the building, because when I was in the rotunda, the state troopers there were on their radios, and keeping close track of me.

As I circled the rotunda, I kept my gaze mostly on the portraits of past governors. I looked down the side halls, and made sure to make eye contact with members of the security team that were close by. There were no other civilians in proximity to me, so any threat dynamic was off the table. In fact, by this time it felt almost like an academic exercise. I was thankful for the lack of drama. I returned to the security area, boxed up my weapon, thanked the man for his professional help, and walked quickly back to my car.

My reflections on this activity:

Aside from the specific actions, this turned out to be an exercise in fear, mine and that of others, and finding ways to minimize it. On the days that I went to the capitol planning to take my gun inside, but never got it out of the car, I had to trust what my self-inflicted anxiety was telling me. I would stand on the steps of the south entrance, look down the great walk and Congress Avenue, and think, "Not today."

As to the issue of gun rights vs. gun control, I am firmly ambivalent. The political battles are mostly symbolic, and great ways for special interests to raise and spend money. My ambivalence is evident in that I can't decide what to do with my Daisy Red Ryder. I don't know of a family that would want it for their kid, and I don't want to throw it away, like it's some kind of danger that must be buried. So for now it is in its box, in the trunk of my car.

The men and women of the Department of Public Safety are very professional, and do a great job. I am grateful for how they dealt with me each time I was there. The one question that I could not bring myself to ask was, what would they do if 500 people approached and wanted to enter the capitol with their rifles?

This will be my last post for a while. Thank you for reading.

I should tell you that the outcome of my property tax appeal was successful beyond my wildest dreams. I had asked for a $10,000 drop in the appraised value. After the lady from the county came to do the interior visual inspection, they dropped the value by more than $28,000. Wow, we do live in a hovel. It's amazing what you can get used to. I love our house.

If I write anything during the school year, I will consider you "opted in," and will notify you when I post. If you want to "opt out," send me a private e-mail - it's less humiliating for me that way. Thanks again, for encouraging me to blog, and reading when I do.

Peace,

Jay

Worth Every Penny

Many, many years ago, songwriter Butch Hancock played a show every night for the month of February, with a different theme, in a different setting each night. Carrie and I made one of those shows, Train Night, at the old Waterloo Ice House on Lamar. I don't recall if we've seen him do a solo show since then, but his latest stunt at The Cactus Cafe was enough to get us out on a Thursday night. It was also the only live music that I paid a cover charge to see this summer. To close out this era of The Cactus, Butch played five consecutive nights without repeating a single song. Half the audience had bought a five night pass so they could attend every show. I like Butch, but come on, one night was enough, especially if you happened to pick the right night.


Butch's songs are full of wry metaphors, and casually deep observations, with bits of wisdom that the listener can hold or ignore if they so choose. The wordiness and observational style can keep a separateness between him and a larger audience, but the intimacy of The Cactus easily overcomes that issue. Anticipating what turned out to be a very long break between sets, Carrie had me drive her home during the intermission. Big Mistake.


When I returned to the show, Butch was joined on stage by Joe Ely and Jimmie Dale Gilmore, making the last 90 minutes a full-on Flatlanders reunion. Unrehearsed and hilarious, the three of them shared two guitars and plenty of stories about the songs they had written together. It was sublime. I could write a lot more about how great it was, but that would just make Carrie sad.



Earlier that week, Jimmie Dale's son, Colin Gilmore played an in-store at Waterloo. It's tough to write about his music without comparing it to his father's. Taking five years between albums, it is clear that Colin works hard crafting quality songs, and mostly succeeds. Natural images of wind, sun, and raindrops in July give a listener the chance to put him or her self into the heart of the songs. I was a little disoriented when the first notes of the first song he played were identical to John Prine's "Picture Show," but after that it was all original. Colin's vocals only occasionally wander to the nasally heights of his dad's, but the resemblance is more evident when he is speaking. Otherwise it is a straght Texas songwriter sound, doing what he does well, taking it seriously, but not taking any bold chances. He's making music that his dad can be proud of, and it was nice to see Jimmie Dale there supporting his son's effort.


L.A.'s Ozomatli packed the store with fans and energy last week, in town for the Latin Music Awards. They were not playing anywhere else in town, so lots of people made the effort to see it. The variety of styles they play is amazing, and all of it is high energy, with horns and keyboards, and lord knows what else. On this day, they really brought the funk, reminding me of James Brown meets hip hop. They left the audience wanting more, playing only about 25 minutes, but for serious fans they'll be back at ACL.

Peace,

JS4

Never Too Late for a Tribute

Alejandro Escovedo is lucky to be alive, and he plays music like he knows the value of every day. At 59, he's pretty old to still be chasing rock and roll fame and fortune, but a recent interview made it sound like he'd like some commercial success to go with the critical acclaim he has earned. I'm pretty sure that window closed a while back, but it means that he can be seen in smaller venues, always a better viewing experience. He's also got friends in high places. When he last played the Stone Pony in New Jersey, Bruce Springsteen joined him on stage for a few songs.
Escovedo played a noon in-store, which I think was scheduled to keep the store from overcrowding. The picture at the bottom of this post is from the side of the stage, since getting close up front was not in the cards. The show was great, but writing about it is just a way to get to something I've been wanting to write for more than a year. If I blogged during the school year, a post in the Spring of 2009 would have been titled, "A Sad Day in May."

Carrie and I were in the car on the way down the street to vote in the city elections when the news came on the radio. Stephen Bruton was dead. We knew he had cancer. We knew the prognosis was not good. We cried a little in the car, then went in to vote.

Stephen was not famous, but people who knew him or knew his music loved him. We knew only his music, but we knew it from up close. Most of the times that we saw him perform was at The Saxon Pub, as part of the band The Resentments. We dragged many of our friends and family to their Sunday night shows to see Stephen, Jon Dee Graham, Jud Newcomb and whoever else might join them on a given night. Great guitar work, raspy unpolished vocals and hilarious side stories were guaranteed as they traded songs. Jon Dee was the only one of them who could carry a solo show, but together, they blended perfectly. They had fun playing, had obvious affection for one another, and they let the audience in on the whole thing. And you got the sense that it worked week after week because what everybody really wanted to do was hang out with Stephen, and Sundays at The Saxon was their chance.

Stephen did some solo work and released some albums, but really he was a band member. I don't have expertise about guitar playing, but nothing I heard ever made me think that Stephen Bruton was an all-time great. But the list of people who wanted him in their bands, starting with Kris Kristofferson, is more than impressive, and includes Bonnie Raitt and Elvis Costello. Almost as much for his guitar playing, I'm sure people of that stature just liked having Stephen in the band because of the same things that we saw over and over again at The Saxon Pub. There was a light about him that drew people in, an intangible spark in his music that connected to people. He is the only musician in Austin that we had that connection with who has died.

He worked on the music for the movie Crazy Heart, which won an Oscar for Ryan Bingham and T-Bone Burnett, so he has had some recent acclaim. Alejandro Escovedo's last song at the in-store was an instrumental, dedicated to Stephen Bruton. The famous, the not-so-famous, and just regular people like me want to pay tribute at least one more time.

After Carrie and I voted that day, we knew where we needed to go. Except for a couple of regulars, there weren't many people in The Saxon Pub at 2:30 on a Saturday afternoon. We pulled up to the bar, told the waitress we were there to drink a beer in Stephen's honor, and paid quiet tribute. A few minutes in, a group of young guys started setting up musical equipment for their matinee show. I have no idea if they had ever heard of Stephen Bruton. They said they were new in town, and this was their first time to play The Saxon. The timing had a "circle of life" feel to it. We stayed for a few songs, stuffed a few dollars in the tip jar, and walked out into the harsh daylight.

Peace,

JS4





P.S. There is a Youtube video of Bruton playing with Kristofferson on an Austin City Limits episode. It won't copy here, but if you go to Youtube and enter Kris Kristofferson Austin City Limits, it's the first one up. Not much of Stephen, but worth 3 minutes of your time.

Jimmie V. + 2

I think the first time I saw Jimmie Vaughan in concert was an October 2001 outdoor deal with B.B. King, John Hiatt, Buddy Guy, etc. One thing I remember about that day was the overdone security at the gate, since it was so close to 9/11. I also remember that KGSR's Bryan Beck attempted a horrible joke about Afghanistan. Nine years later and that joke's still not funny. Didn't like Beck then, and I still can't stand him on the radio. Musically, my expectations for Jimmie Vaughan were not real high. I'd always considered his rhythm sound second to Stevie Ray's straight blues. Jimmie's set was the best performance that day at Auditorium Shores. It's been 20 years since Stevie died, and Jimmie has had the burden of managing his brother's legacy, while trying to carve out his own career, always in the shadow of a legend.

I knew the in-store for Jimmie would be crowded, but wow, what a turnout. The first picture is of John Kunz, the owner of Waterloo. He usually takes pictures of the bands as they play - such a fan. There was so little room between the crowd and the stage, that he had to crawl and scoot along the floor to get his pictures. Later during the show, I snapped this image of him standing on the counter in the back corner of the store, as he took more pictures.

Jimmie plays the role of bandleader, with swing elements like a horn section and stand up bass player.

What seems to work for Jimmie Vaughan, more than any player I've seen, is his ability to perform on the edges of relaxed intensity and focused cool. It does not translate to his recordings, but live, it is something special.

Lou Ann Barton joined the band on vocals for a few songs. She can be unpredictable (drunk), but has the goods. She can sing the blues with authenticity, and has lived them probably as much as a white woman can.

A recent double bill at the store included Here We Go Magic. After a long sound check, they finally started playing their weird, ethereal, hyper-echoed songs. If there was an arrangement of the instrumental parts, it was lost on me, because it sounded like they were making it up as they went. The only postives were that the lead "singer" and the keyboard player were pleasant to look at, and at under 20 minutes, it was thankfully the shortest show I can remember seeing.

Lawrence Arabia played the same day, which meant it was not a totally wasted trip to 6th and Lamar. Their style was hard to categorize because it seemed to shift from song to song. They (he) is from New Zealand, so British influences like The Kinks and George Harrison (and recent Wilco) were strong. Then on their last song, the bass line opened and dominated throughout, and it was lifted straight from Blondie's "One Way or Another." Just noticeably off harmonies gave the songs a more indie feel, but took nothing away from my liking their music.

Reportedly, there is a great BBQ trailer on the access road of I-35, at about 35th street. I've driven by, and can confirm there is a popular trailer selling something, but the long lines and the heat have kept me from trying it so far. They have a shade to cover part of the line, but the two times I've checked it out, the line stretches out beyond the shade, into the hot parking lot. Maybe another time. I'm of the mind that someone other than me should be suffering for quality BBQ.

Peace,

JS4

New

Maps and Atlases was an odd little band with a dedicated fan base that showed for their in-store. The band set up on the floor instead of the stage and they had no amplification at all. I was standing close, and when the singer talked between songs, I could not make out what he was saying. The bass player had a chord that ran from the bass to a little box the size of your fist that converted the sound to something metallic. If you think about Jethro Tull, but with this bass thingy instead of a flute, that's what they sounded like. No beer at this show. No explanation, just a bunch of confused regulars.
A critics darling, but commercially unviable, Peter Case played a solo set of blues-based rock/folk. Looking like a semi-homeless mess, his energetic style revealed a man who has to make music, not for money, but because it's in him and he's got to let it out.

An anonymous comment from last week's blog wondered about my lack of food reviews this year. I have been eating out less this summer, and I have not been moved to write about my meals out. It's not them, it's me. Carrie and I did make it to Trudy's one Friday for our traditional beginning of summer celebration. Of course we did not get there 'til sometime in mid-July. That's just how this summer has been.

For years Carrie and I have talked about going to Jaime's Spanish Village down on Red River. We arranged to go on July 30th, which was their last day in business. Traditional Tex-Mex is less in favor these days, but it was a rent increase that shut them down. Patrons were pulling stuff off the wall to take home (with permission, I think). Kinda sad, but this section of downtown is in the midst of major change, now that the Waller Creek tunnel (boondoggle) is on the way.

Too bad about Bristol Palin and Levi. I guess when the invite for the dream double wedding with Chelsea Clinton didn't come through, there was no reason to stay together.

Peace,

JS4

4 For 4

Last week, Monday through Thursday, Waterloo had music every day at 5:00. I'm happy to say that I made every show.
Ray Benson of Asleep at the Wheel often comes across as a guy with an enormous ego. However, his life's work stands as a tribute to the work of others, mostly Bob Wills, of Western Swing fame.
Asleep at the Wheel has kept this kind of music alive, and is the only band to play at the Austin City Limits Festival every year since the beginning. On their latest album, they invited Leon Rausch, an original member of the Texas Playboys, to sing and tour with them. Ray Benson stood back and gave Rausch the spotlight during the show, and Ray seemed honored just to be a part of it all. Maybe his ego comes from the confidence in knowing that he is a great band leader, who can make other people look good, sound good, and feel good. Nothing wrong with that.

The Henry Clay People said their show would be the quietest one they had ever played. Still, it was the loudest of the week. All rock, with a little Ramone's vibe, and lyrics I could hear and understand. Good stuff. They'll be at ACL in October.

The four lead guys of Stonehoney can all sing in a smooth modern country kind of way. The harmonies were impressive, and they have been compared to the Eagles. Vocally, that may hold up, but musically they reminded me of Little Texas, circa 1995. Very "Amy's Back in Austin" mid-tempo ballads, and not much range. The last song they played kicked it up a notch, but it was too little, too late.

Thursday's Jonathon Taylor and the Northern Lights show had a little bit of Blind Faith, and a whole lot of Black Crowes sound to it. Overall it was good, but they seemed to not have a lot of passion for what they were doing.

Four days in a row allowed me to see good music, but I also had a chance to talk to some of the in-store regulars. This can be good or bad, as more than a few of the people wander in just for the beer. The guy who serves the beer, and wears a battered name tag that reads only "Slippy," is not a regular employee of the store. His regular job is in the kitchen at the fancy French restaurant, Aquarelle.

The picture of the final band was not taken by me, as I forgot my camera that day. I asked a lady in the crowd, who was somehow connected to the band, if she could e-mail me one of the pics she had taken. Technology is amazing, and I'm a little surprised that I was able to get the picture from my email into this blog. Not sure if I could do it again... The blank box at the end of this post is a remnant of a failed attempt.

Peace,

JS4

Albuquerque Trip

We've been home from Albuquerque for more than a week, so these pictures are not exactly timely. When I'm loading pictures into a blog post, I have a devil of a time getting them into the order I want. These are basically reverse chronological order, and I don't have the patience to fix it.



The Albuquerque trip was a way to see Mark and Leslie Denton (valued blog readers) and their daughters Deanna and Miranda. It had been two years since we had last seem them, so it was great to catch up and reconnect. Lots of games played, ice cream eaten, and laughs shared. Their family had recently returned from a trip to Maui (Not all vacations are created equal), so we saw lots of cool pictures from paradise.



One day we drove up to the Pecos area for a picnic in the cool mountain air. The weather was beautiful one minute, then stormy the next. This cycle of weather repeated itself several times in a few short hours. The most dramatic shift was an intense hail storm that lasted for a good 20 minutes. Fortunately, we had a screen shelter to stand beneath. That's where I was standing when I took this picture of Mark, braving the pea-sized chunks falling from the sky.



The weather timed the wet stuff perfectly around our lunch plans, and the only time it rained hard enough to put out the fire was when we were finished cooking.

Leslie and Deanna cooking hot dogs:

Mark built the fire. I just jumped into the picture to claim some credit.

I have a general policy that the only time I want to eat hot dogs is at a baseball game. At a ballgame it is mandatory. An exception to the hot dog policy is if they are cooked over an open flame (preferably outdoors). I had a couple of dogs, and saved room for s'mores, another campfire treat. I'm not sure what made the difference, but these were the best s'mores I'd ever had. I'm not naming names, but someone in our party agreed, and consumed at least three of them.

While in Albuquerque, we went to the city aquarium and gardens. The girls were kind enough to sit for a couple of pictures.

Miranda:

Deanna in the Children's Garden, where everything is BIG:

Good times.

Peace,

JS4

Owning Property

For only the third time in 15 years I am protesting our property taxes on our lovely home on Avenue D. 362 days out of the year, I focus my attention on the wonderful things about our house. When it comes time to appeal the tax value, I prepare the "We live in a shack with 7 foot ceilings in the bedrooms" defense. This has worked pretty well in the past, and I have learned a great deal about how they determine the value of houses. Google Earth and Ouija Boards seem to be the favorite appraisal tools these days. I am trying to get the description of the property changed, to reflect two areas where I think they have our structures overvalued. First is our garage/shed in the back. My first argument was indisputable: The county said it was 24 feet wide, not the 18 feet it actually is. Carrie took a bunch of pictures of me measuring stuff to support our case. I like this one because, "Look, there's Beau."
The more difficult part of my argument has to do with our back closet, which I am trying to get classified as attached storage, rather than living space. To make these changes required a formal hearing before a three member board, which in my case was made up entirely of white guys in their 60's. There is an adversarial feel to the formal hearing, with a county representative arguing for the higher property value for taxing purposes. The county rep took issue with my wanting to reclassify our storage closet.
You know how sometimes you think of the perfect thing to say, maybe a half hour after it would have been helpful or funny? Happens to me on a regular basis. I wished I had said to the contentious county rep, "This is a space the size of a jail cell, with a 7 foot ceiling, no windows, and no heating or air-conditioning, and you want to call it living space. Really?" Maybe it was for the best that this response did not come to my mind until I was in the car on the way home. The case was not resolved, and the county will be doing a visual inspection next week. I'll let you know how it turns out. And really, despite its flaws, and with the help of family and friends, our little house has been a wonderful home since 1995.


This next picture documents my next tax battle with the county. Last week, Carrie and I closed on a condo purchase. This is the front of the complex on Speedway, one block from our house. Our unit, a one bedroom, is in the back. So becoming landlords is in our immediate future, and we hope to lease it to a quiet graduate student in August. If we win the lottery before we get it leased, it would become a guest house, so be rooting for our Lotto numbers to come up. Of course our guest room is always available here on Avenue D. If you are reading this blog, and we have never met, the above statements should not be construed as an invitation.

Peace,

JS4

Zach and George

Here is the three photo sequence of Zach doing a flip at the pool at Abilene State Park.

But wait, you cannot believe your eyes. The second picture is not Zach. I kept missing him in mid-air. So I had to tell him over and over to go again. He didn't seem to mind. While waiting, I was practicing getting people in mid-air, and captured another boy in red trunks as he did a spinning flip. After five attempts, I got a shot of Zach as he was entering the water. Close enough, and at least he is facing the camera.

When I heard this morning that George Steinbrenner had I died, I was surprised that my thoughts were generally charitable. "What he cared about was winning," I thought. I hate the Yankees, as all good-hearted people do(Yes, it's a good-hearted hate). Over the years, when the Yankees have closed out one of their purchased championships, I have made a point of turning off the TV before the final out, as a way to avoid seeing them celebrate.

Today as I was running on the treadmill at the gym, the TVs kept playing clips of celebrating Yankee teams, and I could not avoid seeing them. It compounded the yuck factor of running on a treadmill. My thoughts became less and less charitable. It pained me that the Yankees were reigning champions when he died. I was glad when coverage turned to his being banned from baseball for his actions related to his vendetta against Dave Winfield, among other things.

Another of my uncharitable thoughts was that the megalomaniac Steinbrenner timed the announcement of his death to coincide with the All-Star Break, the slowest news and sports news days on the calendar, so that he could dominate at least one news cycle, and be the center of attention at the game. I also thought about the Yankee announcer, Bob Sheppard, who died two days before, and whom Reggie Jackson called the "Voice of God." Maybe Steinbrenner figured he would need someone working for him on the inside. Not that it would help. Finally, I thought that Bruce Springsteen is "The Boss," not G.Steinbrenner, R.I.P.

Peace,

JS4

Mind the Gap

We spent this past weekend in Abilene and Buffalo Gap, helping my dad celebrate his 70th birthday. The burgeoning tourist locale that is Buffalo Gap, where we stayed, has led to the opening of several nice B&Bs. Quality visiting time, and quality food were the themes of the weekend. Again, Happy Birthday, Dad!

We swam at Abilene State Park. Here is Zach, about to flip from the high dive. You may have seen a photo sequence in another blog post, since I was able to get it loaded in the correct order. The pool was nice, and many structures in the park were built in the 1930's by the CCC. That's government stimulus spending at its finest, and still paying dividends.

We had dinner at Perini's, which has some of the best steak you can find. Out front is the giant armadillo, which was not there the last time we ate at Perini's. I'm certain I would have remembered a 45 ft. armadillo.

After dinner photo of the family:

Carrie and Jay:

On Saturday morning, we went to the Grace Museum in downtown Abilene, where they had an Ansel Adams exhibit. It was inspiring, and I was trying to be an artist when I took these shots from where I went for a run between Buffalo Gap and and the "town" of View early Saturday morning.

In case you missed it, I was going for a wind motif.

Peace,

JS4

Radio, Part One

Standing in the crowd during the Shannon McNally in-store at Waterloo last week was Jody Denberg,the former music director of KGSR. Until Jody left the station in December, KGSR was great radio. Now, with the exception of the ever infrequent local artists that they manage to work into the playlist, KGSR is nearly indistinguishable from the classic hits station, BobFM. Every time I hear them playing Pink Floyd, or The Cars, I want to puke. I kinda like Pink Floyd and The Cars, but they don't belong on KGSR. I did not talk to Jody after the show because someone else had his attention, but I wanted to tell him that he was missed. I'll bet, and I hope, that he hears that a lot.

I've only spoken to Jody once, and that was at the first KGSR Christmas Party that I sneaked (I like the word "snuck," but it seems to be a non-word) into. Back then they held the party at the Austin City Limits studio at UT, and just getting in the building was the tough part. I really wanted to see Patty Griffin that night in December, so I waited until most of the show was over, and drove down to the studio building. As luck would have it, someone had propped open a side door (probably to smoke), which allowed me access to a stair well. I climbed the 5 flights of stairs to the studio level, and walked in with a group of other people who had taken a restroom break. Too easy. I was in.

At that point, there really wasn't anybody whose job it was to be a hard ass about security. It was dark, people were enjoying the show (Patty had just taken the stage), so I just found a place on an open bleacher seat. Oh, and there was still free beer left, so I grabbed one. The show was great, and when it was over I walked down to the floor, where Jody Denberg was standing. This was basically his show, and a few people were chatting him up. I waited until they moved on, walked up to Jody and said, "That was a great show, and I had to sneak in just to see it." He stepped back just a bit, to see that I did not have an admission badge around my neck. He then stepped toward me, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, "Man, I'm proud of you. I'm glad you made it in tonight." He knew that I had filled the seat of a person who hadn't cared enough about the music to stay for the whole show. I thanked him and left.

18 months ago, I got myself into the KGSR party with a bona fide pass. Now the party is held in the ballroom upstairs in the Texas (UT) Union. They have more room for sponsors and their ilk up there. More sponsors means more older people leaving early. The building is wide open, but security to the ballroom is pretty tight. So I go upstairs and wait until an older couple exits and is heading down the outside stairs. I follow them at a non-threatening distance until I am sure that they are leaving for the night. Before they get to the main "Drag" crossing, I approach them most respectfully, saying, "Excuse me, are y'all leaving the show?" They are, they say, and I ask if I might have one of their passes. The woman hands me her pass, which she hasn't even put on, because the adhesive might have ruined her fancy dress. I can't thank them enough; I slap that pass onto my shirt and walk into the ballroom. I get to see full sets from The Bodeans and Alejandro Escovedo, and there is free Bar-B-Que and beer. If I could just get Carrie to join me on these outings, they would be even better.

The station still hosts great events like Blues on the Green, and Unplugged at the Grove, but the soulless quality of their broadcast day leaves a hole in Austin Music. 750 people have joined a Facebook page called, "I love KGSR, but please bring back the old format." God Bless 'em, but social media cannot turn back the clock, and the corporate tools have test marketed authentic radio into the grave. So sad.

Two random thoughts:
1) I don't want to diminish the suffering of the people in the Northeast U.S. They are not accustomed to the heat, which has been deadly. But I heard that a "heat wave" is defined as three or more consecutive days above 90 degrees. Okay, around here we call that "April."

2) I know a little about geography, but it confounds me how Holland, The Netherlands, and The Dutch can be all the same country. No wonder they are killing in the World Cup (that's soccer). I always thought Trinidad and Tobago had an unfair advantage, but these guys have taken it too far. If they beat Spain in the finals, while wearing those little wooden shoes, it will be time to break up the three headed monster that is the Holland-Dutch-Netherlands juggernaut.

Peace,

JS4

A Post With No Name (It Felt Good to Get Out of the Rain)

A couple of events of note since I last blogged:

1. My Dad had his shoulder surgically replaced in Dallas last week, a few days before his 70th birthday. All seemed to go well, for which we are thankful, but we do hope that this surgery represents his last annual trip to Baylor Hospital for major surgery.

2. Winston the repair man finished his work on the back of the house. Then it rained. Water leakage under the back door. Winston, very responsibly, has been back to re-repair the seal under the new threshold, and will return tomorrow with some weather stripping. Then perhaps, a water hose test, 'cause who knows how long until the next rain.

Carrie and I did make it to the Paramount Theater to see "Lone Star," the 1996 John Sayles (written and directed) film about life and death in a border town in Texas. If you've never seen it, you should watch it two or three times. If you've seen it once, as Carrie and I had, it is so worth seeing again. Even characters who are on screen for a short time come across with real depth and complexity. It is like Larry McMurtry could write a book based on this movie. As the story unfolds, family histories and racial divides are revealed in sometimes funny, but more often poignant or painful scenes and flashbacks. This movie is just as good as it was 14 years ago.

Lloyd Maines can do pretty much whatever he wants to do in the Texas music scene. He produces records, and sits in to play with a number of artists. Unofficially, he has appeared on Austin City Limits more than anyone else, always as a side man, not the star of the show. For 13 years or more, his regular gig has been in support of San Marcos songwriter Terri Hendrix. After all that time, they play off each other perfectly, both musically and with the banter between songs. I just think it is cool, and says something good about each of them that even without big financial success, they keep making music together, and do it because they love it, and seem proud to be associated so closely with one another.

I've seen Terri perform probably a dozen or more times since 1998. The first was a Waterloo in-store for "Willory Farm," still my favorite of her albums. She does not seem to smile as freely while she plays as she did back in those days. She's just as kind and appreciative as ever, but it is as if life and the music biz has beaten her down a little over the years. The songs are thoughtful and well-crafted, and she is worth a paid admission if you get a chance to catch a show.

I'd seen Shannon McNally a few years ago at an in-store, in the pre-blog days. Then, it was just her and Charlie Sexton on stage. As a duo, they may have been the most physically attractive pair to ever grace the Waterloo stage. Now she's got four ugly dudes in her band, and she's not trying so hard to look hot, but I am still impressed by her live performance. She's like a Tupelo Bonnie Raitt, all soulful and southern. When she goes high, she's just a couple of steps away from a full yodel. She apparrently took some time off to have a child, and in the meantime she was honing her guitar work, because she was not shy about playing lead. If her show at the Continental Club that night had started at a reasonable time instead of midnight, I'd have made the trip.

If you've heard of Tokyo Police Club or Passion Pit, you are way younger or hipper than I am. I tried to go to an in-store show that featured both bands, but no luck. A throng of cool looking kids were lined up around the corner, braving the heat an hour before their sets. No way was I getting in the door. It was a quick reminder that there is a ton of music out there that is passing me by, but Waterloo caters to the "download generation" now and then.

Peace, JS4

Flashbacks a Go-Go

The first live music I saw this summer was Nneka (pronounced Nek-eh), a Nigerian-born woman who played a noon show at Waterloo. I would call her music Afri-folk, eventhough the press called it hip-hop. Obviously hard to classify, as world music so often is, her songs were hearltfelt and earnest, political and personal. The band played understatedly beneath her vocals, with the keyboard setting the tone with pop-like major chords, but kind of wandering behind Nneka's singing. Hard for me to describe, since I lack a musician's vocabulary, but really good.

With it being a noon show, there was no free beer. But there was free lunch! Austin's Pizza delivered a stack of their best pies. You can see my second helping, resting on the CD case. For best results, rotate your screen 90 degrees.

Kathy Valentine played bass with The Go-Go's back in the day. Now she lives in Austin, and is one of two guitarists with The Bluebonnets, a "girl group" that can rock with the boys. Guitar-driven-no-ballad-garage-rock is what they do best. The songs and the vocals were good but not great, but they all could really play. When the two guitarists took over on their last song, "I'm Losing my Man," it gave a glimpse of how much fun seeing them in a club might be. The bass player is the only one of the four that plays up a sexy image, but they must know that what they do is substance over style, not in need of a gimmick.

While the blog is about fun, real life does intrude on a regular basis. Summer becomes the default

time for all procrastinated projects. Since this one is both major and photogenic, I decided to include it on JaySummer4. I hope to post some "after" pictures soon. I've been pretty homebound while Winston the Repairman does his thing, but if all goes well, this evening will include a Terri Hendrix in-store, and at least one movie at the Paramount Theater downtown.

One last thing about Waterloo Records, and its owner, John Kunz: After thanking everyone for coming out to see The Bluebonnets, he reminded us that End of an Ear was having its 5th anniversary celebration that day, and encouraged us to go help them celebrate. End of an Ear is another independent record store, just a couple of miles from Waterloo. They are his COMPETITION, and he's giving them a shout out, saying, "We're all in this together."
That's class.

Peace,

JS4