The red brick building sits on the high ground overlooking the intersection of Harry Hines Boulevard and Oak Lawn Avenue like a fortress, accessible only by a curving driveway that flashes past drivers almost before it’s perceived. For many it’s a phenomenon of the commuter age–something that’s seen every day…
Hot buttered soul Snoop may well be the Doggfather, but Isaac Hayes (pictured) is still one of soul music’s Godfathers. Few songs show up in both the form of parody and sincere tribute as often as his “Theme from Shaft,” and few rappers have personified Black Pride the way Hayes…
Green, green grass of home who to love and when to leave Mary Cutrufello Independent release By now the more obvious aspects of Mary Cutrufello have been reduced to filler fodder, but the contrasts inherent in an African-American female from the East Coast with a Yale education attempting to play…
Old tricks, new dogs Texas Blueswomen Chonita Turner, Jav-Lyn, and Lady Lotion TopCat Records Apart from touring acts like Buddy Guy and local blues jams, there exists a whole group of R&B/blues clubs that see few white faces but are no less valid for their self-containment (perhaps even more so)…
Most ’90s celebrities understand that baring their souls comes with the territory. Your average personality mag is brimming with profiles of famous people who disclose their deepest, darkest secrets as casually as they cash their royalty checks–and the few who don’t are viewed with suspicion. Eddie Vedder’s reluctance to share…
Tim Locke, felled by the season’s latest and nearly ubiquitous strain of flu, still manages to sound excited through the coughing and sniffling. Locke is the lead vocalist, guitarist, and main muse behind Grand Street Cryers, the Dallas pop quintet that’s enjoying the fallout of a magical bit of radio…
As years go by 20th Century Blues Marianne Faithfull Reverso/RCA Records Berlin in the ’20s: no other phrase conjures up quite so complete a picture of decadence and doom. Denizens of the Weimar Republic had the hedonist’s perfect excuse, a traumatic past and a future that hinted at even worse,…
The feminine mystique There are some people who are so possessed of a love for life–and for love–that they are virtually forces of nature, blowing through situations and scenarios like some emotional Tasmanian devil. No matter how much these folks vex you–or break your heart–somehow you can’t hate them, so…
When Rick Reid’s will-to-Zydeco–honed in earlier bands Zydeco Faux Pas, then the Zydeco Swamptones–collided with the pop/cover-band tendencies of the Joybangers last summer, a new and wonderful thing was born: the band Hippie Gumbo. Perhaps it was a reward for finally resisting the urge to put the word “zydeco” in…
Mirrors cover the walls of every room except the bedroom in Lou Barlow’s ancient Boston apartment house. Dark, wine-colored carpet and ornate woodwork line the new dwelling of the guiding auteur of lo-fi rock heroes Sebadoh. Their “Willing to Wait,” off of Harmacy–the band’s seventh album–is hitting on VH-1, and…
It Happened One Night Holly Cole Metro Blue/Capitol Records Jazzy singer Holly Cole perfectly illustrates how cool warmth can be. Her live show is so affecting that she can make even a huge outdoor shed like Starplex seem close and intimate, so this album–songs from a single night in Montreal…
He was an avatar of fusions to come, a trumpet man whose high-C-over-C wailings presaged the mix of rock heroics and jazz technique that would later give birth to such acts as Blood, Sweat and Tears and Chicago, and then a thousand more. When he plays, Maynard Ferguson is a…
Contrary to a report in Tuesday, January 14’s Austin American-Statesman, a recommendation to restrict the presence of anyone under 21 in establishments that sell alcohol is not a bill, but that still doesn’t mean that club owners, club-goers, and musicians shouldn’t take an interest in goings-on down Austin way. The…
Running on Ice Vertical Horizon Rhythmic Records I don’t know how you would define Vertical Horizon musically. The sound that Matt Scannell and Keith Kane make is too acoustic and soft for most contemporary pop rock; their plaintive lyrics suggest a country sentimentality, but without the rollicking fun–no sly steel…
Houston El Mover Say what you will about Joe King Carrasco, but he’s responsible for two enduring rock ‘n’ roll memories. The first was years ago, during the heyday of Austin punk, at Duke’s Royal Coach Inn. It was a red-hot night, both for the performer and the un-air-conditioned crowd…
She does not stick out in the dilapidated lobby of Los Angeles’ Farmer’s Daughter Motel on Fairfax, just across the street from the restaurants and product bins of the Farmer’s Market. Her famous long hair–black with road-map streaks of gray running through it–is tucked underneath a plain black baseball cap;…
Songs from the sound museum Songs from the Night Before David Sanborn Elektra Records The saxophone has a reputation for being one of the sexiest jazz instruments. This generalization has never held much sway with me; for romance, I’ll take a Chet Baker trumpet solo or a Nina Simone vocal…
The long and winding road At long last, the Right Reverend Billy C. Wirtz–over-the-top satirical singer-songwriter, one-man floor show, living lampoon of all things musical–has straightened out. Well, sort of. “I’m glad you called when you did,” the Rev says enthusiastically. “I pulled a groin muscle the other day and…
If you’re driving through downtown Terrell, you probably wouldn’t notice the small radio station between the travel agency and the clothing store on Moore avenue. The station–with its faded wood front and DJ booth facing the street (with a large window for passersby to peer in)–makes you feel like you’ve…
The face on the cover of Cafe Noir’s album The Waltz King was perfect for the eclectic classicist/jazzbo aggregation: lined and weathered, it bespoke not only many miles and countless rooms, but also wisdom; sadness too, yes, but leavened with the peace that comes from experience. From that countenance–the kind…
101 punks Pretty Ugly Mess Last Beat Records Cris Mess sings like a young, pissed-off Billy Idol (circa Generation X), but you can’t help noticing that this album sounds like it has been preserved in a time capsule for the last 20 years; the question of nostalgia arises like a…
!Don’t you step on my huaraches azules! The line that divides style and shtick can be razor-thin, and if you introduce the Elvis Dimension it can be buried completely beneath deep drifts of Velveeta. It would be a mistake, however, to lump Los Angeles artist El Vez (nee Robert Lopez)…
