One of the brightest voices coming out of the Austin dive bar scene is Chris Castro. Putting in his time, one song after another, Castro is finding his speed and niche within the city that calls itself “the Live Music Capital of the World” and is doing so on his terms. Castro’s recent single, “Good Bars and Old Guitars,” it’s a clear shot into a world that’s a little Travis Tritt and a little Cody Jinks. If there’s any good place to kick off a new home in Austin – it’s right here in this pocket. Having moved up from his native Houston, Castro is taking a chance on Austin’s laid-back vibes and appreciation for live music to ply his trade.
The single is a solid look into what Castro is capable of as he develops into an artist, but more so one who’ll be influenced by his experiences in Austin, slugging it out in the clubs, seeing how vicious some of the players are when handed a guitar or a pair of drum sticks, having one too many cold Lone stars.
Check out “Good Bars and Old Guitars” here and the video is below.
This year felt like a blur – still. The post-COVID timeline, plus things going on in life, have become this miasma where everything kind of happens. There are no “AH-HA” moments of clarity, at least not for me. One of those small breakthroughs this year was finding Zach Bryan.
I didn’t hear about him through the hype train, but he randomly popped up on a Turnpike Troubadours playlist on Spotify. Immediately, I was transfixed by “Oklahoma Smokeshow” and have been hooked on his music since. He’s probably my most significant find of 2022, with Spiritual Cramp being my number two. Spiritual Cramp is a fun, dancey punk band that feels like The Clash at a kegger. Highly suggest you give them a spin. They’re capable of doing great things where bands like Riverboat Gamblers usually play.
It was a bummer we lost Every Time I Die, but happy Tom Delonge is back in Blink 182. Matt Skiba is Alkaline Trio – full stop. The death of Taylor Hawkins sucked, but the outpouring of love and respect was an extraordinary moment to watch. Botch is back, and now, we wait for Coalesce or Fugazi. And the “Pantera” reunion sucks.
Have a good rest of 2022, and I hope for all of us, 2023 is better.
Most of the time, I'm burned out on the Irish folk stuff. I'm crazy Irish, and I get it. I've heard the songs and jokes and have had enough Guinness to last a lifetime. I also know that you don't ask for an Irish car bomb while at a bar in Ireland. (Fun fact: my great-grandfather was in the original IRA.)
But, on his new song, "Give us a Bottle of Jameson," Murphy's Lawyer won me over. Instead of being overly traditional in fear of upsetting the purists, this is more of a fun bar tune that's still Irish folk. Still, there's a little grim, maybe a showing of the canines of something a little more influenced by some 90's alternative rather than the Clancy Brothers.
"Give us a Bottle of Jameson" dropped just before Halloween on all the platforms, and it's been making some noise for those into the genre, which is good for Murphy's Lawyer as he's a full-time balladeer in the pubs of New York. As mentioned in the press release for the tune, it's a fun little descriptor that offers insight into what the song's about, "Give Us a Bottle of Jameson' began as a rhythmic etude and devolved into complete musical debauchery. Listen as the protagonist Paddy weaves in and out of 6/8, 9/8 and 12/8 as he makes his way from Mary O's in the East Village, to the local liquor store and ultimately to a jailhouse cell in this blistering tongue-in-cheek tale about a man and his destructive love for a certain beverage. Offaly man Jayson Darby of The Wild Goose in Queens, NYC makes a cameo to chime in on his whisky preference."
If you've got a fetish for some good-times, floor-stomping songs you'd hear during a happy hour, complete with some hoots and hollers, along with plenty of spilled shots of Jameson, this will ring your bell. That genre has few surprises because of its adherence to the old school, but this is a nice departure in style and sound. And if Murphy's Lawyer can keep pushing the boundaries of his narrative and how he tells his stories, there's a lot to be excited about as we see his evolution.
Just in from the hotness desk: Jeremy Squires has a new single out, “Drift,” which sounds like some straight lonely heart pulling out of the train station in the rain type of shit.
This is probably your shape and size if you’ve got an early Bob Dylan - but really lonely kink. Squires’ music feels like it’s moving into that Bruce Springsteen direction, including that damn harmonica, you know, the one that sounds like a bird off in the distance, yearning for some new great love or something deep and meaningful.
Listen to it here or below. It does not suck, but don’t put it on at a party. Well, that’s on you and your Hellraiser “we love suffering” tendencies if you do. Way to be awesome, and sad, Jeremy.
When I was a kid, I had a lot of videotapes. Every weekend, I’d sit around waiting for shows like Headbanger’s Ball, Alternative Nation, and 120 Minutes to come screaming out of the depths of the MTV studios and into our lives by the sounds of My Bloody Valentine Beck, Screaming Trees, or Big Black. I was lucky enough to live in the era of jerky record store clerks who shit on you for mediocre music tastes. Radio DJs took pride in breaking new bands and music television that wanted you to fall in love with rock and roll, no matter what your shape or size was with the noise.
I’m getting older now. It’s weird seeing kids wear Doc Martens and Nirvana shirts but have no idea what either meant to us when both things were not en vogue. One thing that I’ve moaned about repeatedly is while it’s cool and all to adopt the fashion, where was the music? Where are the bands who carry the torch for one of the greatest eras in music history? Someone had to be wondering, “what would J Mascis do?”
Then I got hip to The Dionysus Effect.
The Dionysus Effect is a three-piece off somewhere out of upstate New York, making the right kind of racket. You can never put your finger on what a band listens to or who they were influenced by unless it’s stapled to their chest, scribbled in fanboy blood. But, upon hearing the band’s debut record, there was a flash of riding second-hand BMX bikes to the record store to discover something in the used bin, looking for that new grail to love.
At one moment, the vocal phrasing reminds me of Matt Skiba from Alkaline Trio, but then, it’s Nick Cave. The Dionysus Effect’s music sounds like a time capsule from early alternative radio ala bands like Hum, Sebadoh, The Stone Roses, or Pavement. On “Stars,” the guitar work is light and airy, it’s not driven by aggression, the drums handle all of that work, and on “Heroin,” everything again feels like the music was meant to be on vinyl, ready not for a download, but an honest listen.
Given that this is their first go-round with releasing music, you can hear where the band will only get better, where you’ll see the bumpy bits tighten up or be thought about differently the next time they hit the studio. There’s underlying aggression, something many bands manufacture but don’t realize. The creators of the style and sound weren’t trying to outwit one another. They didn’t know other bands were as fucked up as they were – we didn’t have Instagram when Sonic Youth dropped Daydream Nation, or Dinosaur Jr gave us Feel the Pain. You can hear where down the line, the guitars might be a little more violent, where a scream might make more sense than a howl.
If The Dionysus Effect is a good indicator of what’s coming down the line (there's a full album on the way later this year), the kids, as they say, will be alright if these boys show them what’s possible when a world as insane as this one gives you perspective to howl over.
Clancy Jones is the real deal. I mean, yes, he’s got the requisite cool tattoos everywhere, the faded denim shirt that looks like it’s been through the war. Jones looks like he knows how to scrap after a few Jamesons, but, don’t like the façade fool you – the dude lives in the middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma working on a ranch doing man shit like moving cattle, and in his spare time writes incredible songs that dance in the shadows of artists like JD McPherson, Leon Bridges, Turnpike Troubadours, and Lucero.
On his debut record, Found My Way, Jones taps into themes of heartbreak, travel the forgotten American roads, and obviously – figuring out who he is one scar at a time. And the results were worth whatever hell Jones managed to dance through.
“Blacktop Bound” sounds like any sold-out Saturday night at Austin’s famed Continental Club. The drive, the beat, and the funk are all in the mix, ready for a spilled beer and secretly exchanged numbers, away from prying eyes.
The songs on Found My Way are dripping with massive organs, dirty guitar tones, a long moan into the void. Jones delivers a must listen to anyone deep into Americana and who likes looking for trouble. The slower country-tinged tunes are excellent. They speak the language of someone who’s wound up in one too many dive bars alone for one wrong reason or another. Still, it’s the foot stompers like the previously mentioned “Blacktop Bound” or “Mexican Gold” is where Jones truly shines, proving he could play with the big dogs who love good timin’ and getting into trouble. If you see Jones’ name on the marquee of your local dance hall in the coming months or years, don’t be surprised. Just roll a joint, put on your shitkickers and get out there and party your ass off. That’s what his music thrives on – the pulsing beat of “fuck just say no, let’s all say hell yes.”
Down here in Austin, Texas, we might be well on our way to becoming the Live Comedy Capital of the World or the Tech Everything Capital of the World, but we're still a music town. Every night of the week, you can hear a raucous new voice in the clubs, on the street corners, or strumming away in the corner of a bar.
One of those new voices is Andrew Jobin, who's just released his first solo EP,Bon Accord. Bon Accord is a collection of songs that spring from the same fertile musical soil as artists like John Moreland with its foot-stomping old school phrasing one piece like "Joan Love" but then lends itself to an emotional holler; with a track like, "Eden." Jobin leans into something I never expected on these tracks; his voice and phrasing don't remind me of contemporary singers, but more in the realm of singers like Woody Guthrie, especially the Singing Brakeman, Jimmie Rodgers. Whether or not those influence the record or Jobin, what matters is that he's not trying to play house and trying to sound like anything that's not authentic to himself.
Check out Andrew Jobin's new record, Bon Accord, and go to one of his shows if you're in Austin. As this city is getting more expensive every day, it's good to see we've still got a few honest to god guitar pickers kicking around.
I’m coming close to a decade in Austin, Texas. I’ve seen the changes, and yeah, some of them are worth complaining over. But, as the city evolves and becomes one Thanos stone away from some megalopolis that only Elon Musk can afford, there’s still plenty of aspects to this cultural wonderland to celebrate. Great Tex-Mex is everywhere, no shortage of cheap Lonestars at beer joints across the city, and there’s still hot music every night of the week.
Hippies and cowboys shit-kicking one another built this city on the good timin’ sounds of Willie and Waylon. Since then we’ve seen the rise of bands like Black Pumas, Ghostland Observatory, and Gary Clark Jr, who all showcase the best things about the Capital City every night throughout all corners of the world.
Keeping housing affordable in town so the creative class can continue to live here is critical to maintaining the identity of Austin intact because as much as we all love dorks on Bird scooters zipping around downtown in their $500 Nikes, we need the artists, musicians, and now comedians.
With so many good bands playing every night, I thought it was imperative to share some of the music that folks need to know, ones that show the best of what the city has to offer. If you dig what they do, buy some merch, stream their stuff, or catch them on tour. And if you can’t do any of those things, there’s always planning a vacation.
In no particular order, these are some of the bands you need to know in Austin right now:
GoodEye delivers some heavy psyche that’s got serious Sleep meets Radiohead vibes. They’re heavy but not scared to get all “Shine on You Crazy Diamond,” either. If you’re looking to smoke out before going to Riff City, this is your band, Cheech.
Classic Austin punk rock. Should need no introduction. Super fun and super insane live shows where no beer is safe from being thrown, just as no surface won’t get crawled on and jumped from.
The Mellows If you’re in the market for grooves straight from the malt shop, The Mellows deliver the goods. These guys do straight 1950’s do-wop with a twist of early rock and roll. Fantastic.
Another classic Austin band that should be a bigger deal than they are. If you’re looking for that wild-ass early Butthole Surfers vibe, these guys bring it like total fucking weirdos. These dudes are that perfect drunk marriage of country and punk that smells like spilled Bud Light and cheap reefer. If you’re in Austin for a weekend and these guys pop up on Showlist, don’t sleep on them. Buy that ticket.
Yeah, weird name, but pound for pound, the best metal band in Austin.Riffs for days, everything has a hook, and they’re totally in on the joke. Any chance I get to catch the Rickshaw, I take it. I even have their sticker on my laptop. And I don’t listen to a ton of metal.
The Sword Yep, the local gods are still around and still ruling. It’s a fucking crime these dudes aren’t everyone’s favorite band. Either way, they’re still here, and they never stopped being awesome.
Nether Hour If you’re looking for that country-rock slug that goes straight to the dome, Netherhour brings the noise. Think Allman Brothers meets Al Green. There’s a lot of deep country soul here. Netherhour also serves as the house band for many of comedians’ Redban and Tony Hinchcliffe’s live shows at comedy hotspot, Vulcan Gas Company.
Trace of Lime Another Vulcan Gas Company house band, Trace of Lime, is straight-up 90’s alternative worship. It’s weird being old enough to see my years in high school become a musical source of inspiration, but these kids are doing the decade justice. This is right up your alley if you’re a fan of Dinosaur Jr, the Pixies, or the Violent Femmes. Plus, these guys crush live, too.
User Unauthorized These kids aren’t even drinking age, and they’re getting on all of the best crusty hardcore and punk shows in Austin for a reason: they deliver. The music is abrasive, fierce, and with them still being so young, like high school young, this is a band who’s only going to get more pissed off as the years fall within the hourglass.
Transit Method Think Mars Volta meets Smashing Pumpkins riffs and then layer in Coheed and Cambria. That’s Transit Method. They’re a band you need to watch just as much as listen thanks to how complex and layered the playing can go from small moments to gigantic movements, all with a riff that one minute sounds straight from the Grateful Dead’s catalog and then goes all rock and roll city.
David Ramirez If there’s one singer-songwriter you need to embrace in the cultural history of Austin, it’s this guy. David Ramirez is the real deal. He’s no-frills and comes from the school of the heart of George Strait, but has all of these moments that are more art school and Echo and the Bunnymen all within a breath. If you’re into Black Pumas or Tyler Childers, David Ramirez should be on your playlist just the same.
Senora May's new record All of My Love is light years departed from her prior effort, 2018's Lainhart. I don't know if the pandemic affected the mood of this release, but let's say it's plenty darker, whereas its predecessor was relatively light and, well, homey. Weaved throughout All of My Love is a definite through-line of tangible atmosphere offering the listener a glimpse into the real songwriter, which May gives us that when things feel a little bleak, she delivers the goods.
No two songs on All of My Love sound the same. It's always fascinating to hear an artist take risks, play with styles and see what sticks. The record has a variety of flavors with some Very Good Country Music. But, by and large, the darker songs on the record are the ones that shine, despite their inherent murk. The album's intro, "Intertwine," is haunting, moody, beautiful, and easily the album's strongest song. This is the Senora May I want to hear more from.
"Love you More" features a dirty guitar that conjures up Grunge-era feelings, and it works. It’s got serious “child of the 90’s vibes” and I’m here for that all day. Senora May's wheelhouse is playing with the songs that aren't so downhome country, but instead, the more she drifts into the rock and roll, the darker melodies, there's a sense of real identity. "Colors" is another strong track on the record, with its Cure-like guitar riffing.
Again, playing outside of the lines is when May does her best work. The record is strong. Experiencing whatever void May is capable of sticking her toes within allows the listener to make an unspoken agreement of “Yes, I know that feeling, too,” and that space is something we all can universally relate to, given the year we’ve all day. Some sunny music is great and all, but we’re still shaking off the frost and it’s going to take a little bit before we’re all feeling 100% human again. Till then, those bitter pills can taste like a candy we need.
Whenever Senora May is allowed to get out there and play this new batch of songs live, I'm positive they'll jump, All of my Love is a solid record. But, moving forward, I'd love to see Senora May release a few e.p. 's dabbling, just giving us a taste of what her darker side is capable of offering. I bet the results would be incredible. With a few hints present on All of My Love, we could be experiencing the crucial stepping-off point for a flower that grows in the moonlight.
When I called Justin Wells to talk to him about his latest record, The United State, I was in the trenches of a New Orleans-sized hangover. I'd gotten into town the night before and drank myself stupid to the point of sharing an All That Jazz po-boy from Verti Marte with a homeless dude named Mike. Jameson, so much PBR, and endless sketchy bars - yes, I got tested and wore a mask. I used to live in New Orleans, so anytime I drop into town, it's a waterfall of old friends, but then I start doing shots with them. I played it cool for the rest of the trip, but naturally, on the first night, I lost my shit.
Setting up the interview, I wasn't a hard yes on my trip. But once I'd committed, I didn't want to flake, being what they call in the biz, "a professional." So, from the comfort of my Airbnb bed, I was renting from one of my friends, I made it to my call on time while not opening the blinds. The darkness kept me company as I sailed through the conversation, despite working through the throbbing in my teeth and head. Justin Wells never flinched. He handled my bad jokes about a near-death experience with drinking a bottle’s worth of Irish whiskey the night prior with his usual demeanor. A guy like that, he's a road dog, who’s experienced too much to let another journalist who'd maybe, unofficially wound up in speakeasy situations, drinking in the dark with French Quarter bartenders deter him from giving an honest interview.
The thing about Justin Wells that people gravitate to is that you feel his authenticity. You can tell he's not playing a game and that his destiny, how he handles his business, but also his music, rests entirely on him. On the new record, The United State, it's a long sounding of the social alarm that we're in this thing together, for better or worse. "I'm tired of having to pick between teams. I was tired of friends on each side of the fence turning on one another. There's so much division and for what? Can't people tell they're being played? It's like a sales call: We're A trying to appeal to B and we're B trying to appeal A. We probably don't agree on everything, but let's pretend so we can get all of the power. There's issues at stake, but not every issue requires a war of this side calls it Fall and this side calls it Autumn."
And talking to the guy and listening to cuts like "The Screaming Song," or "Never Better," it's immediately apparent Wells isn't full of shit. After an honest conversation, he's a reckoning of common sense because those common bonds of struggling through a pandemic should be something we can agree sucks if we'd only leave the politics at the door. "When I wrote the record, we weren't in a crisis, obviously. But the concept is personhood. It boils down to the human experience. There's a universal struggle we all go through to some degree. We can talk about that because we all know what it's like to deal with things at one point or another."
When the Pedialyte started to kick in, I got faster with my thoughts and asked how he was coping during the pandemic. "It ain't easy. I don't even know how to work," he says with a laugh that trails off into a short sigh we can all understand. "I'm dying to get back out there. I miss the fellowship, the people. This music, these voices hollering out together, that's our equivalent of what they do on Sunday mornings. This is our church."
When I asked him what he's hoping for once the vaccines get spread out into our communities, he's onto something, "There were some empty seats back then at the beginning of my career, and we'll deal with it again. We'll get back. I like it when the room is a little too hot for all of us, and the fire marshal ought to be called, that's what I can't wait to get back into. There's a power of live music that I think people are about to rediscover and it's going to be great for working musicians. I believe that." There are worse things to keep the faith dialed in. We're collectively ready for dirty bathrooms, too many overpriced beers, and communing with strangers, offering our faith once again to the church of the guitar cranked through an amplifier and not a care in the world, even if it's only for those precious few moments.
You can buy Justin Wells' record here. Stream it if you must, but at least buy a t-shirt.
A few months back, Teddy Thompson dropped his latest record, Heartbreaker Please, and damn, we all slept on it. Look, we don’t have to rehash all the COVID garbage. We’re living it. What sucks is that many fantastic records were tossed into the pile of “stuff” no one got to when they came out. And that’s a crime against all of this new music. Teddy Thompson should have had significant juice this summer because Heartbreaker Please is a well-grounded, groovy record that’s got its feet in doo-wop, rock and roll, and rockabilly. It’s got finger snaps, hand claps and is primed as a perfect summer record. I like to think about the records you can crank up after a few sodas, drunk in the kitchen, the ones you and your sweetheart can shuffle to barefoot, and Thompson has it.
Thompson has a cadre of releases, all of which are rooted in Americana. But, there’s something about Heartbreaker Please that’s got mojo. It’s not filled with bummers, and the danceable stuff has a lot of feeling to the songs like he wasn’t trying to be different for the sake of doing so and nothing else.
“Brand New” and the opener “Why Wait” are two standouts among a collection of songs that deliver time and time again. Give this record a shot. If you’re in a garbage mood and need a pick me up, this one is perfect for cooking dinner or just trying to feel anything. And right now, we could all use a little humanity added to our day.
Well lookie here, a friend of Farce the Music, Jeremy Squires has a new record, Many Moons dropping at the end of August. To say that Squires isn’t prolific would be a disservice to how much the North Carolina troubadour puts in the work. It feels like at least once a year he’s got a new song, a new record or guest spot dropping, which in this streaming-driven music climate is a good thing.
On his new single, “Cast Spells,” Squires continues his move away from a strict traditionalist, barroom country and moving more toward a balanced Americana that has the grim reverb of Elliot Smith married with Jason Isbell’s raw honesty. The vocals on Many Moons are ghostlike as if Squires is chanting for himself, toward the unknown rather than taking the listener on a journey.
This is a notable shift in sound, Eastern Glow, Squire's last effort was a much bigger, lush record, but from this little drink of Many Moons, it looks we’re going to get a whole different side of the artist.
Check out “Cast Spells” and "Labyrinth" on Bandcamp or Spotify.
Joey Allcorn is a walking ghost. Stuck between the ether of our compromised reality, and a netherworld surrounded by spirits, Allcorn is a mystic, soothsayer, and as he's always said, born a few decades too late.
The music he writes isn't concerned with the current, what popular culture considers "country" whatever side of the traditionalist aisle you adhere to, instead, Allcorn, is a living relic. This man seeks out the forgotten players, who can tell you the names of the folks who etched their names in the walls of country music long ago. He's a historian and someone who keeps the keys to the past in his back pocket.
On his new e.p, The State of Heartbreak, Allcorn doesn't disappoint, because he's incapable of doing that, but instead leads the listener toward the dark halls of what we're looking for, internally. That's why his music works. You can hear it with your grandparents, believe it in a room full of buddies, but it's also malleable. It has depth. It's not a sad rehash like so many country traditionalists. Allcorn will always get the Hank Williams comparisons, but where's the harm in that? If you can yodel and howl, then yodel and howl, this music is from the back hills and the hollers, don't let the repressions of radio fool you, this is music that's appeared within the bacteria of his gut lining, the DNA twisting through his genome.
On this release, Allcorn toys with some Kris Kristofferson, some Leadbelly, and with a little Faron Young. Allcorn has never been shy about who he looks to as an influence, and all of his selections work in the spirit of The State of Heartbreak. It's hard to even have a critical ear toward Allcorn, you know what you're getting, and it's always consistent. He's like the video of the guy throwing basketballs two-handed and never missing. The timbre, the attitude, and the intent are forever stitched into the music, Allcorn is a perfectionist in that he's incapable of putting out a dud. He'd rather hide in the shadows.
For a while, Allcorn disappeared. He'd occasionally pop up on social media, reminding us through his various channels like "Honky Tonk Heroes" or his direct feed that he can rattle off more about country music that half the people whose names are hanging on the walls of the Opry. Having him back is fitting for the culture, he pays attention, he throws events, and his heart is always in the right place. Joey Allcorn is a hell of a singer and musician, but at the core of all things, he's a blue blood ambassador of country music who's done countless things to show old men they're not forgotten or to continually exercise the wrongs of the past.
We're lucky he's back in the saddle, the music needs more yodeling cowboys like him.
Grab a download of The State of Heartbreak off his site: joeyallcorn.com
Thanks to the pandemic, the Red River District has lost three more live music venues. Barracuda, or “Barry’s” to the faithful, closed its doors, same with DJ spot Plush, and the hip-hop room, Scratchhouse. Sidewinder sits vacant, so does the old Emo’s, as well as the former Headhunters. And Beerland, after a murky deed transfer, it’s anyone’s guess what the little room becomes.
Red River is a unifying theme of Austin. It’s got weirdos hanging on street corners, Elysium throbs with goth anthems, and Hoboken pizza slings pies for all of those with bleary eyes after having too good of a time at Better Days. Is this magical mixture of punk rock, country, hip-hop, and everything else going away? It’s one of the things that make this city hum – or twang.
The words, “the time has come for Barracuda Club to bid adieu,” it hit home. Barracuda was laid back, the staff was always down to help, and they booked good shows. Everyone knew the routine: pre-game at Sidebar, walk over to Barracuda for rock and roll city.
Every DJ in town knows that Plush is where you build a name. For twenty years, it held down its address next to Swan Dive at Red River and 7th, and now, another one bites the dust. According to a Facebook post back in May, it was a “combination of ever raising prices and new regulations,” which is an all-too-familiar story. Scratchhouse also cited rising rents as the reason for closing its doors. Plush plans on re-opening somewhere else, but who knows how long that will take in this market.
Where are our leaders who love to be martyrs for everything that sucks about Austin when we need them? The tourists might think of 6th as the musical heart, but we all know it’s Red River’s little five-block district.
In May, district leaders proposed getting the city to commit $35M to purchase venue properties to mitigate closures via the federal Coronavirus Aid, Relief and Economic Security (CARES) Act. Austin got $170.8 million; you’d think allocating some of that to the very thing that draws people into town would be a priority. Instead, Austin is complicit in letting culture die because all we need is more places for overpriced sushi or a quiet yoga center.
This begs the logical question to ask: who’s next? Could we lose Valhalla? Is Cheer up Charlie’s ok? Is Mohawk on the chopping block? There aren’t many venues left in our so-called “music district,” a massive piece of Austin, an area that defines the “Live Music Capital of The World” moniker, despite everything seeming to go in the complete opposite direction. The city loves to brag about the “cultural district” so much, it’s got a whole page on its official website. But where’s the support? Are we actually about supporting music, or does it just look good on a t-shirt at the airport?
The bosses on Red River pleaded. They need the cash – to the tune of $40K a month until the business can get back to normal. The city approved grants for working musicians, but without places to play, it’s a moot point, isn’t it? No matter where you look, live music hasn’t been considered as a means for support. What district reps wanted was the city to buy buildings to fight skyrocketing rents and yuppie redevelopment projects who complain about noise and bbq smoke. We’re pushing our venues out of downtown and off into the far-flung reaches. That’s problematic. If this city is going to hang its Stetson on live music is our lifeblood, then back it up. Our local businesses need support. And that proposal? It fell on deaf ears, like always. You lose the music, and we’re on our way to becoming Dallas.
