I am no astronomer, astrologer, or eschatologist, but a Super Blue Blood Moon sounds like a pretty big deal. It's "super" because it's close. It's "blue" because it's the second full moon in a calendar month, and it's a "blood" moon because of the color created by the lunar eclipse. The last time this occurred was in 1866, so my wife, not wanting to miss such a rare event, rolled me out of bed early this morning so that we could witness the Super Blue Blood Moon, which was, quite frankly, a beautiful sight to see.
Here is a video of the Super Blue Blood Moon shot somewhere in Texas this morning.
Just for grins, here's a song called "Full Moon over Texas" in celebration of the Super Blue Blood Moon. I would have posted "Super Blue Blood Moon over Texas," but I don't think it has been written yet.
I was first introduced to Texas' own Reverend Horton Heat when I was living in Yellowstone National Park. My roommate at the time was a guy named Pete, who was raised in a hippie commune in Hawaii but was basically from Seattle, and he liked to play his Reverend Horton Heat album at top volume.
Although the Reverend Horton Heat was a Dallas psychobilly outfit, they had signed with Seattle's Sub Pop label, which had also signed grunge bands such as Nirvana and Soundgarden. So the Reverend Horton Heat was pretty well-known in Seattle in the early-1990s, with my buddy Pete being a great advocate of the Lone Star trio.
Once I got back to Texas, I introduced my cousin Luke to the band, and he dug them so much that he joined me for a show at the Ridglea Theater in Fort Worth. Today, in honor of my cousin Luke's birthday, here is the Reverend Horton Heat's "Eat Steak." The chorus includes the line, "Eat steak, eat steak, when you're in the moooooooooodddd!"
When my wife first got to Texas, she had a hard time knowing which grandmother we were talking about because so many of the names sounded essentially the same.
"No, we're not going to see Memaw," I would tell her. "We're going to see Mamaw."
It truly had to be maddening for her, all of those Memaws, Mamaws, Mimis, Gigis, Grandmas, Grannies, Nanas, and Omas. Luckily, she now has it all sorted out.
This video, entitled "Memaw Conquers the Texas Star Flyer," was taken on the Galveston Island Historic Pleasure Pier by Austin-based photographer Dave Mead.
In my writing, I have been known to allude to folk and country songs in the same way I might allude to works of what would traditionally be called literature. I do this because I believe there is literary merit in the work of many songwriters, and I consider it important to treat their work with the same respect and legitimacy as one might treat the work of established poets and novelists.
Based on recent events, I now see that my sentiment is part of the zeitgeist. When the Nobel committee announced Bob Dylan the recipient of the 2016 Nobel Prize in Literature, I considered this not only a legitimization of songwriters but a validation of my position on alluding to their work. On the local front, Willie Nelson became a member of the Texas Institute of Letters last week. The Texas Institute of Letters, in its press release, noted that "[t]his marks the first year the TIL has recognized a songwriter based on literary accomplishments." I must say that I am extremely pleased to see the literary establishment's widening its definition of literature to include the work of songwriters.
Here is Dallas' own Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians covering Bob Dylan's "A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall."
I have always loved songs that tell a story. I have always loved hearing them, and I have always loved sharing them. My first venture in sharing songs with others came when I was in fifth grade, when a buddy and I sang "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" in an outlaw-country-style duet for the school talent show.
To add to our performance, my buddy wanted to sing a controversial lyric he was sure would make us the stars of the show, but I cut in on his verse to keep him from singing an expletive in front of the whole school. I guess he was more outlaw than me. Well, even though we didn't become controversial elementary school outlaw country legends, we did enjoy sharing a song about Johnny and the Devil.
So, yes, I have always enjoyed story songs. Growing up, I loved songs like Marty Robbins' "Cool Water" and "Big Iron," and I was a big fan of "The Ballad of Jesse James." These songs, to a great extent, were my literature, and they engendered a love for the short form. In a sense, old songs with a narrative have had as much of an influence on me as a short story writer as Anton Chekhov, Flannery O'Connor, and Jorge Luis Borges.
Here is the cover of the Marty Robbins album I loved when I was knee high to a grasshopper.
Here is a song my brother and I liked to listen to while dressed in our cowboy garb and running around the house shooting toy pistols.
Panther Hall in Fort Worth hosted numerous musical artists between 1963 and 1978 including Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Fats Domino, Jerry Lee Lewis, the Grateful Dead, and Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. One of my favorite live albums of all time happens to be Willie Nelson's "Live Country Music Concert," which was recorded on July 5, 1966. At this Panther Hall show, Willie, dressed in a black suit, sang such favorites as "Night Life" and "Hello Walls" as well as a cover of the Beatles' "Yesterday," which was released by the Fab Four in 1965.
Here is Willie Nelson playing "Mr. Record Man" at Panther Hall.
My grandfather passed away on this date five years ago, and I have missed him every day ever since. He was rough as a cob, funny as the deuce, and as honest and loyal as a man could be. He was, to put it simply, a Texan of the grand old school. When he was a young man, he liked to listen to the music of the Texas Troubadour, Ernest Tubb. So here is a song for my grandfather on this twenty-fifth day of January.
Whenever I think about the painter Georgia O'Keeffe, I tend to think about New Mexico. I tend to think about iconic works from Taos and Santa Fe. But O'Keeffe also had a Texas connection, having taught at West Texas State Normal College out in Canyon for a couple of years. While O'Keeffe was teaching in the Panhandle, she often visited Palo Duro Canyon, and she completed numerous paintings there. Palo Duro Canyon is a magical place, and I can certainly see how she would have been drawn to it.
Here is a Palo Duro painting.
Here is a short newscast about O'Keeffe's time in West Texas.
It probably comes as no surprise that I love those country blues. I love listening to Sleepy John Estes, Mississippi John Hurt, and Lightnin' Hopkins. Recently I came across the work of a largely-unknown country bluesman from up around Texarkana. They called him Little Hat Jones, and he cut some sides for OKeh Records back in 1929 and 1930. Here is "Bye Bye Baby Blues" by Little Hat Jones. I can not imagine how glorious this must sound on an old OKeh 78.
My grandparents were all raised in fairly isolated places, which means that I was raised hearing older forms of the Texas vernacular. In elementary school, other kids even commented on how I talked "country." I was a little embarrassed at the time, but now I am thankful that my linguistic repertoire includes these older forms.
According to a 1962 study, one term that was used with some frequency among Texans 60 years or older (i.e. people born around 1900 or earlier) was "tuckered out." "Tuckered out" means to be very tired, and the term is still used on occasion today. This evening I am feeling fairly tuckered out, which is why I chose it for my term of the day. In the name of full disclosure, "tuckered out" actually originated in New England in 1833, but considering its widespread usage among older Texans in the mid-twentieth century, I have elected to highlight it in today's blog post.
If you are feeling tuckered out, here is a lullabye by Townes Van Zandt. You'll be dreaming pretty dreams before you know it.
Martina and I made the acquaintance of a stray dog a while back, and he decided that we were all going to be great friends. Considering that we already had two fine dogs at home, we were not in the market for any new ones, but this dog refused to take no for an answer. So I called up my buddy, who was living alone at the time, and asked him if he wanted a dog. He said he did, and the next thing you know, our new friend was in the front seat of the car.
Martina and I put up "Found Dog" signs and called the animal shelter, but nobody came looking for this fellow. A few days after we had given the dog to my buddy, I asked him what he had named his canine companion. "Hayes Carll," he said. I found that to be a peculiar name for a dog. "Hayes" would have worked. "Carll" would have worked better because it is easier to yell, but the dog was named Hayes Carll, after the Texas singer-songwriter.
Personality wise, I thought the name must have been inspired by the song "Wild as a Turkey," which includes lyrics like "I'm wild as a turkey / Higher than a Christmas moon / Empty as my wallet on a Sunday afternoon." Hayes Carll the Dog, after all, was sort of a goofy, happy-go-lucky kind of guy, so that made sense. But I soon learned the name was inspired by a Hayes Carll cover of a Tom Waits song, the inspirational line being "I wish that I could be a doo-oo-ooggg." I could understand that, too.
Nowadays, Hayes Carll plays a big role in our lives. Sometimes he comes over for Friday night jam sessions. Other times he stops by for dinner. Occasionally, he even stays with us for the entire weekend. Whenever he's here, Hayes Carll enjoys laying across my lap and letting me rub his belly. That is one of his favorite things. Hayes Carll, who is truly as wild as a turkey, has become a mighty close friend of ours.
Our ol' buddy Honza, with the help of his girlfriend Lucka, had a baby last Tuesday. Although we had been in contact with Honza, who now lives in Australia, he had kept all of that baby business quiet. Over the holidays when we Skyped (with Honza talking to us from his yard with crazy-sounding birds in the background), he never mentioned a word. So the arrival of Baby Mikulas came as quite a surprise to us.
To provide a little background, Honza and I played together in a blues-rock band in Europe for a few years, and he spent a month with us in Texas a while back. While Honza was in Texas, we visited the Alamo, Luckenbach, Palo Duro Canyon, the Grassy Knoll, and lots of other interesting places. Honza came to love Texas, and his visit is chronicled in a Dallas Morning News piece.
This week Honza sent us pictures of the sweet baby. Mommy and Baby pictures. Baby and Daddy pictures. All of that good stuff. And then he added a random one. A Baby and Waylon County picture. Apparently he (Honza, not the baby) had been reading it at the hospital. Considering that the baby is asleep, I don't think that I can call this an endorsement, but I find it amusing nonetheless.
Congratulations to Honza and Lucka on the birth of their brand new baby boy! Hurray for Baby Mikulas!
Back in the late 60s, a band called Shiva's Headband was treating Austin to some very groovy tunes. Shiva's Headband, which could loosely be called a folk-rock act, played a major part in the founding of the Armadillo World Headquarters. Besides providing financial backing, Shiva's Headband was also the first band to play at the fabled Armadillo when it opened in 1970. The Armadillo, with help from its Headband friends, would go on to become one of the places that made Austin Austin, hosting acts such as the New Riders of the Purple Sage, Taj Mahal, Jerry Jeff Walker, the Lost Gonzo Band, and Willie Nelson among scores of others.
Here is the Shiva's Headband song "Take Me to the Mountains," which was released in 1969. The chorus features lines like "Take me to the mountains if you please / I will gladly trade the cement for the trees." Check out the little armadillos on the album cover by noted poster artist Jim Franklin.
I had been a Jerry Jeff Walker fan for a good two decades before I ever knew that he used to play with a rock act in the late 60s. Yes, I had seen him play Christmas shows, Fourth of July shows, and shows on the days in between, but I never knew about his rock 'n roll days. To tell the truth, I had heard about him playing on the streets of New Orleans when he was young, but that was about it.
So, here's the story. Once upon a time, before Jerry Jeff became the Jerry Jeff I somehow thought he must have always been, he was in a band called Circus Maximus. Circus Maximus, it seems, was a band that took things seriously. They even had a song based on the work of 14th century French composer Guillame de Machaut, who is, and I am not making this up, my favorite medieval composer. Anyway, the cover of Circus Maximus' second album, which bears a striking resemblance to Cream's Disraeli Gears, says it all. Any way you look at it, I think it is super groovy to see where the career of Jerry Jeff Walker of Viva Terlingua fame actually began.
Popeye the Sailor Man first appeared in print on January 17, 1929. The first newspaper to run the comic-strip was the Victoria Advocate, and the strip's author, Elzie Crisler Segar, considered Victoria, Texas, to be Popeye's hometown. I personally would like to thank Popeye the Sailor for making me a lifelong eater of spinach. When I was a child, I was such an avid fan of the cartoon sailor that I ate spinach with great gusto in hopes to one day be like Popeye.
Here is an article by the Texas State Historical Association about Popeye the Sailor Man.
If you would like to sing Popeye's theme song, a song which could at one time send me into a spinach-eating frenzy, please click on the video below and follow the bouncing ball.
Today I have a rotten cold. Although I take twenty-first century medicine, I still like reading about the folk remedies of Texas. Some of the more uncommon cures for the common cold I have seen are found in a 1970 book by John Q. Anderson. These cold remedies include snorting borax, putting a sliced onion on the windowsill, drinking a spoonful of coal oil before bed, and wearing garlic around one's neck. I do not have a lot of confidence in these remedies, but they are fun to discuss.
When I think about Martin Luther King, Jr., images of the Montgomery Bus Boycott, Selma, and the "I Have a Dream" speech in Washington, D.C. come to mind. However, I find it interesting to note that Dr. King also visited North Texas on several occasions. In 1959, the civil rights leader gave an address at a theater on Commerce Street in Fort Worth, and he also spoke at the Music Hall at Fair Park in 1963 and at McFarlin Auditorium at SMU in 1966.
Here is short video that includes audio of Dr. King's speech at SMU.
For more detailed information about MLK's Fort Worth visit, here is a Star-Telegram article by Bud Kennedy.
Yesterday morning I drove to the Fort Worth Stockyards to meet with my writing critique group, which is led by Rachel Pilcher of Sleeping Panther Press. When I arrived at my destination, there were people on horseback headed down North Main Street toward downtown to take part in the Stock Show parade. I would have stopped to snap some pictures, but I was almost late, and having lived on the German border for a few years, I am now programmed for punctuality.
A few minutes after our meeting started, I saw a wagon train out the plate glass window. At this point, I could not resist the opportunity. I put down my coffee, hastily excused myself, and stepped outside to take a couple of pictures of the wagons rolling along the red brick road. There on the side of North Main, I could not help but grin like an overgrown kid as I watched the covered wagons roll by. You have to love Fort Worth, I thought.
I would like to thank everyone who came out to Half Price Books in Watauga, Texas, for my book signing as well as those who were there in spirit. It was an excellent day, and I am deeply grateful for all of the support my friends and family have shown me. I would also like to send a heartfelt thanks to Half Price Books for hosting me. Thank you all so very much.
Back when Martina and I were living in Thailand, my mom and stepdad mailed us a package that included a CD by a couple of guitar-picking brothers they had heard in Fredericksburg or thereabouts. The album was by the McKay Brothers, and we would sit on the porch overlooking the rice fields eating local pineapple and listening to this eponymous disc on our Panadenki stereo. The Panadenki, as the name likely suggests, was not the paragon of sound systems, but it got the job done. Anyway, the album was sensational, and we played it constantly. In fact, we loved the McKay Brothers' songwriting so much that as soon as we got back to Texas a year or so later, we headed out to Luckenbach with my mom and stepdad to see them play.
Here is Noel McKay playing "Friday Night."
If you're around Cowtown on Saturday, stop by Half Price Books in Watauga between 1 pm and 4 pm and say howdy.
The wind is whipping and howling outside the window, and flurries of snow have come and gone. It is warm and comfortable inside my library, and I think about the cattle drives of the 1880s. I think about cowboys moving the herds across the open range through rain and sleet and snow with no cover in sight. Yes, the nineteenth century cowboy is an iconic figure, a romanticized figure, and he probably would not have traded his freedom for anything, but on days like today, I imagine even the wildest of drovers would have contemplated the merits of a warm fireplace and a roof over his head. Yes sir, I imagine he would have entertained the notion of homesteading, at least for a spell, and then promptly decided to dismiss it.
Here's a little cold weather music from the Sir Douglas Quintet.
A distant relative of mine named Billy Cate is a country singer down in Cleburne, Texas, a town on the Old Chisholm Trail. I once heard him play in downtown Fort Worth many years ago, and he played my grandfather's birthday one year, but I would not claim to know him.
A good while back, I was walking along the side of the road and found one of Billy Cate's records in the gravel. It is a doo-wop single that he released in the 1960s on the Manco label, and the record has a Fort Worth address on it. Considering the sheer unlikelihood of finding an old 45 by my distant relative on the side of the road, I keep the record displayed on one of my bookshelves. And that record was the inspiration for this particular blog post.
Here is one of Billy Cate's western swing numbers.
When I was ten or eleven, I used to go fishing with my buddy across the street during the summer. We always started out in the morning when it was relatively cool and came home before the afternoon sun got too high. The night before each fishing trip, we would catch a bunch of grasshoppers and crickets for bait and put them in a coffee can with air holes in the top. We would then tie our fishing poles and tackle boxes to our bicycles and make a sandwich for lunch. Then, early in the morning, we would ride our bicycles five miles to the creek where we liked to fish. We would catch crappie, bass, and catfish and bring them home on a stringer before it got too hot. When we got home, we filleted the fish on the side of my house and gave the fillets to our mamas. Later in the evening, our mamas served fish for dinner.
All of this is strange to consider today. The empty country roads we took are now major arteries. The fields of sunflowers are strip centers, and I can not even remember the last time I was on a bicycle. On those trips, no one but God and us knew where we were, and our mothers simply knew that we would be home before supper. It all seems like a dream today, though it is a dream I am glad that I had.
We have a dog named Stella. I like to holler her name in the park like Marlon Brando in "A Streetcar Named Desire." Sometimes I yell her name when it isn't really necessary. I just keep calling her although she is already coming. I just like to yell "Stella."
If it wasn't for books and cunning, we wouldn't have Stella. A few years ago, my wife, Martina, said that she wanted to swing by the bookstore after visiting my grandfather in the nursing home. She knew I would agree, but that wasn't the real reason she wanted to go to the bookstore. What she actually wanted was to see the dogs at the adoption event a little ways down the sidewalk. So we bought a couple of books, and before you could say "Waxahachie," our ol' buddy Rosco had a friend. Yes, I was suckered into getting another dog, but I am glad that I got duped.
If you are in the vicinity, stop by and see me at the Half Price Books in Watauga, Texas, on Saturday from 1-4. You could end up with a book, a dog, or both. You can never really tell.
Stella (front) and Rosco (back) chilling at the house...
Here's Willie Nelson singing a cover of the Grateful Dead's "Stella Blue."
I am pleased to announce that I will be signing Waylon County: Texas Stories at Half Price Books in Watauga on Saturday, January 13 from 1 pm to 4 pm. If you happen to be in the Metroplex next Saturday, please stop by and say howdy.
When my grandfather was in the nursing home a few blocks away, Martina and I visited this Half Price Books with great frequency. Before we would go to the bookstore, we would first take my grandfather, who was on a fairly strict diet, a contraband hamburger or chili dog under my jacket. My grandfather, who was in his eighties, believed in quality of life over quantity of life and regularly petitioned us to bring him a bootleg Whataburger with cheese and bacon or the nastiest chili dog we could find. Being raised to respect my elders, I always did his bidding. Then, after hanging out with him for a while, we would head to the bookstore.
This Saturday come visit me at Half Price Books in Watauga. If you happen to be craving a cheeseburger with bacon and jalapenos, there is a Whataburger across the parking lot.
When I was growing up, the coffee in the Lone Star State did not taste much better than a hot cup of muddy river water, which actually makes sense considering that the cowboys on the range did not have access to a wide variety of provisions. The coffee tradition seems to have just passed down from generation to generation without anybody thinking too much about it. I reckon folks were just happy to have coffee.
For me personally, coffee was coffee until I visited Seattle in the early-90s, and I must say that the coffee up there made an impression on me. Those folks clearly have a good thing going, and now one particular coffee outfit from Seattle seems to be poised to take over the universe.
To start the day, here is a fine ode to "Cowboy Coffee" by Shake Russell. In the song, he notes that cowboy coffee is "guaranteed to float a pistol."
About a week ago, Dale Watson passed this way, and I joined my good amigo to hear Dale play. It's always fascinating to watch a musician who plays three hundred nights a year read a crowd. It is pure artistry.
Although Dale Watson plays for a dance crowd, my buddy and I aren't exactly dancers. We can both pick and grin, but dancing somehow eludes us. Even though we scooted nary a boot, we had a fine time leaning back watching the dancers two step across the floor.
Check out this video of Dale Watson. Notice Jimmie Dale Gilmore's cameo appearance at 2:21.
Saying the name "Bowie" using a Ziggy Stardust pronunciation is a surefire way to know a person is not from Texas. In Texas, "Bowie" sounds more like "kablooie," after one of our more well-known historical figures. That historical figure, of course, was Jim Bowie, an Alamo defender and the namesake of the Bowie knife. Jim Bowie donned buckskins and carried twin pistols, and, if its absence in the historical records is any indication, he did not wear either glitter nor hairspray like the British rock icon.
Some might find it curious that David Bowie himself was not sure how to pronounce his stage name. Had he pronounced the word "Bowie" in Scottish/Jim Bowie fashion, I probably would not be writing this post.
Just for kicks, here is a short video of David Bowie talking about his stage name.
Under the leadership of teacher G.A. Baxter, Fort Worth's I.M. Terrell High School, the city's first black high school during segregation, produced some of the most influential musicians of the mid-twentieth century including free jazz progenitor Ornette Coleman, World Saxophone Quartet founder Julius Hemphill, "yakety sax" innovator King Curtis, and guitar giant Cornell Dupree.
On New Year's Eve at our house, we enjoyed listening to the guitar work of Cornell Dupree, who played with King Curtis and the Kingpins, the band that opened for the Beatles at Shea Stadium in 1966 and backed Aretha Franklin on Aretha Live at Fillmore West. Here is a video of King Curtis and the Kingpins playing "Memphis Soul Stew."
Although the aptly-named Gizzard Newton in Waylon County: Texas Stories makes one of the more peculiar resolutions that I know of, I personally am not an advocate of New Year's resolutions. If I were to make a resolution, it would be to resolve to make no further resolutions. To me, New Year's resolutions are what keep fitness centers in business. In January, there is not an open treadmill in the entire gym, and by mid-February, it's back to the same old crowd of gym-goers, none of whom, I doubt, needed a resolution to go work out.
If you would like to read "Gizzard Newton's Law," which features a cameo appearance by a bowl of black-eyed peas covered in chow chow, the link to purchase Waylon County: Texas Stories is below:
Here is a picture of my heavy bag. Rather than make a resolution to work out on it every day, I bump into it when I park my car in the garage. That's how I know the car is all the way inside.
Happy New Year, y'all! Eating black-eyed peas on New Year's Day is a fine southern tradition. The origin story I was told as a child was that when Sherman marched through the South, the only crop he did not burn was the black-eyed pea, which he thought was used to feed hogs, so he let it be. Southerners then were thankful that they had something to eat on New Year's Day. There is, however, much more to the story, as evidenced by Fort Worth Star-Telegram writer Bud Kennedy's very comprehensive piece on the subject: http://www.star-telegram.com/opinion/opn-columns-blogs/bud-kennedy/article192309964.html
This morning my brother reported dining upon baked eggs with bacon-braised black-eyed peas based on the following recipe: http://www.lavictoria.com/recipe/breakfast-brunch/baked-eggs-bacon-braised-black-eyed-peas/ , and my mother made Texas caviar, which may be described as a black-eyed pea salad. Here is a recipe for Texas caviar: https://www.texasmonthly.com/food/texas-caviar/. This afternoon I, too, headed to the kitchen and made my little pot of prosperity, which looks a lot like my black-bean recipe, though I add bacon and serve it with chow chow.
Considering that my request for the location of chow chow at a couple of different grocery stores was met with puzzled looks, times may be changing in Texas. Verily, it seems that some purveyors of provisions do not even know what chow chow is, much less carry the product. Chow chow, incidentally, is a relish made from green tomatoes, cabbage, and peppers and is generally eaten with red beans. In the past, folks made chow chow just before the first freeze so the tomatoes and such would not go to waste. Today, folks like me buy it in jars at the grocery store.
Once again, happy New Year, and I hope everyone had a heaping helping of black-eyed peas doused in delicious chow chow today. Here are a couple of pictures of my black-eyed peas positioned side-by-side to resemble mugshot photos.
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