KTRU Leaving the Airwaves

The University of Houston Board of Regents voted 4-3 last week to purchase the transmitter and license of Rice University's KTRU 91.7 FM, effectively ending the station's 43-year run as a college radio trailblazer. KTRU will now become KUHC, a 24-hour classical music station, which frees up KUHF, UH's other radio station, to be a 24-hour NPR affiliate. KTRU will live on as an online streaming station, but that's a far cry from broadcasting with a 50,000-watt transmitter.

I first discovered KTRU as an impressionable 12-year-old listening to the S&M Show on Friday night. In 1980, KTRU was the only station in Houston where you were likely to hear anything to the left of "Whip It" on a regular basis. The first time my own music was played on the radio was on KTRU. Having worked as a DJ at UT Austin's student-run KTSB/KVRX in its cable radio infancy, I can authoritatively state that many of us considered KTRU's programming a benchmark to measure ourselves against.

Rice University's leadership shamefully engineered this $9.5 million deal in secret and made sure it went down in the dead of August to avoid the firestorm they knew would ensue if word got out while students were in town. Even so, a hastily assembled group called "Save KTRU" has formed in response.

Although the sale of KTRU to UH is still subject to FCC approval, it's unlikely the feds or anyone else can or will do anything to stop it. According to today's Houston Press, KUHF/KUHC is scheduled to take over KTRU's programming on Monday.

To some, the hue and cry over Rice's off-loading of KTRU may just seem like a bunch of music snobs whining about a station that played weird noise that most people don't listen to. But as someone whose student radio experience helped foster my career path as much as any class, I know there's way more at stake here. Former KTRU DJ Ray Shea sums it up as well as anyone:

KTRU was the driving force that would eventually propel me through six years and two college degrees. My best lifelong friends are all people I met at KTRU. And together we learned about music, about business, about media and promotions and organization and scheduling and budgeting. We learned how to deal with people, how to compromise and reach consensus. Sometimes we didn't learn as well as we should have, but goddammit, we learned.

And somewhere in all that craziness, all those late nights drinking beer and listening to records and arguing about music, we accidentally participated in a movement. A movement that would permanently change the face of the music industry forever.

Rice is short-sightedly gutting a learning laboratory that helped generations of students channel their passion for music and radio into viable skills for business and life. At $9.5 million, they're selling out cheap.

Credits Roll for Dobie Theatre

It's the end of the line for the Dobie Theatre. The 4-screen cinema across the street from UT will close Sunday.

The Dobie was never a particularly great place to see a movie. Parking was a hassle, the screens were small and the auditorium seating configurations were weird. Despite all that, the Dobie's adventurous programming during its 80s/90s heyday made it an integral part of Austin's film scene. In many ways, longtime Dobie owner/manager Scott Dinger set the stage for the Alamo Drafthouse's ascendancy.

The first movie I ever saw at the Dobie was a midnight screening of Liquid Sky 23 years ago this month. I saw a lot of midnight movies at Dobie between 1987 and 1989 because it was an easy stumble from my dorm room. Alcohol definitely enlivened repeated viewings of low-budget, Troma-style gore vehicles like Blood Diner, Street Trash and Surf Nazis Must Die. Then there was the 3-D porn movie with the late John Holmes literally coming right at you.

I remember going to see Slacker there in 1990 when it was just a weird local indie film. The girl I went with thought the movie was pointless, but for me, Slacker epitomized why disregarding potential career opportunities to stay in Austin after graduation might not be such a bad idea.

The last movie I remember seeing at the Dobie was the Ramones doc End of the Century in 2005. After Landmark Theaters took over the Dobie in 1999, they gradually began shifting toward more typical art-house fare that could just as easily be seen at other cinemas around town. Landmark announced it was abandoning the Dobie earlier this year. The chain sought a new operator to take over, but like many formerly thriving UT-area businesses, the Dobie has become functionally obsolete.

When I came to UT, you could see movies at the Dobie, the Varsity and at several on-campus locations curated by the Texas Union Film Program. What a difference a quarter-century makes (adjusts dentures).

For My Skoal Brothers

Given my fealty for public health, I really shouldn't be posting a smokeless tobacco commercial. But for this awesome spot starring legendary UT/Houston Oilers running back Earl Campbell, I'm going to have to make an exception.



Maybe the Oilers never managed to beat the Steelers in the AFC Championship, but Earl's endorsement of Skoal has it all over Terry Bradshaw's commercial for Red Man.

Remembering Ron Turk

I found out last week that my old friend Ron Turk has passed away. The initial shock of this unexpected shard of news gradually gave way to sadness, longing and – most of all – profound appreciation for Ron’s friendship over the years.

Ron and I met 25 years ago in sophomore biology class at Bellaire High School. Even back then, Ron was a great conversationalist, which may explain why my biology grade went from A to C as we got to know each other better. I'm pretty sure he was the only person in class who thought it was hilarious when I stood up from my desk one day and turned out the classroom lights because I mistakenly thought I heard the teacher ask me to.

Ron was both smart and wise. While I was immersed in the obnoxious words and deeds of generalized adolescent rebellion and blanket disdain for convention, Ron was able to see beyond all that. He sought out the good in people and didn't allow himself to be constrained by social boundaries.

Our friendship continued when we both landed in Austin to attend UT. We had a couple of auditorium-sized undergraduate classes together and I admired the way Ron would get to know the professors. I was always too shy to do that. A few years later, Ron had the ear of the UT System Board of Regents when he led an effort to get UT to divest its tobacco holdings. He understood the incremental nature of social change and knew studied pragmatism would take his causes much further than a thousand holier-than-thou rants.

Many times over the course of our college years, Ron listened patiently to my inebriated, self-depreciating discourse on being perennially lovelorn. Deep down, I bet Ron knew the culprits of my condition were emotional immaturity coupled with abject fear of rejection, but he never blew me off with a blunt summation like that. On the contrary, his counsel was always offered with a great deal of both wit and affection. When you were talking with Ron, you were talking. The things he said stuck with you.

Even though we'd only been in touch sporadically in the post-graduate years, I always thought in the back of my mind that Ron and I would reconnect over beers one day and pick back up right where we left off. Days after hearing the news, I still can't fully believe I won't see him again, but I will always treasure memories of the times we had together. He is truly a friend for the ages.

UT Cuts the Cactus Cafe

In a classic weekend news dump reminiscent of Nixon's "Saturday Night Massacre," UT's Texas Union Board of Directors announced that it is shutting down both the Cactus Cafe and Informal Classes program in August due to budget cuts.

The Cactus is a nationally renowned listening room that helped launch and sustain the careers of everyone from Lyle Lovett to Townes Van Zandt to Peter Case. The venue's reputation is due in large part to manager Griff Luneburg, who has run the place for almost 30 years. Clubs open and close, but you can't replace a room like the Cactus.

Although the Cactus is primarily known for presenting singer/songwriters, my pal Jonathan Toubin once somehow convinced Griff to book our old band Cheezus there on a Saturday night in 1991. We wore turtlenecks, drew black Sharpie goatees on our faces and made as much contrarian racket as we could. I thought it was pretty cool that Griff made room for an obnoxious, unpracticed punk band on his stage. I don't even think he complained about all the thrown cheese products.

Losing the Informal Classes program will also be a major blow. If it wasn't for their cost-effective adult education offerings, I wouldn't know how to half-ass my way through Adobe InDesign or a Texas Two-Step.

UT says the Cactus and Informal Classes had not been self-sufficient in recent years. Moreover, neither entity drew large numbers of UT students. According to Texas Union executive director Andy Smith, cutting the Cactus Cafe and Informal Classes will save about $122,000 annually.

Virtually every UT student forks over a fee to the Texas Union every semester, so I can understand why the board would want to make sure that budget cuts - which are a reality at all state agencies right now - don't impact the union's core functions for enrolled students.

Even so, shuttering these two venerable institutions will likely prove to be one of UT's historic blunders. It's a short-term budgetary bandage that will have a long tail in the form of more alums not giving and more Austinites not having any connection whatsoever with the burnt orange monolith in their midst.

UT executive pay jumped as tuition climbed

Check out this AP analysis in today's Houston Chronicle showing how the pay of UT executives increased 30 percent or more between 2004 and 2008. During the same time frame, tuition and fees at UT climbed 57 percent, thanks largely to the Texas Legislature's 2003 decision to deregulate tuition.

I have two degrees from UT, but when they decided it was more important to be a university for the elite than a university for the people of Texas, I decided to stop donating to them.

A hero among the Savages

Aside from the triple digits, you know it’s August in Austin when stories about the 1966 UT Tower shootings make their annual anniversary rounds. Most of this coverage is rote to anyone who has lived in Austin for awhile, but today’s John Kelso column is a real eye-opener.

Kelso reveals that Artly Snuff from longtime local comedic rock troupe the Uranium Savages was one of the brave souls who went into Charles Whitman’s line of fire to rescue pregnant shooting victim Claire Wilson James from the scorching South Mall pavement. James was profiled by Denise Gamino in Sunday’s Statesman.

Tom Eckman, James’ boyfriend, had been shot and killed right next to her. Those familiar with the shootings will recall news footage of a bloodied Vietnam veteran who carried Eckman’s body away from the scene. 17-year-old Snuff (real name: John Fox) and his friend James Love carried James to safety. Sadly, she later lost her baby at Brackenridge Hospital.

Snuff, who is also a curator for the South Austin Museum of Popular Culture, has known Kelso for years, but he never said anything about his involvement in the Tower shootings until this weekend. Although Snuff has no way of proving that he was one of the men in a still video frame of James’ rescue that ran on the front page Sunday, you’d have a hard time not believing it after reading Kelso’s column.

Happy Minutes Still Rolling

Chron staff writer Lee Nichols’ December 20 post at his I Love Beer blog revisited the joys of Texas Showdown’s Happy Minutes special. I had no idea they were still doing it.

From 3 to 3:15pm, the Showdown sells 10-ounce cups of domestic beer for 40 cents. As Lee points out, that’s just five cents more than what they charged in 1990, when Austin was a town where one could live peaceably for under $300 a month.

I only recall doing Happy Minutes once. I was in the middle of an afternoon copy editing shift at The Daily Texan and a group of us walked across Guadalupe for a quick beer break. After pounding back several foamy cups of Shiner Bock, I slouched back down to the Texan's basement newsroom and found myself profusely nauseated by the green glare of the video display terminal.

Thinking I was about to toss my tacos, I hurried to the men’s room and splashed cold water on my face. That kept the slosh down and got me through the rest of my shift, but I still lament not being able to fully embrace this wallet-friendly Austin tradition.

A Royal Blunder

Kate: I first noticed this billboard while driving on I-35 south, where it stood out because of the dazed expression on former UT football coach Royal's face. The poor guy, I thought, probably didn't expect to end up looking like that in this ad campaign. But not being a native Texan or a particularly huge football fan, I didn't notice the sign's most glaring error until I showed Greg the billboard. His exclamation "They misspelled his name!" almost caused me to swerve off the road - not because I was appalled by the copy editing error so much as the volume of the observation.

Greg: Well, what do you expect, Kate? This is Darrell freakin' Royal we're talking about. The Longhorn brain trust loves this man more than Jesus and the Beatles. They put his name ahead of our nation's war dead on the football stadium and he's not even dead yet. I thought the worst local copy editing error one could make was to spell Stevie Ray Vaughan's last name "Vaughn," but this is worse. The deer-in-the-headlights look on the man's face makes me feel sorry for him even though he undoubtedly scored a rather large check for his services and probably doesn't care that one of the world's largest media conglomerates can't spell his name right.

Kate: The thing that gets me about these billboards - that's right, there are at least two of them in Austin - is that Time Warner has been making a point in their recent campaign of stressing their local connection with the "we think like you" messages. Here's what I think - someone needs to do some basic fact-checking.

Greg: I never thought I'd find myself defending the honor of Coach Royal, but I hereby challenge Time Warner to a dual!

This post simultaneously appeared on Lone Star Kate.

UPDATE (12/2/2007): My pal Kent B. pointed out another typo on the Royal billboard. The "K" in "Darrell K Royal" is not a middle initial and therefore should not be followed by a period. The "K" is a tribute to Royal's mom, Katy, who died of cancer when he was still a baby. So not only did Time Warner misspell Royal's name, they insulted the memory of his mother.

Bank 'Em Horns!

When one sees a headline like "The Longhorn Economy" splayed across the front of the Sunday Statesman, it's natural to assume you're about to read a rah-rah puff piece about how great UT football games are for our local economy.

As it turns out, Eric Dexheimer's series about the engorged budget of UT's athletics department is required reading for anyone who cares about higher education in Texas. Set against the backdrop of rising tuition and student services fees, dwindling need-based financial aid opportunities and student loans that take forever to pay off, it's hard not to be sickened by how much money is being thrown around by the Burnt Orange Brass ($107.6 million this year).

Although UT's athletic program does make money, the school's role as pacesetter among programs forces the vast majority of college sports programs that don't make money to mortgage their futures in the name of remaining competitive. For example, four out of every 10 dollars of Texas Tech's current debt service now goes to pay off new and refurbished sports facilities.

Meanwhile, our tax code rewards well-heeled alumni with hefty deductions for donations to athletic programs. Believe it or not, 80 percent of the donations made to university athletic foundations to secure luxury box rentals and prime season tickets can be written off.

Aside from funneling donations away from academics, allowing deductions on luxury box rentals encourages wasteful, extravagant spending of Other People's Money under the phony guise of "doing business." The whole system stands as yet another indictment of our depraved sense of priorities in this country.

All this for a football team that can't even beat Kansas State!

The Randomizer

Austinist published an open letter from Factory People insinuating that SXSW somehow orchestrated the city’s permit raid rampage on SXSW after-parties last weekend. While the fruits of FP’s open records request remain to be seen, my hunch is that their $250 white leather belts are cinched a little too tight. It sucks to have a show or party shut down by the cops and/or fire marshal, but don’t hate on those guys too much because all it takes is one of these to ruin the party forever.

Late Night with David Letterman icon Larry “Bud” Melman (born Calvert DeForest) has died at the age of 85. Melman appeared on Letterman's NBC show starting in 1982. Because NBC owned Late Night, Melman had to start using his real name when Letterman jumped to CBS in 1993. I loved when they got him to hand out hot towels at the Port Authority bus station. His cameo in RUN-DMC’s “King of Rock” video is also priceless.

Good golly, Little Richard is playing a free show here this weekend! The rock pioneer will be at UT’s 40 Acres Fest on Saturday with the Jungle Rockers, Black Joe Lewis and the Weary Boys. The show starts at 6:30pm on the South Mall in front of the UT Tower.

UPDATE (3/23): It turns out SXSW sent the fire marshal’s office a list of non-SXSW parties, which the fire marshal’s office took as an official complaint. Assistant Fire Marshal Don Smith told News 8 Austin's Andy Langer he was unsure if SXSW's complaint led to the Factory People shutdown, though. I can understand why SXSW thinks non-festival parties should have to adhere to the same regulations as official venues. It's also important to recognize that the quickest way to kill off all the non-SXSW events is for SXSW itself to fail. The after party circuit exists because of SXSW, not the other way around. That said, I don't like the idea of SXSW pointing the city toward non-SXSW events for code enforcement. Whatever competitive parity might've been gained through such a tactic is likely to be offset by the unsavory public reaction to it.