Here Comes the Chronthlology

In conjunction with the Chron's 30th anniversary this year, UT Press is publishing The Austin Chronicle Music Anthology. This hulking, 314-page ride through Austin music history officially hits the streets a week from today with a big release party at Antone's. Chron music columnist Austin Powell, who co-edited the book with Austin Sound founder Doug Freeman, will reveal the full musical line-up for the party in weekly Off the Record column tomorrow.

UPDATE (3/3/11): The line-up includes Standing Waves, the Skunks, Kathy McCarty, the Gourds, the Crack Pipes, Poi Twang (featuring Twang Twang Shock-a-Boom's David Garza and Poi Dog Pondering's Frank Orrall) and special guest Daniel Johnston. Tickets here.

I'm jazzed about having a smattering of my work in the book. I didn't choose what stuff of mine went in, but I'm glad Austin and Doug used my oral history of Scratch Acid, my 1998 live review of Dale Watson at Ginny's Little Longhorn and my review of the Motards compilation, Stardom, among other things.

Although my opinion is obviously biased, I think Austin and Doug did a remarkably good job with this book. The photography is amazing throughout and the pre-online archive selections from the 80s and early 90s read like opening a window into Austin's past. The late Jeff Whittington's writing is some of the best music writing you'll ever read in Austin or anyplace else. And no one could do hilarious, spot-on snark like Michael Corcoran during his mid-80s run as music columnist.

In pulling together three decades of next week's bird cage liners, Austin and Doug wisely avoided a "definitive history" rubric, instead remaining steadfast to the rambling, tangent-prone vibe that - for better or worse - has traditionally defined the Chron's music coverage. It's a unique way to tell the story - and a very Austin one at that.

Out of the Fog

Owing to both a welcome batch of pre-SXSW writing assignments and an unwelcome kid sickness, I've been mired in blog silence all week. There's plenty to write about, but no time to write.

Alex's 1st birthday weekend was a lot of fun until his bronchitis morphed into a feverish ear infection. Most of my undershirts are now specked with tell-tale pink amoxicillin stains. The boy hasn't been himself all week, but I think he's slowly emerging from the fog.

As long as the supermarket grocery circulars go out on time, Fave Five Food Deals will return next week.

Requiem for Unkgee

Gerry Rafferty, the Scottish-born singer/songwriter who gave us smash 70s hits like "Stuck in the Middle with You" and "Baker Street," died this week at age 63 from liver failure brought about by years of alcoholism.

While most will remember Rafferty for his music, I also remember him as the involuntary linchpin for a "Gerg and Zub's Fast Food Review" of Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits published by the weekly broadsheet 15 Minutes back in 1997.

This occasionally factual review appears below in Rafferty's honor.

I'm Popeye the Chicken Man!
Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits, 1978 Baker Street

Zub and I met when our dads formed the nucleus of the rhythm section behind a pre-"Stuck in the Middle with You" Gerry Rafferty. Gerry was like an uncle to us, hence his nickname "Unkgee." During the summer, our pops would let us traverse the country with the band in a dilapidated custom Chevy van with pot seeds all over the carpet. Those early tours with Unkgee made us wise beyond our three years.

We were also hungry a lot of the time. Our dads' cut of the gig take was even more meager than their share of the cocaine, so we subsisted mostly on crackers and Fresca. This lifestyle never set well with our mothers (whoever they were), but no piss-ant child welfare law was gonna remove Zub and myself from that happy, bouncy van.

One particularly joyful reminiscence of those high times is from 1972 when Unkgee pulled the van into New Orleans for a Tulane University show opening for Johnny Winter. It was raining, and we were cold, but our hearts were quickly warmed by the capacious hospitality of the promoter, a rotund Bossier City-bred cracker by the name of Sergeant Roofus Boudreaux.

To this day, neither Zub nor myself have heard words so sweet as those Sgt. Boudreaux spoke as we struggled to bring my dad's orange bass cabinet in through the back door of the auditorium: "Boys, drop your load and have some chicken!"

The Sgt.'s fried feast was the best darn food we'd ever tasted. Unkgee ate seven pieces of the delicious chicken along with several large handfuls of mashed potatoes and Cajun gravy. In fact, Ol' Unk would have choked to an early death if not for the whack of Zub's dad's hi-hat stand on the back of his fat neck.

"Hey, Roofus," uttered a blue-hued Unkgee. "Where's this good meat come from?"

"Why, I got it over at the Popeye's on Dopholopous Boulevard," said the proud Sgt. "Them spices will grow hairs on places your lady won't like."

Unfortunately, this batter-coated bash was short-lived. During that night's show, Zub's inebriated father played an unscheduled drum solo that went on for about 17 minutes. Immediately after the show, Unkgee fired him from the band. My dad protested by spitting a mouthful of Jax beer in Unkgee's face and calling him an ungrateful bastard. For his insubordination, he too was given the proverbial big pink slip.

Suddenly, us and our pops were shivering out in the smelly New Orleans rain without a song. Somehow, we'd all have to get back home to Worcester. Zub's pop said we could afford to bus it as far as Kentucky, but then we'd have to hitch. Unkgee had sold us right down the line.

The grounds for revenge were obvious even to the young minds of Zub and myself, but our dads could not decide the means from within their collective stupor. At that precise moment, a lightbulb went off in my tiny crown, and I began to shout, "Steal his wheel, Daddy! Steal his wheel!"

Our drunken dads began cackling like sailors. Zub's pop produced some tools, and our two heroes quickly removed the steering wheel from Unkgee's van. The journey home was rough, but every time things looked down, we pulled out that wheel and had ourselves a chuckle.

Of course, it was Unkgee who had the last laugh when "Stuck in the Middle with You" skyrocketed into the Top 10 shortly after this incident. Rubbing salt into the wound was the name of Unkgee's band: Stealers Wheel.

Which brings us back to Popeye's, the place where New Orleans is only a taste away. Sort of.

Popeye's modern chicken variation will never live up to the spice of that faraway evening, but this fried fowl still beats the cluck out of KFC. All fried material at Popeye's (fish, shrimp, onion rings, dogears, fries, etc.) has the same subtle seasoning to it that sneaks up on you like a flashback. And those red beans & rice and whipped potatoes are abused with an adequately Cajun-style gravy that makes other fast food taste vanilla by comparison. As an added bone-us, there's always plenty of Cajun Sparkle on hand to give your grub a bit of zip.

Let's face facts: Popeye's has about the biggest can of culinary whup-ass in the fast food industry, and Zub and I both will spare no measure to open up the aforementioned can on Mr. Gerry Rafferty's weenie-butt if he ever tries to play Sneakers.

Whastsa matter, Unkgee? You chicken?

A Check from John Lennon

I don't have a particularly poignant recollection to share about John Lennon on the 30th anniversary of his murder. But I know someone who does.

Rob Patterson, who was my first editor at the Austin Chronicle, wrote an astute and moving essay for the Huffington Post about the time he received a check from John Lennon. Read it here.

Pixies Drummer Talks to Me

Although I'm not attending the Pixies' two-night Doolittle extravaganza over at the Austin Music Hall, I did interview drummer/magician David Lovering for the Chron a couple weeks back.

It was 9pm here in Austin and noon two days later (or something ridiculous like that) in Brisbane, Queensland when we spoke. I wound up having to edit the transcript considerably, but most of what I cut out was covered in the three near-simultaneous interviews conducted with the other three Pixies.

The only time I've ever seen the Pixies was when they played the ACL Music Festival back in 2005. That was a mob scene, so my pal Kevin Fullerton and I watched most of the show from behind the fenced-off backstage area, enjoying Lovering's monitor mix much more than the muddy sound up front.

Stuff I Been Writing About

I did a bit of music scribing in this week's Chron, reviewing the latest releases from local pop bands Masonic and Household Names. I also wrote a preview blurb for the 7th Annual North vs. South Music Festival, which is taking place down at the Hole in the Wall as I write (sigh).

I'm still writing event picks for the local Austin and Dallas pages of go2.com, too. So check it out if you're into the whole mobile web brevity thing.

Pazz and Jop '09

The 2009 Pazz and Jop critics poll came out in last week’s Village Voice. I was one of about five bajillion music writers from around the country who submitted ballots. I’m always interested to see how my picks stack up against the critical consensus.

Here are the top 10 albums in the 2009 Pazz and Jop poll:

1. Animal Collective, Merriweather Post Pavillion
2. Phoenix, Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix
3. Neko Case, Middle Cyclone
4. Yeah Yeah Yeahs, It’s Blitz!
5. Dirty Projectors, Bitte Orca
6. Grizzly Bear, Veckatimest
7. The xx, xx
8. Raekwon, Only Built 4 Cuban Linx…Part II
9. The Flaming Lips, Embryonic
10.Girls, Album

And here are the top 10 albums I submitted, along with their placement in the overall poll:

1. Girls, Album (10)
2. Heavy Trash, Midnight Soul Serenade (1,431)
3. Rainy Day Saints, Reflected (1,145)
4. Yo La Tengo, Popular Songs (40)
5. Dirty Projectors, Bitte Orca (5)
6. Tinariwen, Imidiwan: Companions (59)
7. Neon Indian, Psychic Chasms (110)
8. Pissed Jeans, King of Jeans (54)
9. Love Me Nots, Upsidedown Insideout (1,011)
10. Strange Boys, The Strange Boys and Girls Club (566)

Here are the top 10 singles in the 2009 Pazz and Jop poll:

1. Jay-Z feat. Alicia Keys, “Empire State of Mind”
2. Phoenix, “1901”
3. Animal Collective, “My Girls”
4. Grizzly Bear, “Two Weeks”
5. Dirty Projectors, “Stillness is the Move”
6. Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “Zero”
7. Lady Gaga, “Bad Romance”
8. Girls, “Lust for Life”
9. Phoenix, “Lisztomania”
10. Taylor Swift, “You Belong with Me”

And here are mine:

1. Girls, “Lust for Life” (8)
2. Wilco, “You Never Know” (181)
3. Neon Indian, “Deadbeat Summer” (119)
4. Chalie Boy, “I Look Good” (751)
5. Phoenix, “1901” (2)
6. Dirty Projectors, “Stillness is the Move” (6)
7. Yeah Yeah Yeahs, “Zero” (7)
8. Dorrough, “Ice Cream Paint Job” (1,649)
9. Snoop Dogg, “I Wanna Rock” (252)
10. The Drums, “Let’s Go Surfing” (113)

For albums, I was the only person who mentioned the Love Me Nots, Rainy Day Saints and Heavy Trash. I’m somewhat baffled that the latter didn’t get more traction, what with Jon Spencer and all. It’s also interesting that despite my ranking and an equal assignation of 10 points for all of my albums, Heavy Trash finished lower in the overall rankings than my other solitary picks. Given my own inability to balance a checkbook or calculate a tip, I think I will refrain from snarking off about that.

As for singles, I’ve always had an embarrassingly major soft spot for really obnoxious regional rap radio hits, as previous-year picks like the GS Boys’ “Stanky Legg” (2008) and D4L’s “Laffy Taffy” (2006) can attest. In fact, if any rap artist cuts a hit song called “Peenie Weenie” over the next 11 months, I can pretty much guarantee it’ll wind up on my 2010 ballot.

Week in Reviews

After a months-long hiatus from music writing for the Chron, I have a review of the new Fire Marshals of Bethlehem album in this week's issue. Next up on the review block: Frank Sinatra's New York, a 4-CD/1-DVD box set of Big Apple performances from 1955 through 1990. Looks like Ol' Blue Eyes provides the soundtrack for Thanksgiving this year.

Mayyors at SXSW 2009

One of the best sets I saw at SXSW this year was from Mayyors. No, they don't have a website or MySpace account.

Even so, this elusive Sacramento, Calif. supersonic spaz-punk quartet laid figurative waste to Spiro's in a manner that reminded me of when that space housed the Cavity in the early 90s. It was as if a hundred sun-warped hardcore singles were playing simultaneously at 78rpm on a shitty (but unimaginably loud) transistor radio. This was music you felt in your bones.

I reviewed Mayyors' take-no-prisoners squall here, but you can actually hear it for yourself at WFMU's Beware of the Blog.

Photo: Mayyors at SXSW 2009 from WFMU's Beware of the Blog

Chariots of Funk

I finished the second night of SXSW watching the Bar-Kays funk it up at the Memphis music showcase. They covered everything from "Soul Finger" through "Freakshow on the Dance Floor" before I ducked out to beat the drunks home. It was an altogether solid revue, though I missed hearing "Son of Shaft."

Speaking of, here's a related aside from a short interview I did with original Bar-Kays bassist James Alexander that ran in Thursday's Chron SXSW daily edition. By the time I got done covering the 1967 plane crash that killed Otis Redding and four members of the Bar-Kays, I knew I wouldn't have room for this. I still think it's a great story, though:.

As Isaac Hayes’ longtime backing band, it makes perfect sense that the Bar-Kays first significant hit after “Soul Finger” was “Son of Shaft.” The mostly-instrumental “answer” record was a Top 10 R&B hit in 1972. Their elongated performance of the song was a highlight of 1972’s Wattstax festival.

If the Bar-Kays had their way, though, that performance in front of over 100,000 at L.A. Memorial Coliseum would’ve been even more spectacular.

“We were like little bad kids,” says bassist James Alexander. “We always wanted to do something dramatic to draw attention to us rather than other people. So we wanted to ride out on the field with some horses and chariots. You know, like Chariots of Fire or something like that.”

According to the liner notes of 2007’s Wattstax box set, Bar-Kays producer Allen Jones went so far as to call a movie studio to arrange for the rental of horses and chariots.

“To be quite honest with you, Isaac Hayes found out about it and then said we couldn’t do that,” Alexander laughs. “Because that would’ve upstaged everybody. Nobody would’ve been able to come in behind that.

“We’re coming out there with all this white on and on some chariots? And then we run up on the stage and turn it out?”

As it was, you’d be hard-pressed to pick a more electric single moment in the Wattstax film than when Bar-Kays vocalist Larry Dodson stoically approaches the microphone, raises his fringe-draped arms and screams, “I’m the son of a baaad…!”

If you've never seen this clip before, watch it now:

Weekend to weekend

I haven’t had much time to post this week. The ol’ state job has been busier than normal with an HIV prevention social marketing campaign set to launch in Dallas on December 1.

On the writing front, I’ve been working on some pre-Fun Fun Fun Fest coverage, including an invigorating conversation with Dead Milkmen vocalist Rodney Anonymous last weekend. We discussed virtually everything under the sun except for his band’s much-anticipated one-off reunion gig at the Fest. Despite their limited practicality, my favorite interviews tend to be the ones that meander down a winding road of free-flowing tangents.

Kate and I took advantage of last weekend’s perfect weather by doing some long-overdue yard maintenance and taking a drive out to Pedernales Falls State Park. You can view photographic evidence of the latter here.

We’re off to the Long Center tonight because Kate scored some free tickets to Ballet Austin's season opener. I think this will be the first ballet performance I’ve ever attended that is not “The Nutcracker.” Maybe that's something I should be ashamed of, but I'm sure I'm not the only non-"Nutcracker" ballet virgin out there.

What's good about bad restaurants?

I’ve always had a thing about eating in bad restaurants. Over the years, I’ve dragged friends and family alike to justifiably-defunct chain establishments like Sambo’s, Steak ‘N Egg Kitchen and Toddle House with gleeful abandon, not to mention downright creepy local restaurants with water-stained drop ceilings and vinyl booths covered in duct tape.

When some well-meaning soul tries to point me toward an alternative with better food, more attentive service and nicer surroundings, I’ll often insist on mediocrity even when I have no rational defense for it. I’ve never been able to explain why this is, but Salon TV columnist Heather Havrilesky comes pretty close. In setting up what is ostensibly a review of “Flipping Out” and “Weeds,” Havrilesky describes why she continues to patronize a bad local coffee shop instead of a superior corporate place nearby.

As repellent and deeply wrong as the local cafe is, the overpriced, meticulously designed corporate eatery seems certain to transform you, slowly but surely, into the kind of person who pays too much for haircuts and shoes, the kind of person who experiences gazpacho that doesn't have a little dab of pesto in it the way the rest of us experience a herd of middle-of-the-room flies. And therein lies the paradox of American upward mobility: The higher you climb, the thinner the air gets, until you can barely breathe. You become like Julianne Moore in "Safe," suffering from a nervous breakdown when the delivery guys bring a black couch instead of the white one she ordered. You become the kind of hothouse flower who only feels comfortable in perfectly calibrated, beautiful spaces, the kind of person who's never satisfied and can't play nicely with others.

So there’s the elusive voice of reason behind this unspoken gut instinct I’ve always had. If a dollop of pesto in my gazpacho is the best thing the next rung on the social ladder has to offer, I’d rather just sleep in and miss the breakfast rush at Denny’s.

The Storm Before the Storm

Although the SXSW Music Festival won't be kicking off for another few weeks, it's already started for me in the form of pre-SXSW coverage for the Chron.

As much as I enjoy getting to write about music, it's always a juggling act to handle the onslaught of SXSW-related writing assignments justice without grossly neglecting my duties to the people of Texas. I'm very thankful the people gave me a day off today so I could knock out a profile of local punk rock mayhem artists the Krum Bums.

All of this is to say that new entries may be a little slow in coming over the next several days unless Rupert Murdoch decides he wants to start paying me for this shite.

Three Things Worth Reading

Here’s a poignant feature on the mixed blessings of Alberta’s 21st century oil boom by Aida Edemariam of the Guardian. Although the tar sands of Alberta hold oil reserves six times higher than those of Saudi Arabia, those sands don’t give up their oil easily. Edemariam touches on the environmental ramifications of the resource-intensive mining process, but her portrayal of the human side of boomtown life is what cuts at you.

This New York Times Magazine essay by Shalom Auslander on the contrast between wearing a $3,000 suit and his usual jeans and T-shirt ensemble had me laughing out loud. Frankly, I see nothing wrong with grown men wearing the same clothes as their preschool-aged sons. It beats the hell out of wearing trousers cut like Capri pants.

The Week, a magazine that compiles national and international news items into digest form, has launched a new website called The Week Daily. I received a free subscription to The Week when I subscribed to Salon’s premium service for a year. They continue to send me new issues despite the fact that my subscription should’ve lapsed months ago. I like The Week. It gives you just enough information to not be completely in the dark when you're hanging around with Economist readers.