Music as it Should Be

I am a big supporter of live music from local bands to touring acts that stop in at small venues. I'm done with with huge arena shows and hundred dollar tickets for pyrotechnics and auto tune performances.

My favorite venue here in Amarillo is a place called The Golden Light Cantina.

The Cantina is to the right of the Cafe, which by the way is the longest continually open cafe along old Route 66. They make a might fine greasy cheeseburger and great fries. They also serve cold Shiner.

The Cantina has room for something in the neighborhood of a 100-120 people and just recently became smoke free.

Thursday night I had the pleasure of catching Hayes Carll perform. Hayes is  one of my favorite songwriters. He has a wit and truism to his writing that speaks to me on several levels

Warren Hood and his band opened and backed up Hayes and their set was great in its own right. They have almost a cajun, bluegrass feel. Folky but contemporary. I didn't record this clip but found it on YouTube.



I picked up the bands new CD which isn't officially out and it's just as good as their show.

I knew Hayes Carll would be good. he was after all nominated as the 2011 Americana Music Artist fo the year. But frankly I didn't expect him to be as good as he was. good isn't the world. Hayes put on a damn fantastic show. Pardon the audio of my phone as I recorded these clips myself.

Visit Hayes Carll's Amazon store to pick up his music. Or visit his website.

Or catch him live and in person if you can.

	04/21/13	Albuquerque, NM	The Dirty Bourbon	United States	Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 8:00pm. Admission: $17. Age restrictions: No Minors. Box office: 505-296-2726. Address: 9800 Montgomery Blvd. Venue phone: 505-296-2726.
	04/24/13	Tucson, AZ	Hotel Congress	United States	Hayes and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 8:00pm. Age restrictions: All Ages. Address: 311 East Congress Street. Venue phone: 520-622-8848.
	04/25/13	Phoenix, AZ	Musical Instrument Museum	United States	Hayes and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 7:00pm. Age restrictions: All Ages. Address: 4725 E. Mayo Boulevard. Venue phone: 480.478.6000.
	04/26/13	Indio, CA	Stagecoach	United States	Hayes and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 5:00am. Admission: $239. Age restrictions: All Ages. Box office: (888) 512-SHOW. Address: Empire Polo Field. Venue phone: (888) 512-SHOW.
	05/02/13	Alexandria, VA	Birchmere	United States	Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 7:30pm. Admission: $27.50. Age restrictions: All Ages. Address: 3701 Mt Vernon Ave. Venue phone: 703-549-7500.
	05/04/13	Livingston, TN	Livingston Americana Festival	United States	Other artists TBA	Buy tickets
	Time: 12:00pm. Admission: $25. Age restrictions: All Ages.
	05/07/13	Sellersville, PA	Sellersville Theater	United States	Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 8:00pm. Admission: $21.50, $29.50. Age restrictions: All Ages. Box office: 215-257-5808. Address: 24 W Temple Ave. Venue phone: 215-257-5808.
	05/08/13	York, PA	Strand -Capitol Performing Arts	United States	Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 9:00pm. Admission: $18. Age restrictions: All Ages. Box office: 717-846-1111. Address: 50 N George St. Venue phone: 717-846-1111.
	05/09/13	Annapolis, MD	Rams Head On Stage	United States	Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 8:00pm. Admission: $22.50. Age restrictions: All Ages. Box office: 410-244-1131. Address: 33 West Street. Venue phone: 410-244-1131.
	05/10/13	New York, NY	City Winery	United States	Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 8:00pm. Admission: $28/$25/$22/$20. Age restrictions: All Ages. Box office: (212) 608-0555. Address: 155 Varick ST. Venue phone: (212) 608-0555.
	05/11/13	Somerville‎, MA	Johnny D’s	United States	Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods. SOLD OUT!	Buy tickets
	Time: 7:00am. Age restrictions: All Ages/Licensed. Address: 17 Holland St. Venue phone: 617.628.1028.
	05/11/13	Somerville‎, MA	Johnny D’s	United States	Second Show just added. Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 10:00pm. Admission: $17. Age restrictions: All Ages. Address: 17 Holland St. Venue phone: 617.628.1028.
	05/14/13	Ashville, NC	The Grey Eagle	United States	Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods
	Time: 9:00pm. Admission: $15. Age restrictions: All Ages. Box office: (828)232-5800. Address: 185 Clingman Avenue. Venue phone: (828)232-5800.
	05/15/13	Atlanta, GA	Terminal West	United States	Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods	Buy tickets
	Time: 9:00pm. Admission: $20 / $17. Box office: 404.876.5566. Address: 887 West Marietta St NW. Venue phone: 404.876.5566.
	05/17/13	New Orleans, LA	One Eyed Jacks	United States	Hayes with Warren Hood and The Goods
	Time: 10:00pm. Admission: $15. Box office: 504.569.8361. Address: 615 Toulouse St. Venue phone: 504.569.8361.
	05/18/13	Houston, TX	San Houston Park	United States	Festival with Dwight Yoakam, Robert Earll Keen and more…	Buy tickets
	Time: 10:00pm. Admission: $40/$25/$150. Address: 1100 Bagby St.
	05/25/13	Helotes, TX	Floores Country Store	United States	with Turnpike Troubadours.
	Time: 7:00pm. Admission: $20, $15. Box office: 210/695-8827. Address: 14492 Old Bandera Rd. Venue phone: 210/695-8827.
	05/26/13	Kerrville, TX	Kerrville Folk Festival	United States	With Warren Hood and The Goods and Bruce Robison and Kelly Willis	Buy tickets
	Time: 7:00pm. Admission: $25, $180. Age restrictions: All Ages. Box office: 830.257.3600. Address: 3876 Medina Hwy. Venue phone: 830.257.3600.
	06/01/13	Dallas, TX	GEXA Energy Pavillion	United States	Also on the bill – The Avett Brothers, Grace Potter & the Nocturnals, Matt & Kim, Dawes, Milo Greene	Buy tickets
	Time: 4:45pm. Admission: $55. Age restrictions: All Ages. Address: 1818 1st Ave.
	07/19/13	Telluride, CO	Sheridan Opera House	United States	Lincoln Durham supports	Buy tickets
	Time: 8:00pm. Admission: $135. Age restrictions: All Ages. Box office: (970)728-6363. Address: PO Box 2680. Venue phone: (970)728-6363.
	08/02/13	Hailey, ID	Northern Rockies Music Festival	United States

People, Pints & Pedals

I'm a competitive guy. By competitive I don't necessarily mean driven. At least not driven in the way that makes people get up at the ass crack of dawn and run 82 miles before work. Or hop on a bike and ride to Timbuktu and back just to say they did.

No I mean I am competitive in a ... Oh yeah watch this kind of way. A ... hold my beer a second kind of way. Or better yet, in a ... beer on one hand/ horseshoe in the other kind of way.

My friend Aaron "It Tastes Like Dirt" Sage is similarly competitive, but he also happens to be one of the aforementioned driven folks of this world as well.

Just recently Aaron celebrated a birthday. He's a few years younger than me so unlike me 2012 does not mark his 40th year on earth, but he's close enough to that number that you wouldn't think his idea of birthday fun would be to hop on a bicycle in 103 degree Texas heat and ride across the city of Amarillo. Yeah you'd think that, but you'd be wrong.

Now I like to think of myself as a good friend, but when Aaron and his lovely wife Kim first suggested we do this very thing to celebrate his birthday I thought they were both batshit crazy. The one saving grace was they wanted to ride from bar to bar. Which meant many beers along the way and let's face it, every absurd idea is easier to swallow with an alcoholic chaser.

Somewhere in the discussion I discovered this notion wasn't just some hair-brained idea Aaron had cooked up in his mind. No it was an organized event. a fundraiser for Ambucs put together by the fine folks over at 575 Pizzeria. (If you go, I suggest THE BENDER. You won't find a better, meatier pizza)

So I reluctantly agreed, and last Saturday I made the harrowing ride.

The event is called P3-People, Pints, and Pedals.

We listened to some reggae tunes while sipping a few beers in 575's parking lot before embarking.

I partook in a Shiner Bock (tasty as always), an Oskar Blues G'Knight Imperial Red (way too hoppy for this dude), and some kind of English beer that I can't recall the name. (but it was a tad too sweet.)

So then we (somewhere around 300 of us) hopped on our bikes and pedaled to THE GOLDEN LIGHT.

At the Golden Light we had several pitchers of beer. Pabst Blue Ribbon (because Craighead, another sucker riding friend is a cheapskate), a pitcher of Shiner, and I think a pitcher of Coors Light aka Colorado piss water.

Then we departed for Crush in downtown Amarillo. and yes I will confess to nearly getting ran over by a big black pickup while pedaling across a busy street. I was still sober so I'll blame the sweat in my eyes for not seeing the truck when I dashed across the street.

At Crush I had a Stella Artois (a fine Belgium brew) and then I sampled a fancy martini because it had coconut rum in it. And despite being green it proved quite tasty so then I partook in another one myself

Did I mention it was 103 outside?

From there we rode to the Amarillo Art museum where we at pizza catered by 575 and checked out the George Rodrigue exhibit.

Despite my reservations going in I not only survived, but had a good time. The 7.1 miles we rode seemed like much less broken up as it was and given we had an hour or so of boozing time at each stop.

But I still feel obligated to dish up a wriggling bite of revenge upon Aaron for attempting to make me exercise. Those of you who have read my book THE FEEDSTORE CHRONICLES might have noticed Aaron "It Tastes Like Dirt" Sage was mentioned in the acknowledgements. He was listed because he had read an earlier version of the book and provided valuable feedback. (By the way Amazon is selling the print edition at 50% off for a short time)

For the first time, I'm going to reveal the origins of his nickname. It was a fall evening. October I do believe. A few beers had been consumed when Aaron began ranting about the grub worms ravaging his lawn. One thing led to another and someone challenged him to dig one up and eat it. A round of negotiations ensued. A $20 price tag was agreed upon and Aaron quickly swallowed one of the fat white wrigglers. But sadly the guy who challenged him had ventured off to empty his bladder, so Aaron ended up eating a second grub. he did so with a smile and the words, "Not too bad. It just tastes like dirt."

Lowering the Bar -- Bar Story #4

So, Brandon graduated and I never saw him much after that. With no reason to drift over near Amarillo Boulevard I stayed out of the dives and no respectable bar (is there even such a thing) would let me in so for a year or two the closest thing to a bar I got was a handful of visits to some pretend teen clubs. Instead I hung out at the ag farm, friend's houses, and various parking lots that kids tended to gather.

Matter of fact it wasn't until my second year of college until I again ventured to real bar.

I was taking a class called interpersonal communications and we had a group assignment. I was the youngest member of our group and the only one under 21. Our assignment was to somehow show the various forms of communication. I wish I could remember now the 5 or 6 forms we had to use but sadly I cannot.

Anyway, my group decided to make a movie or more like a music video. We pretty much stole the script from the old Garth Brooks video, THE THUNDER ROLLS.

One member was a bartender at the local Holiday Inn so we began filing there.

No, I don't count he lounge at the Holiday Inn as a real bar, I'll be getting to the real bar later.

I was in charge of the script and the filming so I didn't actually appear in the video. well I did, but I wasn't supposed to.

We shot scenes at Holiday of a married man, we knew he was married because of my fantastical camera skills in which I zoomed in on his finger as he took off his ring and hid it in his pocket, drinking and then slipping into a room with a woman who was obviously not his wife. We then cut to a woman sitting at home, obviously worrying about the whereabouts of her husband.

The whole video started out pretty good. My camera work was steady, the "actors" voices unslurred, but pitcher after pitcher of beer is not conducive to academic pursuits and though we didn't really realize it we were all inebriated long before we departed Holiday Inn. We then traveled over to a guy named Jaime's house for the big climactic fight scene of the husband coming home and getting physical with his wife. 

We shot the thing in like two takes and were so pleased with ourselves we then decided to head to this country bar called Wild Wild West. I'm not sure how I got in. Perhaps they never carded any of us int eh group or maybe somebody knew somebody working the door. I do not recall, but I wound up purchasing a large plastic cup for I believe 7 dollars. Possession of said cup meant unlimited refills of any draft beer.

Details from that point on are fuzzy. I remember accompanying a classmate over to some girls apartment. I remember him rousting me awake from the comfy confines of a beanbag chair, and the next thing I remember was my alarm going off at 7 AM for my 8 AM class.

The snooze button is a fickle but  much welcome friend.


7:09

7:18

7:27

7:36



Each time it went off my head would throb and I would say to myself, "Man i don't wanna get up and got o class, but then that little voice would say but you have the tape and it is due today." 

That's right in full collegiate procrastination we shot the video the night before it was due. I grabbed the tape and made it to class unshowered, unshaved, and unable to fully open my eyes a full fifteen minutes late.


I no more than walked in than the professor said, "Well look who decided to join us. I trust you have the assignment since Ms. Finnery does not."


I looked around and noticed only myself and one other group member was present, the ever diligent Ms Finnery. When our eyes she she gave me a desperate longing look of please have the tape.

I whipped out the tape and stuck it in the VCR. of course I had to rewind it because we hadn't even done that much after filming.

Like I said it started out okay but quickly transcended into a  train wreck of shaky camera work, slurred lines, and glossy-eyed stares. In the big climactic domestic abuse scene you can see me in the closet mirror standing with an old camcorder hoisted to my eye and a goofy grin plastered on my face.
 

Somehow we managed a B. I'm still not sure how.

Mauled -- Bar Story #3

In December of 1988 I turned 16. For those of you who have read THE FEEDSTORE CHRONICLES you know my first kiss was with a girl named Anna Ochoa (least that is the name I gave her int he book). That kiss was a result of a game of spin the bottle.

The first kiss I ever received of a completely free will nature came from a
girl
no that's not right woman no that too is wrong old lady I got it wrinkly cougar at one of those dive Amarillo Boulevard joints I described in the last installment of bar stories.

It was New Year's Eve. We were saying goodbye to 1988 and hello to 1989. Brandon's mom had set him up with this new bartender at a joint called The Corral. She was only 19. Brandon was 17. It was a private New Year's party for the regulars. No one questioned either Brandon or me or our friend David who was either 17 or 18 at the time. The bartender was the only girl any where close to our age but we didn't care. We were spending New Year's in a honest to God bar. Drinking honest to God booze. 

Frankly I had no idea about the whole kissing at midnight tradition. I was happily buzzed as midnight approached and sure both Brandon and David had teased me all night about the "old lady" that had bought me a rum and coke and pinched me on the rosy cheek saying, "Ain't you a big ol' cute teddy bear."

But I was ill-prepared when the clock struck twelve and the woman grabbed me by the back of the head and laid a lip lock on me. 

These days the term cougar is common place back then there was no term. But there was chock ... fear ... and yes, revulsion. Becasue sadly the cougar that attacked me looked nothing like this ...

And a whole lot like this ...

The Little Rummer Boy -- Bar Stories #2

 In the last bar tale I confessed to the fact I'm a beer snob. But if I'm going to tell the complete truth I must admit my first attempts to become a beer drinker were met with shuddering frowns. I hated the taste of beer early on so my first alcoholic beverage of choice was rum. Here is the tale behind my first rum and coke. Which I might add came in a place that has seen more beating, stabbings, and booty plundering than the deck of a pirate ship.

After my early childhood experiences of smoky back rooms, shadowy bars, and whiskey in general, I headed into adolescence with a negative attitude towards both alcohol and the establishments that thrived by keeping its customers glasses full of firewater.

Then I started hanging around a guy that I'll call Brandon Pettibone for now. Like myself, Brandon was being raised by a single mom. My dad became a bit more scare with each passing year until came a better than six year span when I didn't speak so much as a single word to my father. Truth be told that was much more my decision than his but I'd grown tired of the effort, the broken promises and, the bullshit. But that is a tale for another day, another story.

Back to Brandon. Unlike myself, Brandon's mom was not a model parent. The woman had no job. She and Brandon survived on Gov't assistance. But that didn't keep her home. For at night, and I do mean EVERY NIGHT she patrolled the bars up and down Amarillo Boulevard.

Amarillo Boulevard once was the glory road through Amarillo. Part of old Route 66 it led to the Air Base when it was still here. But the base closed in the late 60's and the construction of I-40 stole the shine from Amarillo Boulevard.

By the late 80's the road was notorious for prostitution, seedy bars, and sleazy motels. My buddy Brandon lived in a rundown trailer park on the far eastern end of the Boulevard. Just past the bowling alley and the Vietnamese grocery store.

Brandon's mom would be heading out for the night about the time we arrived home from school. Now before you ask, no she was not a prostitute, but I yeah she was a whore. You've all heard of a crack whore but this woman was a whiskey whore. Gravelly of voice, wrinkly of skin, I suppose once upon a time she had been pretty. The remnants were there but only in a dimly lit, smoke-filled environment would the pieces of the faded puzzle fit together into a presentable package. I occasionally spent the night at Brandon's throughout junior high and high school and never did I see the same man at the breakfast table.

Brandon was a year older than me and therefore acquired his driver's license a full 15 months before I did. This fact was both a curse and a blessing. Having a buddy with wheels was cool except our plans often got derailed by his mother. Who would invariable call just as we were leaving his house to say she needed us to bring her a pack of Virgina Slims to THE MULE BARN, CATTLEMAN"S, or whatever dive bar she happened to be in at the time.

Times were different back then, and at the age of 16 Brandon had nearly a full beard so he rarely had trouble purchasing the pack of smokes his mom demanded he fetch to her. Matter of fact the hardest part was scrounging enough dime and quarters around the house but once he had sufficient cash the salesclerks at the convenience stores rarely questioned Brandon. Of course they should have known he was buying the smokes for his mom. No self-respecting teenage boy would buy Virginia Slims over Camels or Marlboros.

Generally speaking I waited in Brandon's old Chevy pickup while he ran inside the bar to drop of the smokes to his mom.

But on this one occasion his mom called, and we had hell digging up enough coins to buy her Virginia Slims. Then we had even More trouble finding a store to sell us the cigarettes. One store. Two store. Three stores.

I can't remember how many stores we hit before finally someone sold him a pack of cancer sticks. Five or six I'm guessing and by the time we arrived at Roustabouts, Round- Ups, or wherever it was we were supposed to deliver the cigs Brandon's mom had moved on to another bar. After the third of fourth bar Brandon decided we'd find her faster if I went in and helped him look over each place.

Three or four bars later we finally found her cozying up to some skinny bowlegged cowboy. She was drunk and so was the cowboy who had to be twenty years her senior. But the two of them were having a hell of time and when she introduced Brandon the old man threw an arm over my buddy's shoulder and pulled him in nearly as tight as he clutched my friend's mom.

The cowboy then insisted upon reciting an x-rated version of The Night Before Christmas. Of which I can't remember but a single line except ... there was Saint Nick staring at her gash.  

That ought to give you an idea of the bawdy nature which I can tell you was quite hilarious to my 15 year old mind.

The next thing I knew the man had ordered both me and Brandon a whiskey.

As told in my last post me and whiskey had far too rocky of a start to ever be pals so I turned the drink down. Which earned me a fifteen minute lecture from the old cowboy about never turning down a free drink. it went from there to never turning down ... insert you own feline synonym here ... to  refusing to drink with another man is on par with spitting in his face.

"At which point I gathered my wits about me enough to say, "Oh I'll drink with you. I just won't drink whiskey."

The old man laughed, and said,"Well name your poison son. And let's have a drink."

I chose rum and the two of us have been friendly ever since.

I'll keep with the them of firsts and tell y'all about my first New Year's Eve kiss in the next installment. It WASN'T a beautiful thing.

Set 'em Up Joe

I've confessed on here before that I'm pretty much a beer snob. I'll only drink certain brands and types of beer and never from a can. But despite my affinity for beer I've never been much of a bar goer.

Matter of fact, my history with bars is shaky at best. Until I find a new distraction I'm going to write about my various experiences in bars. I'm not going to follow a chronological order but a rambling one as I see fit though I'll start by saying the first ever bars I entered was as but a young child.

Yes, I wrote as a young child. But it's okay ... because I was with my dad.

For my entire life my dad has been a salesman. Automobiles, hardware, vet supplies on down to hair products. Many other titles could be bestowed upon my father. Hunter, cowboy, alcoholic. To name a few. He was and is a big man. These days he's no taller than my own six foot five but before back surgeries and year of hard living forced a stoop to his spine he stood within a couple of inches of seven foot. Like myself he was never a lean brand of tall. But thick-shouldered, broad-fisted, and all-too-willing to prove his strength if necessary.

He was a man other men feared. And while I never spent a great deal of time with him as child the time I did spend was either in t he field hunting, on the lake fishing, or in some smoke-filled dimly lit room watching him play poker and drink Canadian Whiskey.

Not all of these rooms were technically bars but I think of them as such. Even the backrooms of liquor stores, the shadow filled appliance store long closed for the night. the rural barns out in the boonies. I would eventually drift off to sleep with the sound of various splashes filling my ears. Those of poker chips hitting the table and whiskey tumbling over ice.

The sounds that woke me were never as tranquil. Shouted curses. Fleshy smacks of a fist meeting a nose. Slamming doors.

These memories are not so much plentiful as they are memorable. Three maybe four occurrences but to this day the right combo of smells will bring them to the forefront of my mind. And that combination of smells is most often found in a barroom. 

And that is why I've never been a fan of bars.

But as you'll learn in coming posts that distaste alone wasn't enough to keep me from visiting my share over the years.