Every once in a while you drop in on something unexpected.  We live our lives in a planning mode and most of the time we find that our plans take us where we want to go.  Sometimes either we change our minds or fate changes it for us.

I was planning on seeing one of my guilty pleasure bands at the Continental Club.  I was to go to a party with my wife, then drive her back home and head back down to to the show.  Well the initial drive down from my home to the party on a Friday evening took just over an hour and fifteen minutes.  Has it been that long since I lived in south Austin?  Once there and in the full grasp of white elephant gift giving, I let time pass way beyond what was planned.  It happens sometimes, and I met some wonderful people and had a great time.

Anyway, by the time we headed homeward, I knew that I would have to wait till another day to see that band.  I pull into the drive in Pflugerville at around midnight thirty.  Locking the wife and baby away inside I head down to Hanover”s just to see what was going on.  Boy was I in for a surprise.

I walk in the door and the first thing I see is a guy sitting in a chair playing a cherry Gibson Les Paul Gold-Top.  This being my most coveted of instruments I immediately take notice.  Now, remember, I am just there to see if I can salvage the night and fine something besides Karaoke to write about.  (not that there is anything wrong with Karaoke… But there is something wrong isn’t there?)  Any way I am blown away by this guitar sound.  The band chimes in and all hell breaks loose.  I head to the soundman and ask who the Hell this is?  He smiles having seen me around shooting bands before, “These are some friends of mine, and they’re called Dertybird.”  He has to write it on a napkin for the name to sink in, but the effect was hilarious.

Here is a band playing the kind of balls rock of the 70’s that I grew up on and I knew that I was a geezer compared to them.  Black Sabbath, Deep Purple, The Ramone’s… It’s all there.  These guys rocked balls.

I am a musician of that era, and I have played a thousand times, but these guys struck me as something real.  These guys struck me as something fun.  These guys struck me…

Go and check them out soon!!!!

Arnold Wells

Gone To Texas.  The name conjures up images of armadillos and outlaws, the Alamo and barbed wire.  As a native son of Texas I always get a kick out of this nostalgia from folks that are not from around these parts.  As the name of this Relentless Jones CD however, it seems more like these guys came here to make the state home.

The first track, 3 Kings, takes us on a journey of the blues as it winds its way from Texas to Chicago and parts in between.  The Americana roots of Fallen Angel seem to have found some fertile ground to grow in, some more of that nostalgia.  Its part Dixie Chicks and part Los Lonely Boys, but fully Relentless Jones.  GTT starts as a throw back to some old Mississippi juke joint blues.  With slide, harmonica, and just the right rasp in the vocals, this is my favorite song on the album.  The Funky Dreamin’ Of, is a real ass shaker.  With a groove so deep, it forces you to get up and dance.  From Progressive country to blues and funk, these guys cover the gamut, and they do it well.

So I am looking for another close to home music fest in Pfluggerville.  I walk down to Hanovers as these guys are finishing up their first set.  They were tight and crisp with Dennis Livingston’s guitar commanding the stage during “Sugarwater”.  The night was as jovial as could be.  Everyone I met was smiling and laughing.  David Foster played tight while singing with aplomb.  Chris Neff was nasty and sticky on the bass, but never overbearing.  Scott Olsen was schizophrenic on his drum set.  I tried to shoot a photo of the guy, but He was wrapped up in his performance and moving around like Keith Moon on a sugar high.  I was pleased at how tight these guys were.  They played their stuff like it was second nature and that is what Texas Music is all about.  It’s played with Balls and it’s played with style.  These guys have plenty of both.  Welcome to Texas Guys, come on in the water is fine.

Arnold Wells

Ok;

Its the Monday before the Thanksgiving Holiday.  You have to go and see some music before you head out for the holiday or you wont feel like your living your life right.  Now even though this town is known as the live music capitol of the world, Monday is still Monday.  So I called my best buddy and we decided to go and see what was going down in the greatest scene in the world.  Like me he is a dead ringer for good music, but unlike me he has been doing what I do for going on forty years.  This guy was shooting photographs of the Armadillo World Headquarters, shortly after I was Born.  Sweet Pick-up huh?

Driving with a purpose, I pick up Steve Hopson; the best music photographer I know (and my mentor extraordinaire).  We head past a couple of other places to make sure that they are as dead as we thought they were, and finally decide to head to the source.  Now I would be remiss if I did not admit that I had never been down to this place before.  It is a venerable Old-Austin Venue that is steeped in the lore of the past.  Having witnessed the rise of both Stevie Ray Vaughan and what would become Soul Hat, lets just say it had the jous-jous to be worth the effort in getting down to central Austin with five grand worth of camera stuff in tow.

We get there and the drink must flow.  Like some facsimile of the Dune spice, single vat Bourbon finds its way into our glass.  We head outside into the side yard where folks are enjoying glasses of beer and the cigarettes are flying high.  After a few photos of the wall art we head inside to shoot the first band.

Introverb is rocking the house with their blend of soft punk and sexy electric groovyness.  Dark haired Lana Davis captures our imaginations as Stewart Eisenhart jams the middle with the reckless abandon of a roman troubadour.

Next up is The Something Aint Right’s with some sweet telecaster blues and earnest vocals.  A good band, they kept us thinking of beautiful women, and fashion photography.

Between bands we found it necessary to visit the head.  In a bar like this a man never knows what he will find there.  In the true spirit of the place I was both shocked and comforted by what lay in wait just inside the door.

The next band was a true gem.  Blue Ruin Trio blew our heads of like it was Friday at Antone’s.  Everything came together for these guys.  Funk, Blues, and obvious soul flowed like so much Courvoisier from the bottle to the glass.  Smooth yet potent was what I got from this the best band of the night.

After checking our BAC with another single vat bourbon, we decided that it was burrito time from the nearest Mexican food vendor that we could find. On our way out, the last band of the night was playing hard as they could.  They, like so many midnight Monday night bands, were not the best of the night.  You could tell that they wanted it though.  Tito And The Man played with a telecaster eruption that seemed to come from the waiting to play.  It was anxious and gritty.  It was abandon for sure, but the drums and bass could have used some more inspiration.  With a name like Tito and The Man, We expected more.  Or at least we expected Mexican food, as we were seriously hungry.

At 1:45 a.m. I ordered an ultimo burrito as my mentor got some black bean concoction.  On our way home we laughed, full of good music and adequate food.  Hey?  What can you expect on a Monday night? If you are in the live music capitol of the world, then you can expect a lot baby.

Arnold Wells