Fan Fare Friday

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June 21, 2010

Threadgill’s World HQ

Depending on your association with the beautiful sport of soccer, you may or may not have been in a bit of a huff last Friday. You might have been hunting up Mali on Google Earth trying to figure out the best place to lob a couple of cruise missiles, or you might have been chuckling to yourself thinking, “That’s soccer!” At this point it’s pretty much universally agreed that Malian referee Koman Coulibaly’s foul call in the 86th minute of the U.S. vs. Slovenia soccer game was horribly botched. Hindsight is 20/20 – especially when you have the luxury of half a minute of high-def video showing the “controversial” penalty kick where several Slovenian players decided to take piggyback rides on their U.S. opponents (and really, how could they resist draping themselves around those broad, muscular, world-cradling shoulders?) while American midfielder Maurice Edu slides through nearly untouched for an easy goal. That, of course, isn’t the way Coulibaly saw it. Forced by FIFA rules to make a split-second decision in what must have appeared on the field to be a roiling clusterfuck of rules violations, Coulibaly called a foul on Edu and waved off the goal. Fortunately, this egregious injustice occurred in a soccer game, so most Americans just went about their Friday afternoons blissfully ignorant instead of rioting, looting, turning over foreign-made cars, and flashing gang signs in the background of video news reports. Had such a call been made in game seven of the Lakers vs. Celtics series, whole swaths of Los Angeles or Boston would have been ablaze, the National Guard would have been called out, and a congressional committee would have been formed to decide if NBA Commissioner David Stern’s severed head should be mounted on a pike. This was just a soccer game, however, so the few viewers who weren’t secretly delighted foreign expatriates had to suppress their outrage and incredulity with things like serenity prayers, hair tearing, and pissy, jingoistic Web page comments. In the world soccer community, American outrage is a muffled cry in the wilderness, and probably with good reason. When a soccer player blatantly flops, feigns excruciating pain, and then pops up as if nothing happened, Americans are incredulous. They see flopping as an shameful, cowardly act of cheating, worthy of the harshest of penalties. The rest of the world simply sees it as part of the game. Similarly, bad officiating is seen in much the same light – as something that, like the weather, cannot be changed. This fundamental philosophical difference may be part of the reason soccer hasn’t reached the same popularity in America as it has in the rest of the world, even though millions of American kids actually play soccer. Americans are always trying to improve things, weather included. We’re not satisfied with a wistful sigh, a shoulder shrug, and an apologetic look of defeated resignation. Americans do not accept defeat and more importantly are not content with a tie. Americans want resolution – ideally a happy ending and not some morally confusing random moment of existence, beautiful though it may be. Maybe someday Americans will have enough influence to fix soccer. Ideally the fix won’t come from Vegas mobsters, but from a sincere urge to do what is right. If you’re one of those Americans who feel an urge to do what is right, think about skipping work this Friday and going down to Threadgill’s World Headquarters at 8am for KGSR’s Fan Fare Friday, a musical benefit for Family Eldercare. For the donation of a fan (not a soccer fan – something that generates breeze not noise) you can see sets by some truly amazing musicians: Quiet Company, Rocco DeLuca, BettySoo, Shinyribs, the Gourds, Kelly Willis, Mingo Fishtrap, Malford Milligan, Ray Wylie Hubbard, Jon Dee Graham, and an unannounced “special guest.” You may not be able to afford to buy a referee, but you can probably afford to buy a fan, right?

Poodie’s Picnic

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June 23, 2009

Sometimes it seems like you’re the only person in Austin who hasn’t gotten high with Willie Nelson in the back of his tour bus. Why the dis, Willie? Just because someone comes across a little bit straight edged doesn’t mean they’re not willing to make the bowl glow like a thousand suns … in the right circumstances … and what circumstances could be righter than the back of the Honeysuckle Rose IV, a biodiesel chugging Amsterdam on wheels where ex-football coaches, preachers, and even asshole rednecks check their sanctimony at the door? Hell, even people who have never tried pot are happy to get their ganja cherry popped by the Red Headed Stranger himself. It’s not like shooting heroin with Boy George or snorting meth with Courtney Love. There’s a certain Zen involved – a high tolerance, if you will. Why else would chick-hater Toby Keith get to burn one with His Willieness, even though he claims he’ll never smoke weed with Willie again? Criminal. At least he got the offer … and don’t think for a minute that given a second chance he won’t be sucking on Willie’s spliff like a Detroit crack whore. Why wouldn’t he? It’s no secret that Willie’s weed is some really awesome shit – good enough to justify a second residence in Maui maybe? Who knows? Well, everybody except you apparently, and just because your plumber, your hairdresser, Matthew McConaughey, and that pimply-faced kid who checks your receipt at Guitar Center have all gotten stoned to the bejesus belt with America’s favorite write-in presidential candidate is no reason to be all sulky. Willie ain’t stuck up. More likely it’s just that your timing is off. Don’t worry, Willie has clearly negotiated some sort of Keith Richards deal with the devil (or Jesus?) and will likely be around long after you and your progeny are dead and gone. He also knows the secret of the immortal: If you live long enough, all your friends die, so you damn sure better keep making new ones. Tragically, one of Willie’s oldest and most beloved friends just died back in May, so there’s a huge space left open. Poodie Locke, voted in 1952 the Most Beautiful Baby in Waco, was Willie’s longtime stage manager as well as the owner of Poodie’s Hilltop Bar & Grill in Spicewood. Not only was Poodie a truly nice guy and the very definition of a bon vivant, he was a true ambassador and representative of Williedom for those not quite lucky enough to make the inner circle. Poodie welcomed everyone, consistently paying forward Willie’s good vibe. When he wasn’t on the road, he was at the bar drinking tequila, listening to music, sharing stories, and a bit more clandestinely, Willie’s intoxicant of choice. Not surprisingly, Poodie’s circle of friends was huge and devoted and included a lot of musicians, both famous and not. This Sunday at the Backyard, they’re throwing a concert to celebrate his life. The show, called Poodie’s Picnic, is a nine-hour musical extravaganza that is worth far more than the $20 admission. Included on the bill are Joe Ely, Reckless Kelly, Cross Canadian Ragweed, Cory Morrow, Billy Joe Shaver, Ray Wylie Hubbard, Gary P. Nunn, Bobby Boyd, James Hand, Billy Bob Thornton & the Boxmasters, Carolyn Wonderland, Paula Nelson, Folk Uke, Waylon Payne, Scotty Emerick, and more. Plus there’s always that chance the Honeysuckle Rose IV might roll into the parking lot and make your day.

Texas State Arts Festival

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February 25, 2008

If you don’t think laser hair removal is an art, think again. It’s not all about carving landing strips and bisecting unibrows. There may be occasions where a customer requests to have his back hair depilated in a facsimile of C.M. Coolidge’s Dogs Playing Poker or his butt rug burned into Escher’s mirror ball. Exacting craftsmanship like that requires a steady laser hand and a finely honed aesthetic. Just because they don’t offer laser hair removal classes at the École des Beaux-Arts (which is, of course, pure conjecture based on the idea that the French are both stuck up about their art and huge body hair fetishists) doesn’t exclude laser hair removal from the arts entirely. Similarly, art made in Texas isn’t necessarily automatically relegated to a starving artist sale in the basement of an interstate Ramada. There are plenty of Beaux Artistes here in Texas – and not just the ones selling painted driftwood on the side of the road next to the beef-jerky stand. There are gobs at the flea markets and in the booths in front of the Fiesta Mart. After all, what would the world be without dream catchers and rope dragons and sea shell art and wind chimes? And what about chain-saw sculpture? Why fuck around with a chisel and knife when you can lay into your art with 3.5 horsepower of ozone-depleting artistry? Want a log that looks like a bear? Want another one? How about a set? Maybe a coffee table made of tree trunk slices? Imagine Rodin trying to sculpt The Thinker with a screaming, bucking 40cc Poulan “Wild Thing?” Wouldn’t happen. Chain-sawing, even as an artistic outlet doesn’t involve a lot of deep thinking. The chain saw is surely an ingenious feat of engineering, but like NASCAR, the guy running the machine usually isn’t the brains of the operation. Ol’ Leatherface was crafty enough to outsmart a few teenagers, but he was still a far cry from a Mensa membership. Nonetheless, the happy news for chain-sawers – and Texans too for that matter – is that art isn’t a brain-heavy endeavor. At its core, art is about communicating emotionally rather than intellectually – sort of like George W. in a presidential debate. Artistic genius is, to say the least, a different type of genius. Pollock splattering canvases with paint or Mapplethorpe shoving a bullwhip up his ass or Christo wrapping islands in pink polypropylene takes a certain amount of noodle, no doubt, but it’s not like they were designing fusion reactors. So in other words, when it comes to art, the pressure’s off – intellectually at least, which makes Texas a great place for artists of all stripes, many of whom will be in residence at this weekend’s Texas Arts Festival, a two-day art and fun filled event celebrating Texas independence and art. Not only will there be nearly 100 booths filled with arts, crafts, food, and drink, there will also be live music from morning to night by diverse artists like Sunny Sweeney, American Graveyard, Ray Wylie Hubbard, and Grupo Fantasma. All told, 28 bands will take the stage Saturday through Sunday. At a $5 cover, that comes to just under 18 cents per band. When was the last time you saw Ray Wylie Hubbard for 18 cents? You don’t need to be a scientist to see that’s a damn good deal. Maybe you can take all the money you saved and get your cooter depilated to look like the Mona Lisa.