Joe Ely

Austin Music Awards

The Luv Doc Recommends

March 15, 2011

Chances are that by Saturday you’ll want to strangle the shit out of anyone carrying an instrument case, sporting an outrageous hairstyle, or handing out any kind of printed material. “So your steampunk barbershop quartet has a 3am unofficial showcase at the Brixton? Well do-re-mi-fa-so what motherfucker?” By Saturday you’ll be sick of free beer but too broke to buy liquor. You’ll also be craving a salad but still eating free barbecue and Wonder Bread. In fact, by Saturday the only thing keeping your digestive tract flowing will be dangerous overdoses of ibuprofen and promotional vitamin C packages. Cannonball those in the morning with a couple of quarts of water, and you’ll experience a vigorous cleanse – something similar to what you’d get after a couple of weeks ingesting nothing but lemon water and cayenne, or drinking Tijuana sewer water. It’s best to travel light anyway, and by Saturday you will have reduced your club crawling essentials to flip-flops, a banana hammock (or daisy dukes), and a lanyard attached to a plastic pocket that contains your South by Southwest badge, ID, credit card, and a pair of dirt- and wax-covered swag earplugs pungent enough to be used as trolling bait for catfish. If those earplugs are that gamey, imagine what must be going on down in those daisy dukes … the only thing that’s keeping you from being trailed by a herd of feral cats is the fact that there are several hundred thousand other roving tuna canneries throwing them off the scent. Maybe you should take a short walk across the bridge to South Congress and pick up one of those overpriced Mexican sundresses. Yes, they’re the same dresses you can buy at the mercado in front of the Fiesta Mart for $15 a pop, but these have cute shit like hummingbirds and geckos silk-screened on them. Regardless of what you pay, Mexican sundresses offer superior ventilation, and if nature is overly insistent, you can cop a squat in the middle of Sixth Street and not cause a big scene. Easy enough, right? As thousands of doe-eyed musicians prove every year, it’s not easy to cause a big scene during SXSW. You have to be truly remarkable. It’s not enough to be a really awesome band that plays really awesome music. You have to be a really awesome band that plays really awesome music, dances like OK Go, dresses like Lady Gaga, and gives away free cocker spaniel puppies at every show. Why? Because the Perez Hilton party has Madonna performing with Justin Bieber on a leash in a gimp suit, free D.O.M and Beluga, a bouncy castle lubed with Astroglide, and gift baskets that include cocaine-filled Fabergé eggs and mittens made of baby seal fur. Oh yeah … and a tribe of pygmies is going to slaughter a bull elephant with machetes. “What was the name of your band again? Oh … that’s right … who gives a fuck?” By Saturday you’ll probably have that phrase tattooed on your forehead. Like every other SXSW attendee, you started out an innocent lover of music and ended up a bitter, jaded, and exhausted hater. Perfect! You are now ready to experience the Austin Music Awards. This Saturday the Chronicle will honor the bands that made it through the meat grinder of the live music capital of the world and came out on top – no small feat. Austin audiences feel like SXSW attendees do year-round, so when they recognize talent, it’s usually legit. Come see for yourself this Saturday at the Austin Music Hall. Yes, there will be awards, but also sizzling sets by the Wagoneers, Joe Ely, Sahara Smith, Will Sexton, Bubble Puppy, Bright Light Social Hour, the Meat Puppets, Roky Erickson, and the God-stomping, 18-piece orchestra Mother Falcon. If you see Mother Falcon and still want to choke the shit out of musicians, you’ll have your work cut out for you.

Poodie’s Picnic

The Luv Doc Recommends

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.

Joe Ely’s Bonfire of the Roadmaps

Luv Doc Writings, The Luv Doc Recommends

MAR. 19, 2007

Now that SXSW is over, you’re probably feeling an overwhelming urge to do something meaningful with your life – some sort of wholesome activity that isn’t sponsored by an energy drink or an internet startup. It’s OK, that’s a natural recoil. Five straight days of shameless sycophancy, watery, free beer, and obligatory Texas barbecue would turn even Morgan Spurlock into a Jehovah’s Witness. You’d probably feel similar if you just got off the plane from a sex tour of Thailand’s boy brothels – even more similar if you ran into Pete Townshend at the luggage carousel. Here’s the thing: What happens in Austin never stays in Austin, and it’s probably just as well. That swarm of skinny jeaned, oily haired, pasty skinned trendies would eventually blight our sunny city like a plague of locusts. We did our part. We housed the homeless and the thankless. They ate our cows, fucked our roommates, and split without replacing the toilet paper roll or cleaning their pubes out of the shower drain. It was good while it lasted but it’s good they’re gone, and apparently Jehovah mercifully stayed his hand with the fire and brimstone – or maybe he was bribed with a pass to next year’s Spin party which, rumor has it, will be a live reenactment of the water buffalo decapitation scene from Apocalypse Now with Martin Sheen in attendance. Now that’s barbecue the way Jehovah intended it. Chopper in a few Hueys full of Playboy bunnies and you’ve got yourself a shindig that even Bono himself might attend. Still, just because a large, bloody chunk of your inner ear fell into the dirt at Stubb’s during the Stooges showcase Saturday night doesn’t mean you should abandon your quest for the holy grail of rock & roll. You might, however, want to catch your breath long enough to cough out the SXSW resin. Fortunately for you there isn’t a lot going on in town this weekend that warrants a full mosh pit so you should have plenty of time to let the cilia in your cochlea straighten up again. If you want some quiet time but still want some rock-&-roll cred, schedule a trip to the Ransom Center this weekend for “Joe Ely’s Bonfire of the Roadmaps.” Billed as “an installation of Ely’s verse, sketches, and paintings drawn from his road journals,” the show celebrates the release of Ely’s book of the same title. If you’ve never heard of Joe Ely, the rock you’re living under doesn’t roll. He’s a bona fide Texas music legend who has been on the road since the age of 16, probably not long after he met the devil at the crossroads and was offered an energy drink sponsorship.