By Kelly Dearmore
By Jim Schutze
By Rachel Watts
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Alice Laussade
Scotland's Duncan McLean knows more about Texas swing than most Texans; it's an avocation, a pure-hearted love of the form, that sucks up much of the Aberdeenshire-born author's time. McLean now lives in Orkney, an isolated island chain off the Scottish coast. When he's not pack-ratting around the mainland in search of golden-age swing recordings or playing with his own outfit (the Orkney-based Smoking Stone Band), he plies his vocation, writing what he terms "disturbing, disturbed novels" such as Bunker Man and short stories like those collected in Bucket of Tongues.
McLean won a 1993 Somerset Maugham Award for Tongues, and he funneled the prize money into research--six weeks' and 10,000 Texas road miles' worth--for his new book Lone Star Swing, a nonfiction piece about...well, the subtitles say it all: The one on the jacket reads, "One Scotsman's Odyssey in Search of the True Meaning of Texas Swing"; the title page reveals that McLean is "On the Trail of Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys."
Ah, Wills--or "Ah-haaaaaaa," as the fiddle-sawing bandleader used to holler when one of his Playboys hit just the right note(s). The late western-swing godhead from the Panhandle town of Turkey casts the largest shadow in McLean's melodious, enchanting piece of time-travel writing, which delves deep into the heart of Texas' musical heritage. It's a past that's been almost obliterated.
Between lovely digressions and Lone Star adventures--Harley riders gaping at the Marfa Lights, heatstroke and scallions at the Presidio Onion Festival, a hit-and-run accident in the parking lot at Austin's Broken Spoke roadhouse that left McLean's "Hertzmobile" better ventilated than before--the author spins tall (but true) tales about contemporary encounters with swing survivors.
There's Roy Lee Brown (of Milton Brown's legendary Musical Brownies) playing with a nursing-home pickup band, a jaw-droppingly comic phone conversation between the Scot-brogued McLean and stone-deaf Floyd Tillman of Houston's Blue Ridge Playboys, a visit to Turkey to see the real deal--the Texas Playboys--at the tiny town's annual tribute to its most famous son, whose own vocation was cutting hair at Turkey's still-extant Ham's Barbershop before his love of music led Wills to the big time with standards-to-be like "New San Antonio Rose" and "Faded Love."
McLean often stopped through Dallas-Fort Worth while on his waltz across Texas. He would give the occasional readings here, often warming up for a few living legends of Texas swing; or stop and visit with Kevin Coffey in Fort Worth, his Lone Star counterpart and the keeper of all things swing. This time around, though, we caught up with him via e-mail from his Orkney home.
Dallas Observer: What do you think about Bob Wills as a musician and a bandleader? And about the man himself? He couldn't play the fiddle well, couldn't sing to save his life, but what an ear--and a musically open mind--he had. I've always thought Wills' strength lay in arrangement and the assembly of top-drawer talent to bring the arrangements to life. And that he was, in a sense, a benevolent dictator--and a benevolent thief.
McLean: I agree completely. He was very limited as a fiddler, but a truly inspired bandleader. As is often the case, his leadership mixed generosity and sentimentality with hard discipline and a fair bit of dictatorship. A classic patriarch. Happily, he was never a dictator in a musical sense. All the musicians I've talked to emphasize that he encouraged them to play what they wanted as long as they played it with all their heart. That's what made so many of the versions of the Texas Playboys so good, and why so many musicians have fond memories of him despite his drinking, temper, depressions, etc. Having said all that, I'm very glad I was never married to him.
DO: Drawing from the cover title of your book, what, for you, is the "true meaning" of Texas swing?
McLean: Western swing was the dance music of the Southwest through the '30s, '40s, and up to the mid-'50s. To an extent, anything that anyone was dancing to in that period could legitimately be called western swing. In this most general sense, western swing was just the pop music of the day, with a flavoring of Southwestern influences--e.g., more fiddles than in the Northeast, occasional cowboy themes or lyrics, Mexican influences, big blues elements.
By the early '50s, pop music was changing so much--into rock and roll, of course--that the Southwestern slant on it didn't end up as western swing, but rather honky-tonk, Lubbock rock and roll--Holly, Orbison--Southern rock, Austin singer-songwriters, outlaw country music, Stevie Ray Vaughan rocky blues, etc. People can and do play western swing now, either 'cause they played it in the '40s and '50s, still love the style and see no reason to change--the continuing Texas Playboys, the Original River Road Boys out of Houston--or out of a conscious/self-conscious love of the sound of the music, and a desire to play it, to revive it, to spread it to a younger audience who's never really heard it. And here I'm thinking of bands like the Rounders in Dallas and the Hot Club of Cowtown in Austin.