Forget Los Lonely Boys. San Angelo’s much-ballyhooed blues trio doesn’t have half the blood and fire of Del Castillo, whose tireless live performances and incendiary rock en Español helped the Austin six-piece win “Band of the Year” honors at the 2002-2003 Austin Chronicle Music Awards, a rather shocking coup for…

When Okkervil River songwriter Will Sheff read in Austin’s daily rag that only the worst bands write songs with their own names in them (i.e., Bad Company’s “Bad Company,” Backstreet Boys’ “Backstreet’s Back”), it was practically a dare. Soon after, Sheff penned “Okkervil River Song,” a ballad of violence and…

So the Eagle has crashed. Clear Channel, which owns the station, confirmed months of rumors by canning the staff at 97.1 KEGL on May 17. It was like any good corporate firing: swift, efficient and rather painful. The next day, as angry listeners clogged phone lines and fired employees popped…

The Graham Colton Band is ready for its close-up. Just listen to “Don’t Give Up on Me,” the opener for their debut album, Drive, slick as a waterslide with its sing-along chorus and digitally tweaked vocals. It’s like it was born on MTV2. Actually, the band’s origins are much closer…

Three years ago, Chomsky was on the cover of this paper. The story, written by Zac Crain, was an optimistic slice of rock-music reportage, full of colorful anecdotes, witty asides and one basic point: Chomsky was about to be big. Then September 11 happened. Then life happened. Then, strangely, little…

While The Who’s Tommy has landed firmly in the jazz hands of community theaters across the country, that other infamous concept-album-cum-stoner-film, Pink Floyd–The Wall, doesn’t get much stage time. That’s not surprising, really. The 1982 Roger Waters/Alan Parker film is essentially a visual riff, the story of a spoiled rock…

I discovered Toni Price as a junior at the University of Texas, still sputtering from a breakup that left me cradling wet tissue on the couch and canceling plans so I could stare at the phone, cruelly silent. I filled those lonely–nay, pathetic–hours with Price’s bluesy minor-masterpiece Hey, a 13-song…

Late last Saturday night, I was headed to the Cavern on Lower Greenville for a late-night smackerel when something caught my eyes. Well, not caught them so much as stung them, badly. My throat began to burn in the weirdest, most unnatural way. As I reached the corner of Eight…

A snapshot of the artist as a family man: Salim Nourallah, 35 years old, Coke-bottle glasses on a handsome face. A Beatles pin on the lapel of his Western-cut shirt. Scruffy hair, casually unshaven. He speaks passionately about his new role as a father, about three–three!–new recordings coming out in…

Yes, they’re happy. Songs like “The World Is a Magical Place” and “The Day After Albert Changed the World” are as whimsical and ecstatic as anything that ever twinkled Snoopy’s toes. Their dippy Day-Glo album art would make Austin Powers blush. But that doesn’t mean Dallas’ Happy Bullets don’t dabble…

Of all the memories I have from the Dallas Observer Music Awards (that would not include anything after, say, 1 a.m.), this may be my favorite: Myrtle Dupree accepting the Jazz award for her late husband, Al Dupree. I didn’t know Al, but like most Dallas music lovers, I knew…

By the time you read this, the 2004 Dallas Observer Music Awards ceremony will be over. So I’d like to use this space to offer an apology. Dear INSERT YOUR NAME HERE, I’m sorry I… a) spilled your drink. b) dissed your band. c) ashed on your baby’s head. I…

It was one of those years. Three beloved major-label acts dominating nearly every major category, with little but their hometown in common. One a sweet, unassuming Christian family making music beyond their years. One a crew of aging but still-scorching rockers giddily throwing up the devil horns. One a chorus…

Last week, the Good Records Web site carried the following notice: “For four years we have had the pleasure to meet many of you on our journey to a new adventure in listening. We have been proud to bring our vision of a record store to the people of Dallas…

On Tuesday, April 13, at the Gypsy Tea Room, we’ll announce the winners of the 2004 Dallas Observer Music Awards. It will be the end of a long road, one that began late last November. I’ll never forget my words on that day. “Screw you. I’m not doing some effing…

So far, the 21st century hasn’t seen much of his Purple Highness. His echoes fill the radio waves–just listen to Andre 3000’s Speakerboxxx. But while his esteemed ’80s peers stumbled into the new century–Madonna and her children’s stories, stories of Michael Jackson and his children–Prince stayed well shrouded. His last…

“This goes out to you, Denton!” yelled Fishboy drummer Winston Slapbracelet, leaping from his kit and stabbing one drumstick into the ground. “You! You! You!” he repeated with each thrust, pummeling the dirt into a wet, grassy clump. It was 1 p.m., and WakeUp ’04 was off to a wonderfully…

“You’re kidding. They’re really from Dallas?” asked a surprised bystander at the Polyphonic Spree show. The Spree’s heritage is always a surprise to Austinites, who generally believe they’ve cornered the market on cool and who associate Big D with cheerleaders and chain stores instead of good music. But Dallas’ music…

“Screw the Hives–Texas has the Gamblers!” yelled the girl beside me. It was early Sunday morning (or maybe late Saturday night), and Denton’s Riverboat Gamblers were tearing up the club–literally. Lead singer Mike Wiebe tried to rip a Foster’s beer sign from the wall. He wrapped himself around a pole…

One Thursday, not too long ago, I called Fat Ted’s. “Is Nikki McKibben playing tonight?” “Yeah, at 9 p.m. Wait–didn’t you call last week?” Busted. In fact, this was the third week I’d called Fat Ted’s, hoping to catch the former American Idol star and single mother who finished an…

Pete Thomas sent out an e-mail last Friday with the subject header “Saying goodbye is never easy to do.” The e-mail–short, sweet, self-deprecating–announced the breakup of Thomas’ band of seven years, Slow Roosevelt. I received the e-mail that afternoon, forwarded by a fan, whose one-word commentary seemed to say it…