Last night, I met a man I have known only in legend. Todd Deatherage, that elusive bard formerly ofThe Calways
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, played an acoustic set at the All Good Cafe in Deep Ellum to a crowd of riveted admirers.
I was surprised to find a low-key but friendly singer-songwriter, far more honest and pleasant than the "GOOD LOOKING REVOLUTIONARIES WANTED" T-shirt wearing, tattooed rocker represented in a photograph on our office's well-tended, irony-dripping "Hot Dudes Wall." Of course, when he's not playing in his adopted home of NYC, he doesn't bring his full band, so maybe he really does wear sleeveless shirts and tight pants, I don't know.
In any case, his new songs have the same warm, inviting tones and signature falsetto that his old-school fans will enjoy, tinged with some rode-hard-put-up-wet-post-9/11 weepers that will make you want to sit on your porch and smoke Reds and think about a good woman lost long ago. His recent EP is self-released, something to do with a jackass label in the UK, so fans can feel good about buying the $6 album without making the evil record execs richer. --Andrea Grimes