Funny snippet

SXSW. Unrelated literature link. Funny snippet: girl from LA, “We’ve got to hurry up and get to the hotel so we can get changed and get to the party.” “But what you’re wearing is considered formal wear in Austin.” “Why isn’t anyone hurrying?” “There’s a lot of lithium in our local water.” “But I haven’t been drinking any local water yet.” “No, but we have — we live here.” I smiled out of the side of my mouth. Useful workshop note, “Credit card transaction, they just aren’t suited for the web. They are designed to be a face to face transaction, so you can swipe the card and check the signature.” Another note, “You know, if Victoria’s Secrets launched now, everyone would want to know who Victoria was.” “Community” was a big buzz word. The interactive sessions seemed more subdued, but much better attended. Then, last night, I got around to an amazing event. Better than anything I picked up at the workshops. Now check the list, there’s a link to a recording by Hank Williams, III. It’s not much of guess that I really enjoy the CD. It’s country music with a little sense of reality thrown in, like the songs were written by someone who has actually felt the woe. [Punk Rockabilly. Honky Punk.] I saw Hank III last night. Amazing show. High energy. First off, it was in the legendary Continental Club, and more important, Hank III did two sets. I was enjoying the first set, which was primarily just country music, but there was a sense of urgency thrown in. And while I didn’t catch the names of the band members, they all deserve accolades. This is an incredibly versatile band. Stand up bass, pedal steel guitar, Hank III strumming a beat up acoustic (while wearing a sorry old straw cowboy hat), drums and a fiddle player with an unusual hair style (reminiscent of a Hare Krishna style — don’t ask, I don’t know). That fiddle guy did a particularly sonorous turn with the old classic, “Orange Blossom Special.” The way I liked to put it, the country music had the ferocity of punk rock. And the first set was straight ahead country music. “I like to play one from my granddaddy, then one from my daddy,” Hank III introduced two tunes, Unlike manufactured music, though, there was some real pain in the music. Like his namesake. Genetics. After an hour of this, including a country–punk–speed–acoustic version of a Johnny Cash’s Cocaine Blues song, Hank III suggested he was going to take a five minute break, and come back and play some of his own stuff, “Our other side. If you don’t like devil music, go ahead and leave now, I’m only going to warn you once.” Off came the western yoke dress shirt, out came the tattoos, and the acoustic was exchanged for an electric guitar. But the fiddle, stand up bass, pedal steel, drums, all remained unchanged. It was hard, fast, driven, screaming, vulgar, angry, and yet, there was something different about this “punk rock.” It was really music. Too be sure, most of the lyrics included certain forceful expletives. But still, with more than one tune, there was that lonesome country whine, lyrics that might belong in a country song, laced into the music. Singularly, and especially as a band, the group is very good. I can’t wait until the B–side, the Southern punk stuff makes it onto a CD. I am so there. In the meantime, buy that first CD. You can hear a rising outlaw.