Over this past Memorial Day weekend, I finally took the plunge and flew to Austin, Texas. Hailed as the live music capital of the world, Austin prides itself on being weird, wired and wonderful. From what I saw, I couldn’t agree more. Actually, New York or San Francisco might have them beat on the “weird” factor (despite the proliferation of “Keep Austin Weird” T-shirts and bumper stickers around town). But compared to the rest of Texas, Austin sticks out like a hippie in a laundry mat.
I had long heard about the music scene in this Texas town, so I was curious to see what all the hype was about. My primary destination: Sixth Street. Oh yeah, this is where the city’s pulse pumps late into the night. Ramshackle clubs, bars, saloons, and holes-in-the-walls line each side of the street, packed to the rafters, Lone Stars and Coronas a-flowing, and bands a-blazing. But what amazed me most was the music they were playing: Classic Rock.
Here I was, surrounded by mostly 20-somethings, shaking their tushes to the songs of their parents. Shut out of the Kills show at the Parish, I ambled over to the Dizzy Chicken, guzzled down three longnecks, and marveled at a shaggy foursome of guys and gals playing Bad Company covers.
The Blues keeps Sixth Street cookin’ and I later took in a captivating country-based combo, but it was the scent of Classic Rock that kept me at bay. I peaked in the window of the Chuggin’ Monkey and watched in amazement as two longhaired guitarists raced over the bridge of “Sympathy For The Devil.” And kids packed like lively goldfish in the small club swayed in the clutches of joy.
I ended my night at Maggie May’s. There, I watched a three-piece pull off suitable renditions of the Beatles’ “Hey Bulldog” and Stevie Ray Vaughn’s “Couldn’t Stand The Weather.” SRV is revered like a god in Austin. Him and Willie Nelson. They even have a statue of Stevie Ray on the south side of town, overlooking the Colorado River. On Sixth Street, I saw at least three guitarists, including the cat at Maggie May’s, doing their best SRV impressions.
Unfortunately, I never made it to Antone’s, where Vaughn got his start. That might be because it’s on Fifth Street and I never left Sixth Street. The next day, I passed by Threadgill’s, Janis Joplin’s old stomping grounds, but blew it off for the Shady Grove and a little Frito Pie. Hey, a guy’s gotta eat in between sets.
