That's Right, You're Not From Austin
Music scene is made special by migration
The New Sincerity, Spin, Feb. ‘86
There were starting to be stories about the Austin scene in ‘85, like Steve Pond’s 35-incher in Rolling Stone, but until I was approached by Spin magazine late that year, nobody from Austin had written a major feature in a national magazine on what it was like being in this scene on the verge.
Austin was known for authentic white blues, hep Rayban roots bands, and Willie Nelson, of course, but I focused on the bands who learned to write songs by listening to Murmur and Zen Arcade and Grievous Angel and that banana record. I was trying to capture the emboldening camaraderie and subtle jealousies of that time when our indie rock bands were getting national attention for the first time. This was the scene that inspired the creation of South by Southwest.
When the Feb. ‘86 issue of Spin (ZZ Top cover) came out, not everybody liked my insider view of Austin music. In fact, many hated it. The owners of Rabid Cat Records, miffed that I focused on “a house full of groupies” and had next to nothing on Scratch Acid, the Offenders and their other punk bands, shot off a “fuck you” letter to me c/o the Chron. The bands I did feature in the seven-page spread were grateful, but I was also confronted by a couple bands that felt snubbed. Everybody wants to see their name in print, as some sort of validation of effort expended, but a magazine article is not an awards show acceptance speech. I didn’t forget to thank anybody.
But there was one egregious omission, which I’ll attribute to long magazine lead time (though every assignment from Spin came with a frantic deadline). In that 4,000-word article, I didn’t write about the Austin band that was about to break nationally. It was a married couple from Wisconsin, who had Austin in their sights since they saw Rank & File on Austin City Limits a couple years earlier. Pat MacDonald and Barbara K wanted to live where a local band can get on national TV. They arrived in early ’85 with an infant son and a backing band they carried in one hand.
Timbuk3 was never part of the cliquish scene, going from ignored to fawned-over in record time, but they’re significant as the first rock band from somewhere else to strike gold in Austin. The future seemed so bright here that there was a second wave of long-haired prospectors who, like the ‘70s cosmic cowboy hopefuls, learned the hard way that you don’t move to Austin to make it big. You come here for the places to play, and the top flight musicianship for hire, and to be part of what Bonnie Raitt called, “the most loyal and curious audience in the world.” Austin became hip because, at least when it comes to live music, everywhere else kinda sucks.
DON’T MOVE HERE (UNLESS YOU…)
Folks have been flocking to Austin (Waterloo) since it was the live buffalo hunting capital of Texas. Musicians began migrating to this liberal outpost en masse since the '60s, when the choice for many was staying in Lubbock or Kilgore or wherever and getting pummeled by future cable installers because you had long hair and played the guitar, or coming down to Austin, where you could get laid because you had long hair and played the guitar.
In current times, with an internet that gives freedom to live anywhere, the influx comes mainly from California and up north. There’s a popular t-shirt for them that says, “Welcome to Austin” on the front, and “Don’t Move Here!” on the back, which is kinda hypocritical when you can practically count all the musicians born and raised here on your fingers: Roky Erickson, Kathy Valentine, Ian Moore, Eric Johnson, Gary Clark Jr., Carolyn Hester, Shakey Graves, Suzanna Choffel, Eve Monsees, Geezinslaw Brothers, Elias Haslanger, who else?
There are good carpetbaggers, whose shirt would say “DON’T MOVE HERE” on the front, and on the back, “Unless you can sing like Patty Griffin.” Don’t move here, unless you’re gonna be Black Pumas.
Or in the case of Slaid Cleaves, and countless others, the message is, “Don’t move to Austin…unless you’re willing to start over.”
Soon after the singer-songwriter moved here from Maine in 1991, he played an open mic at the Saxon Pub, and after his two songs a patron came up to him, gushing. "You know, if you stick it out here three or four years, things might really start happening for you."
Cleaves had to laugh to himself. Three or four years? His new fan had no idea he was talking to the man who conquered the other Portland’s rock scene in just 12 months. In fact, the reason Cleaves relocated to Austin was because he'd so quickly hit the ceiling in Lobstah Country.
A voice inside said, “Austin, Texas is the place you oughta be,” so he loaded up the Dodge and moved to Avenue C. Hyde Park, that is. Hot tubs, democrats. (Actually, he and wife Karen moved to South Lamar, but that didn’t rhyme.)
The first day in town, Cleaves opened the paper to all those club ads and figured he was in the right place. But eight years later, the goateed folk singer was still scrambling for gigs, still working construction jobs and renting his body out for Pharmaco testing. There were encouraging moments - getting signed to Rounder/Philo in '97, after winning the new folk competition at Kerrville. Finding a fan in producer Gurf Morlix (Lucinda Williams, Ray Wylie Hubbard). A favorable review in the daily paper. But until his make-or-break album Broke Down became a hit on KGSR and other AAA stations across the country in 2000, a typical Cleaves gig would be in front of two dozen folks at Flipnotics on a Tuesday night.
"It was a long, hard struggle to get noticed in this town," Cleaves said in 2006. "When it finally happened, it was such a thrill. I couldn't believe it."
Broke Down sold 40,000 copies and established Cleaves on the national folk festival circuit. In Austin, his no-cover shows for stragglers were replaced by two-night sell-outs at the Cactus Cafe, with the crowd hanging on every lyric. "It feels like all my dreams have come true," he said, knowing that if this success had come as easily as in Maine it wouldn't mean as much.
The Cleaves story is typical - sans the happy ending - of the majority of musical transplants who trek to Austin for more opportunities to play gigs, find backing musicians, build up a reputation, attract media attention and play in front of audiences who, generally, elevate music as a noble calling. Austin's where you go when you're burned out on seeing the same 100 people at your shows in your hometown. But you have to start with seeing a handful of strangers.
For every transplant like Timbuk3, Poi Dog Pondering, Patty Griffin, and Cleaves, there are hundreds of musical attention-seekers who descended on River City like thirsty buffaloes, and for their troubles got only this lousy t-shirt and a better quality of life.
FURTHER READING
Kathy Valentine and I got tired of playing covers at Raul’s and flipped a coin, tail’s brought us to LA. Loved Austin until….
Isn't Charlie Sexton born and raised here?