That Works for Me

As usual, we were getting drunk at the Stage Door. What was it? Early to mid 90s? Someone came in and said BB King was in town. Jeff O'Malley wasn't sad as the place emptied out. He knew we'd be back.

We had to get our sorry asses out to the old Sea Arama for the show. A convoy of cars and trucks honked and swerved down Seawall and funneled into the overgrown parking lot. We tumbled out and were drawn to the lights of a hastily erected stage in the otherwise abandoned field.

We were amply rewarded for our efforts. The only seat in the house was the perch occupied by Mister King and Lucille, center stage. The rest of us were propped up by the energy of this 70-year-old master of the Blues. Hell, he'd been visiting his music on us for over half his life! Just today, people have been bragging online about finding posters from his 1955 Galveston appearance.

Many performers have graced our city through the years. Some are performing in the venues of the Free City of Galveston. Some visit or influence our musicians from the Houston music scene's fertile ground. Big Mama Thornton, the same age as BB King, came through the Gulf Coast in 1948, playing the Eldorado Ballroom. Galvez caricaturist Claude Allen ran “the only clean club” on the Island in 1955, the Golden Garter. And, at the more infamous Balinese Room, singer Peggy Lee served as the inspiration for the original Margarita, according to longtime bartender Santos Cruz.

But that is all common knowledge. And retrievable from any Google search. The bands that play our clubs, bars, and outdoor stages can be famous or fleeting. I am a B-52s fan. But seeing them at the Grand was a disappointment. Not for the stage, but for the canned interaction with the audience. “Thank you, Galveston,” and disappeared into the tour bus.

In stark contrast, Lyle Lovett came to the Grand shortly after Ike. He had been decades in the music business. But, having grown up in Houston, I was still considered local. The show started and he launched into his first song. In typical Lyle fashion he stopped half way through to talk story.

Instead of his usual stage banter, he looked around the room. “You did a good job,” he said, referring to the recently reopened theater. He told us about coming down here as a kid and playing at the beach. How he had played at the Grand before and was sad to hear of the damage done by the hurricane. But the Grand was back in business and he was happy to be a part of it.

Wrecks Bell brought the Old Quarter to town, after leaving the Houston original behind a couple decades ago. The sound and the spirit that came with it helped revive our connection to Texas Coastal music. The intimate venue draws both big names and lesser known local talent. It is a coconut telegraph with Houston clubs like Dan Electro's, the Last Concert, and the Continental Club. Places where the performers can look out from the stage and share their time with the audience.

But you win some, you lose some. The Ball High auditorium and TAMUG lecture halls are our closest runners up to the Grand. Unless you bring the convention centers into the mix. (Don't make me get in the middle of this Moody/Tillman thing!) We don't really have the equivalent of Gruene Hall. There are some holdouts in the neighborhoods since Selena's Blue Room closed, but jazz and blues don't get a lot of air time. And, how little Latino music is down here.

For now chalk it up to gentrification or a slow market. Summer will bring a pick up in volume and give us back Bands on the Sands and the Galveston Brewery and the McGuire Dent band shell.

Until then I'm spending my Tuesdays with my neighbors at Brews Brothers. Jason will be corralling local talent through covers of Leonard Cohen, Nico, and Johnny Cash. Other musicians will jam on guitar, bass, and cajon. The percussionists at the table by the door (you know who you are?) will jump in on shakers, bongos, and tamborine. Various original songs will find their way to the menu. And Catherine Stroud will finish the evening in French melody, somewhere between Edith Piaf and Plastic Bertand.

Ça plane pour moi.