Steve Forbert: Love's a Purple State of Mind....

My journalistic compadre John Marks asked me if I might like to write something for the "Purple State Of Mind" blog that he and Craig Detweiler are now running, sort of an online extension to their documentary film of the same name. (I re-posted a piece about the movie a few days ago.)

What I came up with was an essay that discusses the music of Steve Forbert, but a little bit more than that as well.

You can read it here.

Low Anthem / Annie & the Beekeepers

By Peter Blackstock

If by chance you're deep in the midst of SXSW right now, you've probably had several opportunities to catch a couple of acts I saw last weekend at the Cat's Cradle here in North Carolina: the Low Anthem, and Annie & the Beekeepers. Though they're really quite different bands, they have a couple of notable connections: Low Anthem multi-instrumentalist Mat Davidson formerly was one of the Beekeepers, and the two acts share the same management.

Because I happened to come across both of them around the same time last year, and saw them both last summer on separate bills within a week's time at small clubs, they have become sort of intertwined in my mind, despite the fact that they really don't sound anything like each other. The common ground from a musical standpoint is simply that both bands are really, really good.

They're also at fairly different stages in their careers. The Low Anthem, though I enjoy the opportunity to write about them and perhaps help spread the word, hardly needs my little semblance of assistance at this point, I expect. True that they're not "huge" by any measure just yet; but it seems plenty clear to me that they're over the hump, with an album (Oh My God, Charlie Darwin) on an excellent major-affiliated label (Nonesuch), and a steadily increasing live draw that saw them graduate from around 100 folks at the Local 506 in Chapel Hill last August to around 300 at Cat's Cradle down the street last week.

For fans, right now is the absolute perfect time to catch this band. The crowds are large enough to feel like you're sharing the experience, yet not so crowded that everyone's packed in like sardines. I think the latter is coming, because the other thing about seeing them right now is that it feels like they are at full bloom artistically. I recall the band I saw last August being something special; last week, what I heard was beyond special, to the point that I believe I can call them one of the very best young bands I've heard in the last ten years or so. In that regard, they'd be in the company of the Avett Brothers (with whom they recently toured, and apparently really hit it off) and Hem (who they definitely should tour with, from a musical-compatibility standpoint at least).

So what exactly IS it, then, about the Low Anthem that leaves me so impressed? A few things. First, the instrumentation. These guys (well, actually, three guys and a girl) routinely switch around among a variety of instruments both typical (guitars, drums, bass, keyboards) and atypical (esoteric horns, musical saw, harmonium, some thing with bells on it played with a bow that I don't even know the name of). The result is a sound that is, to properly employ an overused word, unique. I've never heard another band that sounds like the Low Anthem. (Thus my apologies for the lack of the standard "recommended if you like" comparisons here.)

Next, the dynamics. Folks used to talk about how the Pixies were masters of the quiet-to-loud transition, and they were; I've noticed a similar sort of facility with that balance among the projects of Glen Hansard (notably the Frames and the Swell Season). And yet I'm not sure I've ever seen a band so effortlessly follow a number that's as hushed as something from the Cowboy Junkies' The Trinity Session with a full-on blues-belting scorcher that blows out the engines. The Low Anthem's genius is finding a way to make these deliveries of a piece with each other; and somehow, they completely fit within the group's overarching aesthetic. I have no idea quite how they manage this, but I've heard it a couple times now onstage, and there is no abruptness to their dynamic shifts. It just works.

Finally, they're very good songwriters, ones who optimize the balance between creating new sounds and borrowing from the past. That their first album (2007's What The Crow Brings) included a cover of the Carter Family's "Keep On The Sunny Side" was a nice touch, but the Low Anthem would not work simply as a revival band (even acknowledging what a fresh-sounding take on that old tune they recorded). Like the very best bands we covered in No Depression over the years, they're employing traditional songs and styles to inform their own very original art.

If there's a specific area where the Low Anthem and Annie & the Beekeepers overlap, it's this last observation, because they're clearly drawing on traditional music as well, yet are also very good songwriters creating new material that is ultimately all their own. The traditionalism is perhaps a little more evident with the Beekeepers, in that the instrumentation is more akin to contemporary string-band lineups, though the inclusion of cello is a somewhat unusual (and welcome) element alongside the more traditional upright bass and acoustic guitar (with occasional curveballs such as banjo and harmonica on a song or two here and there).

Probably the biggest calling-card for Annie & the Beekeepers is the quality of their voices, specifically the exquisite purity of the harmonies that are struck between frontwoman Annie Lynch and multi-instrumentalist Alexandra Spalding. It's not just the raw beauty of their voices, but also the emotional pull they exert through the expressiveness of their singing. In short, they make you feel the songs, not just hear them.

I probably can give you some "recommended if you like" comparisons here -- Crooked Still, Gillian Welch, maybe Alison Krauss -- but I wouldn't wanna take that too far because the Beekeepers stake out their own territory with their songwriting. Still, it's the vocals that will almost certainly draw you in first, and so if you're the kind that appreciates the likes of those artists, you will definitely want to seek out Annie & the Beekeepers too.

With a self-released LP and EP to their name, Annie & the Beekeepers are still finding their way, though the simple fact that they've been in my neck of the woods twice in the past eight months suggests they're working hard to get there (as does the fact that the current SXSW is their second straight appearance at that event). They strike me as the kind of band, unlike the Low Anthem, that could benefit from whatever boost I might still be able to provide, limited though it may be at this point. So, to put it simply, if I've ever steered you right before over the years -- if I've made you aware of a talented young band that you might not previously have heard -- then check these guys out. Their music has moved me, and it's of such unmistakable quality that I have no doubt there are a lot more folks who would be similarly moved, if they get a chance to hear it.

"someone's praying, my lord, kumbayah...."

You may or may not have seen a post I made here a few weeks ago regarding Karla Bonoff; it was, I noted at the time, a reprint of a post that originally appeared on the old nodepression.net website. Back when No Depression magazine was still in print and before nodepression.com became Kyla Fairchild's community website, Grant Alden and I posted regular web entries to the nodepression.net site, as a sort of online editorial supplement to our print publication. None of these entries were carried over into the currently existing nodepression.com domain.

Some of these were quick asides that aren't really worth revisiting, but others were more substantive passages that I'd like to reinstate on the web. So I'm planning to use this forum on occasion to dig a few of them up and re-post them.

Here's one that proved particularly meaningful in the long run. It's about a documentary film called Purple State Of Mind made by John Marks and Craig Detweiler. The outgrowth of this blog-entry was that Mr. Marks ended up becoming a contributor to No Depression in its final days, writing an excellent feature on the Old 97's for our final issue (ND #75) as well as a superb piece on the Guthrie family in the third installment of the ND bookazine series published by University of Texas Press. I thought their film was something special, and I still do; so, in case you missed it back in 2008, I'd like to call it to your attention again.

By Peter Blackstock

A few weeks ago I happened to stumble upon a rather intriguing and intelligent blog-entry that dealt with our recent cover story on Shelby Lynne, written by a fellow named John Marks on a site called purplestateofmind.com. Interested in his writing but not having a clue as to what "Purple State Of Mind" might be, I poked around a little further and found that it's the title of a documentary film which is just now beginning to hit some festivals and select screenings. Though its promotional budgets are modest and its national profile is (so far) relatively low, Purple State Of Mind strikes me as a film that the majority of Americans need to see.

The summary description is hardly sexy: Basically this is 80 minutes of two middle-aged white guys sittin' around talkin' to each other. The catch is that the two guys -- Marks and his longtime friend and former college roommate Craig Detweiler -- are tremendously articulate and intellectually challenging, and their central subject matter delves deep into the heart of the modern American experience. Essentially they're addressing the great Red State/Blue State divide between believers and nonbelievers of Christianity, and the extent to which this divides us as a nation in a way that is ultimately both unnatural and unhealthy.

By openly and honestly confronting each other about how they came to believe (or not believe) what they do today, Marks (raised Christian but no longer a believer) and Detweiler (not raised religious but born again in his college years) take their own steps together toward bridging the supposed chasm between the religious right and what might be termed the agnostic left. More significantly, they go a long way toward breaking down those stereotypes altogether, eventually revealing within themselves elements of each other's beliefs and values.

Their conversations and arguments are heated, humorous, vehement, compassionate, and most of all relentless. In the end, as Detweiler repeatedly stresses, it's not about convincing the other person, or about winning or losing. Rather, it's about understanding and respecting one another's views.

Nowhere is that better illustrated than in the two deeply personal revelations which more or less bookend the film, in which Detweiler and Marks recount specific trigger-points that had a lot to do with their respective affirmation and rejection of faith. Essentially the two men faced very similar darkest-moments-of-the-soul experiences; their responses may seem on the surface to have been entirely opposite, but I'd argue that on some level, they were affected in precisely the same way. Both of them stared directly into the heart of darkness; each of them dealt with it by reaching for the only reckoning that could help them find their way back to the light.

For a taste, here's the film's trailer:




Many of the upcoming screenings are cross-promotional events for Marks's new Harper/Collins book Reasons To Believe, which came out this week. For those willing to dig deeper, the book goes another 360-odd pages into the subject; in fact, the film was actually an outgrowth of the book, having sprung from Marks' decision that his first interview subject for the book should be Detweiler. Because Detweiler's career involves teaching and training students in filmmaking, he suggested they have their conversations on-camera, and a documentary project was born.

If you're looking for an Americana-related musical tie-in (other than Marks being a devoted reader of No Depression), check out the film's music, which includes excerpts from Neko Case's cover of "Wayfaring Stranger" as well as Wilco's "Theologians". In my estimation, however, the crowning musical choice is the revival of Guadalcanal Diary's transcendent 1985 cover of the old campfire sing-along "Kumbayah". The movie's spirit strikes at the very core of that band's apocalyptic reading of the song; it's almost as if Guadalcanal Diary recorded it precisely for the purpose of connecting with Purple State Of Mind twenty-odd years later.

And we had no dreams, we just lived one.

I've heard this song for at least 20 years, having bought the LP sometime in the 1980s, and the CD-reissue circa 1990. The recording linked here was made in 1972:

http://listen.grooveshark.com/#/s/Keeper+Of+The+Mountain/1Xpatm

The band is the Flatlanders. The song is "Keeper Of The Mountain", written by Al Strehli.

Although I've never quite realized it till just now, my question -- especially to all of you artists -- is:

Who the hell keeps covering Hank Williams songs, and Johnny Cash songs, and Woody Guthrie songs,

And keeps leaving this uncovered?

Just what more do you want than:

...and these
(theeeeese)
these ain't teardrops
(these ain't teardrops)
and it ain't the river
(ain't the river)
just a moment
(just a moment)
the river's not complainin'
oh no
oh no no no.



You will not find any better.

You will not write any better.

So just cover the damned song already.

This is how the folk process works.

(More or less.)


Adios,
Peter

170 Nights Spent At The Cactus Cafe

By Peter Blackstock

Writing about the value of the Cactus Cafe in my previous entry got me to thinking back on some of the shows I've seen there, and so I dug out my trusty show-logs to help rekindle those memories. Since the fall of 1988, I've kept a list of every musical event that I've attended, which makes it possible to go back and compile lists such as the one below.

This isn't the complete record of my Cactus experience, since I saw quite a few shows there from 1985 to mid-1988 before I began keeping my logs. At 21 years, though, it's fairly extensive. Take a look; perhaps you were at some of these shows too.

I've listed them alphabetically by artist, with the date of each show attended following the artist's name. (The dates lean heavily toward the late-1980s and early-1990s, since I lived in Austin at that time.)


FROM 1988 TO 2009:
170 NIGHTS SPENT AT THE CACTUS CAFE


Abi Tapia -- sat mar 15, 2008

Abra Moore -- sat feb 17, 1996

Alejandro Escovedo -- thu nov 10, 1988; sun nov 20, 1988; sat dec 9, 1989; fri jan 19, 1990; sat july 14, 1990; fri nov 9, 1990; fri feb 8, 1991; fri mar 12, 1993; sat aug 28, 1993; sun feb 12, 2006

Alison Rogers -- sat dec 8, 1990

Amy Rigby -- sat mar 18, 2000

Andy Van Dyke -- fri oct 13, 1989; thu oct 25, 1990

Ani DiFranco -- sat jun 22, 1991

Ann Powell -- wed nov 30, 1988

Austin Lounge Lizards -- fri jan 11, 1991

Balloonatic -- sat july 7, 1990; wed may 8, 1991

Barbara K -- fri feb 21, 1997

Beaver Nelson -- fri apr 26, 1991; fri jun 28, 1991; fri sep 20, 1991; fri feb 19, 1993; thu feb 13, 1997

Bedlam Rovers -- tue apr 9, 1991

Beth Orton -- fri mar 17, 2006

Betty Elders -- wed sep 5, 1990

Big Blue Hearts -- fri mar 17, 2006

Bill Morrissey -- thu mar 15, 2001

Billy Joe Shaver -- thu mar 16, 2000

Black Francis (a.k.a. Frank Black) -- thu jan 11, 1990

Blackberry Winter Boys -- tue nov 7, 1989

Bob Neuwirth -- sat dec 16, 1989

Butch Hancock -- fri mar 3, 1989; wed jun 14, 1989; wed oct 4, 1989; wed jan 31, 1990; thu feb 1, 1990; fri feb 2, 1990; sat feb 3, 1990; sun feb 4, 1990; mon feb 5, 1990; thu sep 6, 1990; wed dec 5, 1990; sat apr 13, 1991; sat july 20, 1991; fri sep 20, 1991; fri nov 4, 1994; fri feb 24, 1995; sat feb 25, 1995; fri feb 16, 1996; sat mar 9, 2002; sat mar 8, 2003; sun feb 12, 2006

Butch Hancock & Jimmie Dale Gilmore -- wed feb 13, 1991

Cactus Cafe Orchestra -- tue oct 16, 1990; thu feb 27, 1992

Camp -- tue nov 1, 1988; tue feb 21, 1989

Chris Armstrong -- sat mar 18, 1995

Chris Burroughs -- sat mar 23, 1991

Chris Chandler -- tue sep 18, 1990

Christine De La Garza -- thu july 19, 1990

Cliff Eberhardt -- thu oct 11, 1990

Cowboy Junkies -- sat aug 18, 1990

Damon Bramblett -- sat feb 17, 1996

Daniel Johnston -- thu mar 17, 2005

Darden Smith -- fri jun 16, 1989; sat sep 9, 1989; sat nov 18, 1989; thu mar 5, 1992

David Garza -- sat july 6, 1991

David Halley -- thu nov 10, 1988; thu feb 16, 1989; fri apr 21, 1989; thu july 20, 1989; thu jan 11, 1990; fri may 4, 1990; sat aug 18, 1990; fri july 5, 1991; fri july 19, 1991; fri aug 27, 1993

David Rodriguez -- sat aug 17, 1991

Dick Siegel -- sat feb 25, 1995

Dirk Hamilton -- fri mar 12, 1993

Ed Miller & Rich Brotherton -- wed feb 22, 1995

Eliza Gilkyson -- sat dec 16, 1989

Eric Taylor -- sat aug 17, 1991

Graham Weber -- sat mar 15, 2008

Grains Of Faith -- wed feb 21, 1990; sat july 7, 1990; sat may 11, 1991

Grant McLennan -- sat mar 18, 1995

Grapes Of Wrath -- thu jan 18, 1990

Greg Brown -- thu jan 24, 1991

Gurf Morlix -- sat mar 15, 2008

Guy Clark -- fri mar 24, 1989; sat july 21, 1990; tue dec 12, 2006

Hal Ketchum -- sat july 29, 1989; thu aug 17, 1989; wed nov 28, 1990; wed aug 14, 1991

Harry Dean Stanton w/ Michael Been & members of The Call -- tue oct 4, 1988

Hey Zeus -- wed aug 7, 1991

Hudson & Franke -- thu jan 19, 1989

James McMurtry -- wed july 26, 1989

Javelin Boot -- wed apr 3, 1991; wed feb 26, 1992

Jennifer Cook -- thu aug 30, 1990

Jimmy LaFave -- sat oct 13, 1990

Joe Ely -- sun nov 20, 1988

John Gorka -- sat apr 6, 1991; fri aug 30, 1991

Jon Dee Graham -- sat mar 23, 1991; wed jun 26, 1991; sat sep 14, 1991

Josie Kuhn -- thu mar 4, 1993

Julian Dawson -- wed sep 5, 1990

Kathy McCarty -- wed feb 19, 1997

Kevin Carney -- thu aug 30, 1990

Kevin So -- sat nov 16, 1996

Kimmie Rhodes -- thu feb 20, 1997

Kris McKay -- tue may 9, 1989; thu july 5, 1990; sat may 11, 1991

Leatherbag -- sat mar 15, 2008

Lisa Colvin -- tue jun 25, 1991

Lisa Mednick -- tue feb 27, 1996

Loudon Wainwright III -- fri may 11, 1990

Lucinda Williams -- sat oct 15, 1988; fri apr 26, 1991

Lyle Lovett -- fri jun 2, 1989; sat july 22, 1989

Make Believers -- tue oct 4, 1988

Marlee MacLeod -- sat mar 23, 1991

Martin Zellar -- fri feb 21, 1997

Marty Stuart & His Fabulous Superlatives -- fri mar 17, 2006

Mary Gauthier -- fri feb 10, 2006

Matt The Electrician -- fri oct 9, 2009

MayDay -- fri feb 26, 1993

Meredith Louise Miller -- sat mar 18, 1995; thu feb 13, 1997

Michael Fracasso -- sat apr 13, 1991; sat sep 21, 1991; fri mar 20, 1998; fri mar 17, 2000

Michelle Solberg -- thu july 19, 1990

Mike Hall -- sat sep 30, 1989

Mike Nicolai -- fri sep 20, 2002

Milo Binder -- sat mar 23, 1991

Nanci Griffith -- thu jan 19, 1989

Open Mike -- mon feb 20, 1989; tue aug 7, 1990; mon nov 26, 1990; mon apr 15, 1991; mon may 13, 1991; mon mar 2, 1992; mon mar 9, 1992; mon mar 8, 1993

Paddy Moloney & Darren Casey -- sat aug 30, 2008

Patterson Hood -- fri mar 17, 2006

Pete Droge -- fri mar 12, 1993

Peter Case -- sat sep 9, 1989; fri jan 19, 1990; sat jan 20, 1990; thu oct 11, 1990; sat oct 13, 1990; fri sep 15, 1995; sat nov 16, 1996

Peter Himmelman -- tue nov 8, 1994; thu nov 14, 1996

Peter Rowan -- sat feb 2, 1991

Poi Dog Pondering -- wed feb 15, 1989

Randy Erwin -- wed oct 11, 1989

Ray Wylie Hubbard -- fri feb 17, 1995

Reeva Hunter -- sat july 20, 1991

Richard Buckner -- tue feb 27, 1996; fri sep 20, 2002

Robert Earl Keen -- fri feb 10, 1989; thu may 4, 1989; sat july 15, 1989

Roger Manning -- tue feb 7, 1989; sat mar 23, 1991

Rory Block -- wed feb 26, 1997

Rory McLeod -- tue jun 11, 1991

Sara Hickman -- wed jan 18, 1989; thu oct 25, 1990

Sarah Harmer -- fri mar 17, 2006

Sharon Shannon -- wed mar 1, 1995

Shawn Colvin -- sat dec 9, 1989

Ship Of Fools -- thu aug 16, 1990; fri oct 19, 1990; sat feb 9, 1991

Shoulders -- wed mar 29, 1989; wed nov 15, 1989; thu jan 18, 1990; fri oct 19, 1990

Steve Forbert -- fri oct 13, 1989; sat dec 8, 1990; sat sep 21, 1991; thu mar 4, 1993

Stick People -- wed nov 15, 1989

Storyville -- thu feb 18, 1993

Syd Straw -- thu nov 10, 1988; thu july 18, 1991

Teddy Thompson -- fri mar 17, 2006

Terry Allen -- sat mar 8, 1997

Timbuk 3 -- sat sep 30, 1989

Tiny Lights -- mon jun 25, 1990

Tommy Womack -- sat mar 15, 2008

Toni Price -- fri feb 25, 1994

Toqui Amaru -- fri dec 1, 1989

Townes Van Zandt -- sat aug 19, 1989; thu jun 27, 1991; fri jun 28, 1991; sat mar 12, 1994

Townes Van Zandt Tribute with Butch Hancock & Friends -- thu mar 7, 2002; fri mar 7, 2003

Tres Chicas -- fri mar 17, 2006

Uncle Bonsai -- sat nov 12, 1988

Vic Chesnutt -- sat mar 23, 1991

Vince Bell -- wed feb 15, 1995

Will T. Massey -- fri mar 3, 1989; sat july 21, 1990; fri aug 10, 1990; thu feb 16, 1995

Woody Guthrie Tribute hosted by Greg Johnson -- wed july 17, 1991

Yolocamba I Ta -- fri nov 10, 1989

The Cactus Manifesto

By Peter Blackstock

I've been trying to live with this idea for a little while now, the notion that some folks at the University of Texas think it's a good idea to shut down or repurpose the Cactus Cafe.

I've endeavored to be open-minded about their perspective. First and foremost, the budgetary concerns. This economic downturn is very real; its effects cannot be denied. Simply saying "But don't cut the Cactus, it's too important!" isn't a good enough response, because any entity that might end up on the chopping-block will be valuable to someone. This is simply the nature of dealing with a bad economy; tough decisions sometimes have to be made, it's not fun, and inevitably some things will be lost. I don't see any avoiding those realities.

As such, the fundraising effort spearheaded by Save The Cactus Cafe has been the logical approach. If whatever dollar-amount that UT claims to be saving by shutting down the Cactus can be matched by community donations, then the economic motivations automatically become a non-factor for the university. Exactly what the precise dollar-amount may be seems to have been a source of confusion, with figures ranging from $122,000 to $33,000 having made the rounds (complicated by the inclusion of the Informal Classes program in the university's cuts, and the citing of costs on a biennial rather than annual basis). Regardless, if the folks behind Save The Cactus can raise the appropriate funds to replace any stated savings from the proposed Cactus actions, then the university can't legitimately claim fiscal concerns as the reason for any changes.

OK, then -- what about the matter of the venue needing more student participation, and/or a need for the Cactus to present more student-oriented programming? This one hasn't really held water from the outset. As for students participating in the operation of the Cactus, I believe that the venue has in fact historically hired and involved students in its operation. Should an increase in student involvement be desired, clearly that could be accomplished without closing or repurposing the venue. (Not to mention that closing or repurposing the venue would in fact be depriving any students of the opportunity to be involved with one of the nation's foremost music venues of its kind, a stature that has been realized thanks to the considerable efforts and knowledge of Cactus booker Griff Luneburg.)

If the desire is to present more student-oriented music programming, the Union needs only to reopen the adjacent Showroom, which operated for years in the '80s and '90s as the Texas Tavern and specifically presented more student-oriented entertainment. The Union has plenty of space and opportunity to utilize for such a purpose; there's no legitimacy whatsoever to any suggestion that the Cactus is the only room in the building which could address such desires.

Finally, there's the matter of community interaction. Some comments from UT personnel have expressed a viewpoint that the university must cater primarily to its student population, with the community necessarily a secondary concern. I can buy that up to a point -- but it's not as if this is a one-or-the-other choice. There is plenty that the Texas Union does to cater specifically to students; having one room that also caters to the Austin community hardly seems an overstepping of bounds, particularly given that the Cactus has become one of the university's foremost examples of positive interaction with its community (as evidenced by the considerable public response to UT's initial announcement). This one just comes down to common sense, it seems to me: There's just no way you do away with the Cactus on "university vs. community" grounds.

So, what ground is left for the university to stand on?

Frankly, I don't think there really IS anything left. None of the arguments made by University Unions executive director Andy Smith, nor by student government president Liam O'Rourke, nor by student affairs vice president Juan Gonzalez, nor by UT president Bill Powers, ultimately stand up to careful scrutiny. Each of these people -- especially Powers, as the university's public persona #1 -- needs to simply admit they made an error in judgment. There's no harm in that.

To do otherwise would be to admit a willingness to toss a living and breathing cultural and artistic institution onto the scrap heap, without justification. Is this really a legacy that any of these people wish to have in their name? For what purpose? For what need? For what possible good? What is left for an argument that closing or repurposing the Cactus somehow makes any sense?

I'm asking those questions quite honestly, because if any of them can give me an answer -- taking into the account the answers already examined above -- I'd really like to hear what those responses would be.

As for my part: I graduated from the University of Texas in 1988 with a B.A. in History and a minor in Journalism. Though I received a top-quality education from the many hours I spent in the classrooms of Bates Hall and Parlin Hall, and Welch and RLM, and working for The Daily Texan in the basement of the communications complex, and interviewing athletes over at Memorial Stadium .... there was one place where I learned more about what would become my future career than in any other room on campus.

That room was the Cactus Cafe.

It was while I was at UT that I decided to shift gears from pursuing a career in sportswriting to trying my hand at writing about music. In the long run, things worked out pretty well; after a decade or so of covering music for various daily newspapers and other publications, I launched my own magazine, No Depression, which for more than a decade was acknowledged as the primary journalistic voice for American roots music.

A great deal of what we surveyed in No Depression overlapped with the kind of education I received at the Cactus during my Austin years. Of the 75 issues we printed during our 13-year run, I suspect that at least 25% (and quite possibly more) of the artists who appeared on the cover were artists who have performed at the Cactus Cafe. As for the number of artists we covered somewhere in the magazine's pages over the years that have played at the Cactus, it would undoubtedly be well into the hundreds.

Simply put, what I learned about songwriting and performance in that exceptionally fine-tuned little music room was immeasurable, and invaluable. I discovered artists who amazed and enlightened me, I watched local up-and-comers gradually develop into major talents, and I witnessed legendary troubadours creating art, and history, right there on the spot, in that very moment.

The first show I ever saw at the Cactus, in the summer of 1985, featured two of those legendary troubadours; it was a double-bill featuring Butch Hancock and Townes Van Zandt (who, rather than performing separately, shared the stage with each other on this night). Townes has been gone for more than a decade now, but Butch still carries on his legacy; every year on March 7, Hancock gathers up a bunch of his friends and hosts a Townes Van Zandt tribute show at the Cactus -- the place that Townes declared, in an autographed poster that hangs upon those hallowed walls, to be "my home club."

Home. That's what the place feels like to me, too.

The past couple of years, I've made it a pilgrimage of sorts to return to Austin in the fall and attend a football game at Memorial Stadium. After the game ends, I find a certain comfort in exiting the south end of the stadium and walking westward down 21st street, past the Alumni Center, past the little building where the student-radio station began broadcasting during my UT days, past Gregory Gym where my dad took me to see basketball games before the Erwin Center was built. Past Perry-Castaneda Library where I spent many hours studying as an undergrad, past the perfectly picturesque Littlefield Fountain and up the South Mall where I used to stretch out in the afternoon sun between classes, past the orange-lighted Tower that has been an inspirational beacon to me since the first time I laid eyes on it back in 1969.

As I walk up those Tower steps and turn left toward the West Mall, my final destination is resolute: I'm headed to the Cactus Cafe. I'm going home.

Please, Mr. Powers et al.: Do not simply give away this home, when there is no logical reason to do so.