Blogs

Pianist and former Houstonian David Vest has written a remembrance of his friend and musical companion Jimmy “T-99” Nelson on his blog. . Also, he slapped an MP3 of an unreleased recording of him backing Nelson on his MySpace page.

Click over quick – Vest will be taking the song down soon. – John Nova Lomax

In my experience over these past 24 years, I have never met a casual Frank Zappa fan. From what I can tell, most hardcore fans sell their children into white slavery for whatever piece of Zappa memorabilia they can get their hands on, be it a signed copy of Hot Rats or a fourth one of these. When kids in my high school went through a Zappa period, they were never the same afterwards. They tried growing ratty goatees and started carrying around homemade puppets, as if they had just completed shock therapy. But you know what? I love that kind of devotion. It’s psychotic and cultish and rock and roll.

Surprise, surprise: Fatal Flying Guilloteens are making some noise. Pitchfork reports today that the Houston splatter-punk heroes, who recently put former Octopus Project arm and current Bring Back the Guns triggerman Erik Bogle on the guitarist chopping block, have a new album set to go October 16 on New York’s Frenchkiss Records. These masters of eternal subtlety have titled their new creation Quantum Fucking, because… well, who knows, but it’s lonely on the road, OK? Songs like “The First Act of Violence,” “Illegal Weapons Party” and “Long Distance Reach Around” don’t call for all that much analysis, though they seem to have also cultivated an interest in zoology: “Reveal the Rats,” “Great Apes,” “Tiger vs. Gator,” “Legion of Serpents.” Houston gets the Guilloteens all to itself Halloween night at Proletariat, but if you can’t wait that long, they swoop into Austin and Denton next Saturday and Sunday with Chicago thunderers Pelican. – Chris Gray

In the August issue of Ozone, Pimp C. unloaded on Russell Simmons and studio slangers and assorted fake rappers. He also demonstrated a somewhat eccentric view of geography by claiming that Atlanta was not in the South. (After all, he said, it is in the Eastern time zone, which is the same time zone that includes Boston, NYC and Philly.) The rapper further expounds on these views – which he went to great pains to describe as his own, and not those of Bun B or UGK -- in a follow-up interview on the ATL’s Hot 107.9 that can be heard here. -- John Nova Lomax

Here’s what the Houston Press Music Awards must look like to downtown’s club owners and merchants: The most dreaded of plagues, a horde of drunk, smelly, and sweaty musicians and their fans heeding the call of beer and loud amplification. Let’s not kid ourselves; this really isn’t about who is going to win best Skiffle Band! Fuck that! It’s just an excuse for a party. You come out, you support your friends, listen to great music, drink like a horse and pay for it the next day with a raging hangover at your 9-to-5. In fact, recovering from the HPMA showcase has become an annual ritual for most of us. This year I’m opting to nurse my hangover with a Miller and Popul Vuh. (You handle it your way and I’ll handle it mine.)

While you were at home watching Hannah Montana in your air-conditioned comfort, we were busy getting our stink on in downtown’s steambath. One rule of thumb for this event is that the sooner you get over the fact that you would eventually be sweaty and stinky the better off you’d be.

Well, I have to say my first-ever Music Award Showcase was a good one, especially watching the youngsters on the Press street team - who deserve big ups for their media blitz on local musicians' behalf - grind on each other at the late-night DJ showcase, while a few staffers and I discussed who was a bigger Cure fan. (I'm old. Shoot me.) Relive even more memories with this slideshow from Press shutterbugs Dana Donovan and Mark C. Austin. -- Chris Gray

And the award for “Most Awesome Show Lasting Five Minutes” goes to Insect Warfare at Slainte. Not only did the set last five minutes, it featured noise-maven Austin from Concrete Violin. Glorious sounds of robots dying and various guttural sounds concluded with yours truly briefly thrown to the floor, as the sound guy shut down the show. Something about amp circuits being overloaded, and the monster Chthulu being summoned on Main Street. In a word: Bitchin’!

"I Don't Get Around Much Anymore." The Ellington tune is bouncing around my head as I take the train downtown (the A-Train?) for the 2007 Houston Press Music Awards Showcase. I just can't stay out ‘til two and work the next day like I used to. I was pretty sure this would never happen to me. Ya live, ya learn.

So, the Press showcase is like the Cliff Notes for a year of going out for me. I got off the train about 4:20 and headed to Grasshopper to start off with the Poor Dumb Bastards. I've seen 'em before but they're a great way to start anything. Grasshopper's stage was above the crowd and it looked sort of like an apartment balcony. The PDBs were powering through one of their hits like the well oiled machine they are when singer Byron Dean grabbed his crotch right above me. I immediately flashed back to the ‘80s in San Marcos, when I saw a man known to me only as "the Mule" pulled out his scrotum and swung it around like a mace from a very similar balcony. They say the best music sends you back. True dat, but I wasn't ready to go there, so I headed over to Live to catch a song by Allen Oldies and pick up my companions for the rest of my journey.

If you were a punk-starved teen in the early 80’s, The Tomorrow Show with Tom Snyder, who passed away Sunday from leukemia, was one of the places you could tune in to catch your heroes. Snyder brought us the first TV appearances of “Weird Al” Yankovic, The Plasmatics and U2, among others. Here is one of The Clash’s first performances on Snyder’s show, with “The Magnificent Seven.” – Craig Hlavaty

Legend of blues, R&B and early rock and roll passes away

Sad news from Dr. Roger Wood: Turns out Marvin Zindler was not the only treasured Houstonian to pass away Sunday. Jimmy “T-99” Nelson, the last of the real-deal blues shouters, died of cancer at St. Dominic’s nursing home. Some sources say he was born in 1919; others cite 1928. (The earlier date seems likelier, as singers tend to fudge their ages toward youth.)

Time for another round of Magic iPod. You know the drill. I ask my iPod a question, hit shuffle, and interpret the answer it gives me. I ask it a few questions to start, and then, gentle Houstoned Rocks readers, I throw open the floor to your queries as well.

This time, Magic iPod gives us the lowdown on our sports teams, the last couple of months of hurricane season, and opines on the housing bubble and peak oil. – John Nova Lomax

Fat white dudes with beards can do anything. We don’t have to worry about high fashion because nothing that’s truly cool will ever fit. Santa Claus visits our houses first before any of you clean-shaven skinny losers, because he’s one of us. We can easily pass for anyone in a stoner-rock band, making it easy to pick up chicks with tattoos. The burly “bears” can pick up guys left and right. People always ask you to lift heavy things because they assume because you’re fat, you are strong. And all girls love a husky guy that will feed them Indian food and keep them warm at night, it’s a scientific fact. It’s safe to say that Zach Galifianakis is the coolest chubs among us. This week, we saw Zach’s video for Kanye West’s new single, “Can’t Tell Me Nothing”. It was filmed on a farm. It has tractors and hay. And Zach menacing the camera with a chainsaw. Why are you still reading this? Hit the link. – Craig Hlavaty

Grammy-winning Houston rapper Chamillionaire, who can afford to pay other people to ride dirty for him after 2005’s The Sound of Revenge, starts grinding the promotional gears for Revenge follow-up Ultimate Victory tonight with a video double-dip on BET’s Access Granted at 7:30 p.m. Houston time. Cham will premiere the nine-minute, two-part video for “Hip Hop Police” and “Evening News,” in which the Swishahouse alumnus takes on a whopping four roles.

Legendary Texas roots-music drummer Uncle John Turner passed away today at Austin’s Seton Hospital from complications of hepatitis C. He was 62.

Turner was born and raised in Port Arthur, where he first played with Jerry LaCroix. Later he hooked up with Johnny and Edgar Winter, eventually convincing Johnny to ditch R&B covers and start a full-on blues band, also featuring bassist Tommy Shannon. This line-up, occasionally augmented with Edgar on keys, recorded the classics The Progressive Blues Experiment, Johnny Winter, and Second Winter and performed at Woodstock. “Straight out of Texas with a hot trio, Winter made blues-rock music for the angels,” blues-rocker turned critic Cub Koda reflected years later.

It’s not everyday we see earnest indie rockers playing competitive sports. This is Win Butler, former Woodlands resident and current Arcade Fire frontman, dominating the court in a friendly game of street basketball.

I wish I could make more knowing remarks about this, but I know nothing about basketball. Is he “slamming home the rock downtown in the paint”? I guess that’s what I get for sitting on the sidelines during P.E., sticking the asthma kids inhalers down my gym shorts when they weren’t looking. I wish more indie guys would be caught playing contact sports. Broken Social Scene and The Polyphonic Spree could total have a wicked-ass game of flag football with their cult-like number of members. Then Ryan Adams and Sufjan Stevens can have bitchin’ foosball match to finally decide who more is needlessly prolific.

After the jump, R. Kelly with “I Believe I Can Fly” from the Space Jam soundtrack, because this is all I know about basketball. – Craig Hlavaty