Tampa Calling

I woke from a night of Irish whiskey drinking to a throat that was pained to swallow. My dear friend, Toby, sent me along my way with two packets of Emergen-C to drink with in my day. He also asked me “Do you want a banana?” I knew it was going to be a good day. Friends that care about and influence your well being are beneficial to have around. Friends that unintentionally push your play button and endure your raspy, slightly hung-over, under the weathered version of the whimsical Tally Hall song “Banana Man“- I would say you should try to keep them around as long as they’ll stand you.

Tally Hall (pictured above) is responsible for a bulk of my amusement. Whether I am serenading the empty pub in the morning when I sing along to their album, Marvin’s Marvelous Mechanical Museum (MMMM) as I open, or I’m locked into the latest episode of the Tally Hall Internet Show (THIS), I’m always entertained. When Twitter notifies me the band has posted a new blog, you better believe I jet right over to check it. The peeks into their personalities that they provide are playful and clever. They are that gelastic in person too. (more…)

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An otherwise ordinary Monday evening was transformed into a fantastic inferno of colors, costumes and characters at The Ritz featuring Of Montreal, Fiery Furnaces, and Fire Zuave. It was impressive how many people were in attendance given the competition with the Bucs game and it being a Monday.  Proof positive that the Tampa area has a plethora of indie music fans.

See photos after the break. Click here for Leilani’s in-depth review and killer video.
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James McMurtry and the Heartless Bastards w/Ronny Elliott Band, 8 p.m. Fri., Dec. 5, Skipper’s Smokehouse, Tampa, $17 advanced, $20 door. Photo Craig Seth.

James McMurtry might not be a name on par with, say, fellow Texans Lyle Lovett or Steve Earle, but the singer/songwriter and bad-ass guitarist is still a revered act in the Americana world. McCurtry‘ McMurty’s latest album, the outstandingly incendiary, darkly humorous, wonderfully emotive and rustically rocking Just Us Kids, has garnered glowing write-ups in glossies such as Blender, Mojo and Entertainment Weekly, the latter of which showered the disc with superlatives like “brilliant,” “hilarious” and “poignant” in giving it an A- grade. Just Us Kids is selling, too. It has reached a very respectable No. 18 on Billboard’s Top Independent Albums chart.

So it’s surprising when I’m given McMurtry’s mobile phone number and instructed to ring him in the afternoon. Any afternoon. Easy as that, the PR person says. But I’m skeptical. Usually when dealing with an artist of McMurtry’s status there’s a set time, date and minute count to which, you, the interviewer, are supposed to stick. Twenty minutes is the norm.

I dial the digits and hear a gruff “hello” that could only be James McMurtry’s. “Give me a moment to pull over,” he says. “I’ve got a manual transmission.” He steers his automobile into a nearby parking lot to grant an interview on a recent Tuesday afternoon. McMurtry has been driving around his hometown of Austin, running the same mundane errands you or I might conduct on an off day. He good-naturedly refers to the interview as just another duty after I apologize for interrupting his daily routine.

The Americana music icon speaks slowly. His voice is deep. His answers are straightforward and marked by an economy of words - and a drawl that reflects both his native Virginia and decades spent in the Lone Star State. You get the sense he’s incapable of feeding you bullshit, and it’s the same way with his music. Whether recounting the machinations of a crystal meth cooker in the fan favorite “Choctaw Bingo,” or telling me how his world-famous father Larry McMurtry’s one shortcoming as a novelist/screenwriter is that “he always gets firearms wrong,” the younger McMurtry’s words smack of integrity.

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Check out my cover story. Yeah, we’re milking Chinese Democracy — big time with the art — but, I promise, the actual article barely mentions the (over?) hyped Axl offering. Here’s my lede:

The economy is a rollercoaster of woe leaving many of us worrying about unemployment and the growing possibility of a crippling substance abuse problem or mental breakdown. But it’s Thanksgiving, the day of gratitude. Rather than drown in self-pity, I’ve decided to focus on the positive. Because for all the shitty news this year has offered — and, yes, it’s been a formidable shit-storm — 2008 has provided its fair share of rewards, especially for music fans.

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