I am honored to play a small role in the wonderful music community centered around Asbury Park, N.J. There are a number of really good bands among us, and we’re particularly fond of our singer/songwriters. Among the standouts in this genre for us are the nihilist poet Rick Barry, the irrepressible Amanda Duncan, and George Wirth, who is the musical link to the Austin, TX songwriters’ scene that this review is ostensibly about. We’re pretty proud of our local musicians, and why not? After all, Asbury Park has produced at least one of the world’s greatest songwriters.
You may have heard that Austin has a music scene all its own. Better? That’s a judgment call. Bigger? Definitely. The stars shine bright in the Austin galaxy. The scene’s most treasured son burned too brightly, and was gone too soon. Hopefully you’re acquainted to some degree with the music of the more well-known figures. Names like Jerry Jeff Walker, Lyle Lovett, Steve Earle, Blaze Foley, Eric Taylor, and the late Townes Van Zandt leap to mind. The younger generation carries the torch in the person of Sam Beam, a.k.a. Iron & Wine. The patriarch of this scene is Guy Clark. He and his wife Susanna nurtured the others at guitar gatherings in their home, much as George and Brenda Wirth do in Asbury Park. Every few years, Guy presents us with the gift of a new album. His latest, Someday the Song Writes You (Dualtone Records), is a master class in Texas songwriting.
When I think about the Texas songwriters, and Guy Clark in particular, the word that always comes to mind is “dignified.” Don’t take that to mean that the music is dull or boring. It’s presented with great humility. Sometimes it’s funny, but rarely brash or boastful. Hard learned life lessons are shared. Hearts are broken. Nothing is conceded. Life goes on. No artist embodies the Texas songwriter zeitgeist more than Guy Clark. He’d probably hate that I just used the word “zeitgeist.” I think I do too. (more…)
The word “legend” is sorely abused and overused by music journalists, just as the word “genius” is. I am as guilty as anyone else, but I have an excuse ready to go. The older you get, the more legends your life seems to take on. People who were just great musicians when you were younger take on a sepia-tinged status with the fog of time. Now that I’ve said that, I have to ask a more or less rhetorical question: how does a writer avoid using the word “legend” when he attends an event at which there are performances by Pete Seeger, Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Guy Clark, Arlo Guthrie, and Ramblin’ Jack Elliott? Legends all, no matter what era you came up in.