Wonder Writer

Daisy O'Connor's voice is a fresh breeze with cool creative layers of forgiveness, freedom, and a trust fall backwards into a just-right spring pool. As honest as her lyrics, O'Connor set the stage by sharing about an unexpected twist in the road. Her first performance since an auto accident, O'Connor talked about the concert she didn't make it to. Her car was totaled by a vehicle driving too fast in the rain. That evening, instead of performing, she was escorted to the ER. Daisy with band at the Cactus Cafe The day before the accident, she said she mailed off her CDs to her kickstarter supporters--all of the folks who helped make the album. And, she said it was an eerie feeling to think what if she hadn't made it through. The twisted journey reminded her of the friends that offered up their homes, supported her music, drove her everywhere, and sheltered her as she healed. Friends like William Wallace, singing by her side, who later left the stag

Jennifer Knapp sings at Strange Brew To see Jennifer Knapp perform was   was like meeting an old friend after years and years of writing, and finally hearing her letters read out loud. She was "there" for me through my college days some many years ago. On the 30 mile Katy Freeway drive to school, she and I sang our way in and out of obstacles. My maroon 77 Chevy Caprice, which friends affectionately called the "Mother Ship," debuted her songs just fine on the portable boombox loaded with D batteries. And, I'd listen to her songs in my 70's dated North Tower dorm. I'd complain when the radio just wouldn't play her songs enough. I, a young journalist at the time, was given the task of reviewing her Kansas album for  The Daily Cougar.  I earned just $8 for the gig, but was paid so much more than that when her album changed me forever. And, though she claimed she "aged," her voice hadn't aged a bit. And, I know because I

Inside the intimate Cactus Cafe den, the true impact of going all-in, in song and in love, was clearly limitless. Miranda Dawn and Chris Hawkes The rippled impact of surrender came together when Dawn and Hawkes performed not as two voices, but as one. The storytelling duo detailed their journey with humility and humor. Miranda Dawn said the first time she introduced herself as a songwriter was when she first met Chris Hawkes. And, in their first moments together, she also admitted to Hawkes that she was "a mess." Dawn figured he must not have been impressed, but then, the story turned a corner. Hawkes responded to her "mess" with a love song. And, their love story began. Miranda Dawn Inside their intimate song set, there were stories of love, celebrated mess, honest compromise, and hilarious uncertainty. Watching with poignant affection, there were die-hard fans and new fans packed knee to knee. And, it was easy to feel l

Once again, I watched The Resentments   do their thing this evening at The Saxon Pub. And, once again, I was blown away. Discovering the song  Trouble Find Me  was worth missing an evening of scripted presidential debates or that little thing called ACL happening down the street. The trouble song is layered with hidden characters chanting from deep places. It's so much more than a song with words and notes- -It's what's between those layers that's intoxicating. Jeff Plankenhorn Jeff Plankenhorn said he was grateful Sun Radio found the song lately; he introduced the song as if it was a part of him too. He admitted to being "grumpy," though he said, it was all just "first world problems." In their usual supportive humor, the band jeered back, "It might be too much coffee." Plankenhorn, holding up his venti iced latte said, "Maybe. But, no, I needed this tonight." The evening lured in more laughter, and just enou

Brian Pounds has the voice of a young, hip Austin James Taylor.  And, watching him perform, you get the feeling that he doesn't make the songs- -the songs make him.  He's just the door for the stories.  Brian Pounds at Gruene Hall opening for Bob Schneider He left college two semesters shy of graduation to surrender to music. Seeing him play live at the Saxon Pub, I can see why. It's just his thing- -music is his marrow. The gripping thing about watching him play is that he's so completely vulnerable. He takes the stage without ego. It's just him, his songs, his hat, and his guitar. He talks about waiting tables at the Olive Garden and the trials of trying to make it as a song writer. He talks about sending his work to a big deal Tennessee music dude just to be told it’s not what radio listeners want to hear, "It’s too long."  Yet, like a true artist, he laughs it off and turns anger into a song.  He sings "Missis

Patrice Pike - -she's sunshine.   With her white hat, smooth lyrics and bright light, she's happiness personified. She sings blues.  She sings sadness with want. She cuts lyrics like an expert chef chops. Her metaphors mash up stories within stories. Blonde hair.  Artists arm. Army camo pants. Badass hat. Bright smile. Wicked dance moves. She's contagiously charming. And, she had a voice married to the guitar's howl.  But, more than her range of apparent talent, was her joy for being there- -her dare to spread her wings and SOAR. She is shining. She's the message of own it, and by all means shine.  To me, she was that dare-to-know-your-worth and set it free for the world to know it too. Yep, Patrice Pike. Pretty perfect.

This man. He is soul. He is gospel guitar explosion.  Walking in, it was like when Willie hits the stage, or when The Resentments are in their groove. You are floored, and you realize you know nothing about music.  You know nothing. On that stage, when he sings, you realize what happens when talent bursts and gets its way. You get the feeling that there are no limits to that kind of miracle.  You just have to embrace it because its already embracing you with a firm grip. I think what a tragedy it would have been if he were behind a desk and hadn't followed through.  I saw him open for Sting in the 90s.  He was rockin' even then. He was this oh-my-God-do-you-see-what's-happening-in-front-of-you-explosion discovery. And, thank God that I can be here to see it because I sure can't explain it. And, to see him years later, I just had no words. I left the floor with my hand over my heart. It's centrifuge talent explosion.  Who is this man within a

Like layers of thick messy brushstrokes bracing the page, her inner voice thickening the layers in the story, Jessy Napier is an open book. Mostly ballads, she told stories about about writing and about life. Napier takes the stage at Strange Brew   She laughed a little and talked about being beaten up by life's yuck, and, she admitted, that sometimes she caused the yuck. She wrote the song Oregon during a heated Sunday her AC broke and the kids whined. She sang about rain coming down with soulful relatable tones. And, came a Hunger Games  song- -a song about love and games and things that break. With this inner spirit of a warrior woman wise and strong and pure, she wasn't rock-in-roll. She wasn't sell-out top 40. She wasn't campfire songwriter. She was: here I am, mess, beauty, and the triumph it can be- -to just be.

Bruce Hughes plays blues. He plays rock. He plays soulful love songs. His best songs were when the words were simple- -when both his songwriting and guitar talent were celebrated inside a sort of soulful soothing tango tones. And, it's obvious he's got a loyal following.  My friend Billy thinks Bruce is amazing too.                Billy sits in the front row--smiling. He's mouthing all of the words. He keeps saying, "I missed this… oh man! This is it!" Bruce Hughes at The Saxon Pub I've seen Hughes with  The Resentments  and more times than I can count with Bob. This was my first Hughes headlining show. I liked that he could play anything. I also liked his honesty. He clearly practiced and prepared for the show, but he didn't lean into a stage character when he played. It was all him honestly just playing for a few friends. Without a script, he laughed when the drummer didn't know what song was next. There was banter about planning

Coming on stage, one could see he didn't feel so hot. He said he was wrapping up a long illness, but it didn't wane Rob Townsend's Saxon Pub performance. The music had that thing in it. In every song there was something of a melody that made me want to stay longer. It's like when you try the chocolate-chocolate dessert and you know you are already stuffed, but you want to create a new stomach so you can just have more. It's that wonderful. On the keys, he seemed most at home. He said though, on that keyboard, he "ran out of keys," but it was hardly noticeable from the front row. A world-renowned music friend of mine defined him as a "musical genius," and it was easy to see that. I got the feeling I could give him oranges, shoelaces and peanuts, and he'd have a song. He reminded me of a younger Harry Connick Jr. in that music came with such ease, and the lyrics were so married to the music that I got lost inside of them, and

She reminds me of everyone woman I want to be. She's a rock. She's vulnerability. She's running toward a dream and winning. Her voice is a blues version of Joplin with a whirlwind demand to not look away. She is the unstoppable force. And, that force comes with confidence and don't-get-in-her-way might. In the songs, I travel and hear her journey. I hear of times when she was beat down. I hear when she cried. I hear when she fought back and said, "Nope, you're not stepping on me again. I am woman, hear me roar. . . I am THE woman, hear my roar." Snuggled inside the high and mighty rocking roar are lyrics of love, passion, fight and might. These lyrics dare you to look away because, honestly, you just can't. A look around the room, and you see a room packed with hungry dedicated passionate rock-n-roll veterans- -people that adore her so much that they talk about her, and they get there way before the show to prepare for the journey.

My expectations were high by the time I’d heard her second song.  She doesn't take short cuts.  She tells these stories with unapologetic  conviction, or perhaps, it’s the stories that she must tell in song because they found her too. In the midst of the words that pour out, there’s this deeper twang that grows- -to never surrender.  It's like she chants be the cowgirl. Never apologize. Shake off the dust, and keep on rocking.  Looking out across the audience drizzled in Austin humidity, I see crowds of dedicated fans not only shouting out requests please, but also shouting out words of admiration, affirmation and thank yous. They yell, "Good job!" and "We love you!" These fans truly adore Patty. One was bragging about how she’d seen Patty more than ten times, and every show was different; every show was special. It felt like the songs were crafted for just that evening, and it was as if we were all her guests too.  Nothing about t

One great evening at the Saxon Pub with James Hand and Dawn and Hawkes celebrated music that captured love, loss, humor and vulnerability. James Hand’s music at the Saxon Pub Saturday was a musical gospel range of love, devotion, humility and charm. Calling his audience friends over fans simmered righteous harmony. Members of the audience were clearly followers for decades of time.   And, still, he admitted to being a bit nervous in front of the seated and very focused crowd. He said he was not accustomed to the quiet stares. He said usually his songs accompanied dancing.   For a moment, he fidgeted a bit and asked the audience for song suggestions. His parakeet lyrics were funny as well as his other songs “written in the hallway” and songs he wrote when he was   “outside in the cold- -so cold that the gas wouldn’t light," and his lyrics were true to the heart as he wiped an eye after singing about the loss of a loved one and Old Man Henry . His rockstar red-flamed

Rain didn't stop the fun; Bill Murray, you're so cool (but, I already knew that). I am at Luck, Texas. I have been here all day as a volunteer. The rain didn't come until the middle of my shift when the fire marshal ordered everyone to duck and cover to our cars, to barns or to any place we could find. Some artists didn't leave. The show must go on- -literally. After all, they traveled miles to perform. They eventually performed in the barn, in set buildings, and in any warm and dry spot available. And, they had a stubborn audience- -willing to trot through mud-caked gravel to embrace soggy stages. The rains brought more mud-caked shoes, shivers and slip-sliding trails. The die hard fans stayed under shelter where they could find it, many walked to their cars and waited for the return signal. Some volunteers stayed at their posts. I had trouble leaving my post. I had the best spot. I got to move the barrier fences and greet entering artists, and later, I