This post contains my complete running coverage of this annual conference and festival ...
© Tulsa World Tulsa band Fanzine gets a chance to shine at SXSW showcase By Thomas Conner 03/19/2000 AUSTIN, Texas — The sound man at Opal Divine's Firehouse was filling the pre-show dead time with his own selection of classic-rock greatest hits: a couple of cuts from the Eagles' "Long Run" album, a smattering of Zeppelin, a lot of Journey. A few minutes before showtime, he played Cheap Trick's live cover of "Ain't That a Shame," and Fanzine drummer Don Jameson started air-drumming. "Oh, yes!" he said, tapping into the song's lengthy introductory groove. "This is what it's about, right here. It's not, 'Won't you step back from that ledge, my friend' " — making a face, making fun of the Third Eye Blind hit "Jumper" — "It's about the shaking of the booty. It's about being larger than life . . . There isn't an arena big enough to hold us." This weekend it wasn't arenas, just a small club patio on the edge of Austin's hottest nightclub scene and in the middle of its yearly music-industry lottery. On Wednesday night, Jameson and his Tulsa-based rock band, Fanzine, kicked off the South by Southwest music festival, an annual congregation of music-business talent scouts and international media all searching for the Next Big Thing. Nearly 1,000 bands — a record — from around the world were scheduled to play hourlong sets in clubs throughout Austin this weekend, and Fanzine had the daunting task of playing in the first showcase slot on the first night of the festival. In just a few hours, and certainly over the four days of the festival, these four players would learn what, indeed, it was all about. It's all about the gig South by Southwest is basically a live-music mall. "Buyers" from record labels, management companies and music magazines stroll up and down Austin's nightclub-lined Sixth Street and shop for the hottest new fashions in pop music. So when your band is fortunate enough to land a showcase here, you want everything to be perfect. For Fanzine, it very nearly was. "How lucky are we to be playing right before the Mayflies?" Jameson asked when the band finished sound check. The Mayflies, an up-and-coming pop band from Chapel Hill, N.C., were listed by many SXSW forecasters as one of the most interesting acts to see this year. They would thus be drawing a crowd of scouts and record company reps, and many of them would come early — and hear Fanzine. "We're blessed tonight. This feels good," Fanzine singer Adam said before the show. The band arrived in Austin on Tuesday and immediately went to work with staple guns and smiles, tacking up posters advertising the Wednesday night gig and thrusting handbills into the palms of any passers-by. "We came all this way, I just want someone to see us," Jameson said. "Tonight's all about being seen — eyes on us." And, of course, ears. It's not about the gig Still, Jameson and the other Fanzine players weren't expecting miracles. Their set coincided with the Austin Music Awards — a ceremony honoring the best of local talent, much like Tulsa's Spotniks — the big event of Wednesday night. The band's 24 hours in town wasn't a lot of time to spread the word about its showcase. Most music reps and media don't arrive until late Wednesday or Thursday, anyway. "I really expect very little tonight," Jameson said. "It's the first night, and this club's off the beaten path, but this sure is great to put (in the press kit). It means we've been chosen among some kind of selected upper crust." The World Wide Web was certainly an aid in advance promotion. Word of the showcase spread quickly on, oddly enough, Web sites and newsgroups for fans of the Toadies. Plus, Tulsa radio music directors e-mailed their record company contacts en masse, advising them of the Fanzine show. One of them, KMYZ 104.5-FM music director Ray Seggern, attended Wednesday's show. Seggern is an Austin native, having worked with the city's popular modern rock station for several years. He knows people, and he dragged as many as he could with him to see the Tulsa band. But even Seggern was realistic. "It's not about the gig," he said. "The gig is the least important part. (What's important) is the networking, the experience, the mindset. Just being here and wearing a badge is important." Case in point: Hanson. The young Tulsa trio spent several days at SXSW early in the '90s. Too young to even play in the local bars, they strolled the streets and softball-park bleachers, singing for anyone who would listen. An astute music manager did, and the rest is history. It's about support For Fanzine's show, though, Opal Divine's was packed. Most importantly, the crowd stayed and stared. Many SXSW showcase audiences often are indifferent groups of jaded music-industry mavens concentrating on wheeling and dealing with other industry folk rather than listening to the bands. Fanzine's crowd, though, stopped, looked and listened. The band was on point, too. Tighter than they've been in many months — and fueled by more adreneline, no doubt — they tore through 40 minutes of their groove-stuffed, flashy and unrelenting rock 'n' roll. Adam threw off his bright orange jacket ("You like me mack?") by the third song and was soon shaking his tambourine all over the club's outdoor wooden deck and dancing with Beatle Bob, an eccentric music-industry analyst who came to the show and danced his trademark swingin' dance. Many in Wednesday night's crowd were Tulsans, checking out their hometown band on Austin's turf. Tim Kassen, a Williams Company agent who also books bands for Tulsa's Bourbon Street Cafe on 15th Street, was in town and said he made a beeline to Fanzine's show. "Nobody performs like Adam, with all that energy," he said. "Heck, if I had the money, I'd sign them." Also looking on were T.J. Green and Angie Devore, the husband-and-wife team at the helm of new Tulsa band Ultrafix. They weren't scheduled to play in Austin this weekend; they came down just to attend the conference and meet music-business folks and other musicians. They had planned to arrive in Austin on Thursday but came a day early to be present for the Fanzine show. "It's all about support, man," Green said. By George, we got us a rock show By Thomas Conner 03/19/2000 AUSTIN, Texas — When South by Southwest occurs each March, the Texas capital is literally overrun by music businesspeople and musicians. How invasive is the conference? Just ask presidential hopeful George W. Bush. When the Texas governor realized he was going to sweep Tuesday's second big round of Republican presidential primaries, his campaign staff decided to book a local ballroom to host the celebration and inevitable victory speech. But they couldn't find one. Every ballroom, theater and public venue in town was booked up with SXSW events. Bush and his supporters wound up in far northwest Austin, patting themselves on the back in a gymnasium at the Dell Jewish Community Campus. Talk about rocking the vote. Rangers in command Storms raked the Texas hill country late Thursday afternoon. The Ray Price show in the park surely was doomed, so we headed for indoor shelter. The fact that it had tortillas, margaritas and the Red Dirt Rangers made it downright heaven. The Oklahoma roots-music band played the first of its five SXSW-week gigs ("Six," Ranger John Cooper said later — "We actually got one that pays!") at Jovita's, an authentic Mexican restaurant south of downtown Austin. And I mean authentic. The walls were arrayed with rich, colorful murals, mostly depicting masked rebels in olive drab, including a giant portrait of Che Guevera. The tables were so sticky we had to paper them over with copies from a stack of someone's Spanish-English poem entitled "Crossroads." Our waitress had two breathtaking parrots tattooed on her shoulder blades. As the storm pelted Jovita's corrugated skylight, the Rangers blasted through their typically invigorating set of Okie rock 'n' soul, opening the show with two Woody Guthrie covers, "Rangers' Command" (the title track to the Rangers' latest CD, recorded in Austin) and "California Stars" (one of the Woody lyrics put to music by Billy Bragg and Wilco) — a nod to Woody's younger sister, Mary Jo Edgmon, sitting in the audience. Also watching the Rangers was fellow Stillwater native, now Austin-based songwriter Jimmy Lafave. The Rangers also played his song "Red Dirt Roads," rocking it more than Lafave probably ever envisioned and using it as a sparring match between electric guitarist Ben Han and new steel guitarist Roger Ray, also of Stillwater's Jason Boland and the Stranglers. Whoops and yelps all around. This ... is Wanda Conversation overheard on the sidewalk outside the Continental Club, Thursday night in the freezing cold, waiting in vain to get inside and hear Oklahoma City rockabilly queen Wanda Jackson: She: "We'll never get in." He: "They're full? At eight o'clock? Who is this woman?" She: "I don't know. She looks like Loretta Lynn." He: "Loretta Lynn never had a stand-up bass player like that." She: "Can you see her hair?" He: "That's all I can see. I could be back at the hotel and still see that hair." She: "It's not that big." He: "What?" She: "Nothing. I was wrong." Talking 'bout Tulsa Tulsans protested the derogatory mention of the city in a recent Best Western ad campaign, but our hometown creeps into the world's consciousness in strange and mysterious ways. Take, for example, a song by Astrid, a spunky and tuneful guitar band from Scotland. Near the end of the band's hard-hitting showcase, they played a song called "Cybersex," which the singer was good enough to point out "is about cybersex." The refrain, from the point of view of the narrative's libidinous web surfer: "It's 3 p.m. in Idlewild / Kansas, Tulsa, Arkansas." Minty sweet Norman band Starlight Mints were lucky enough to land a SXSW showcase this year, but it was nearly ruined by equipment problems that delayed them 20 minutes — nearly half of their allotted playing time. (And SXSW showcases begin and end on time, or else.) Still, the embryonic rock band impressed a capacity crowd at the intimate Copper Tank North club with its herky-jerky melodies and noises. My notes include this absurd but revealing description of the band's music: "Gordon Gano (Violent Femmes) singing, Thurston Moore (Sonic Youth) on guitar, chick from the Rentals (Maya Rudolph) on keys, all aboard a carousel at Wayne Coyne's (Flaming Lips) fun park." For the record While SXSW takes over Austin with live music, another of the country's biggest musical events occurs here at the same time. This one involves recorded music: the annual Austin Record Convention, the largest new-and-used record sale in the country. Hundreds of record dealers from all over the country huddle over tables in the Palmer Municipal Auditorium and hawk more than a million CDs, LPs, 45s and even 78s. With the world's music business leaders in town, these dealers have to face a particular and knowledgeable clientele. "This is the reissue, though. See, it's dated '92. You don't have the '84 original with the six extra versions?" That's pretty standard discussion fare at the convention. One dealer from Minnesota boasted a pristine, still-wrapped copy of former Tulsan Leon Russell's "The Wedding Album." Asking price: $100. A C-note? Has he heard it? "No, but my books tell me that's a steal." A rose by any other name ... Part of the fun of perusing the SXSW schedule is the humor and daring of some of the band names. The chucklers on this year's list: Alabama Thunder Pussy, ... And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead, Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash, Betty Blowtorch, Camaro Hair, Del the Funky Homosapien, the Dino Martinis, Fatal Flying Guilloteens, I Am the World Trade Center, Man Scouts of America, Maximum Coherence During Flying, the Psychedelic Kinky Fellows, Roar! Lion, Sci-Fi Uterus and the Tremolo Beer Gut. Food for the soul If you want music media to come see your band, set up a free buffet. A table of sumptuous Texas barbecue and an absence of cash registers filled La Zona Rosa with SXSW registrants Thursday afternoon to see the Nixons open for Texas guitar hero Ian Moore. Greasy hands clapped for the Nixons' timeless (as in, stuck in 1993) grunge rock. The band sported a new record label (the showcase sponsor, Koch Records), new songs ("P.O.V." and the wildly cheery "Blackout") and, well, a new band. Singer Zac Malloy is the only original Norman-native member left, having jettisoned the rest of the crew for a new batch of Dallas-based throw-backs. The Nixons started in Norman as a cover band, scored a modern rock hit early in the '90s with "Sister" and now are based in Dallas. A new album is due April 11. 'What about the amps?' Austin is full of colorful, sometimes downright eccentric, characters, so when we noticed the guy talking to himself on Fourth Street, it was no big shock. He stood in the hot afternoon sun, pacing in circles, gesturing wildly and talking, talking, talking — by himself. "What about the amps?" he kept asking. "Where are the amps?" We skirted him just off the curb, thinking to ourselves, "So young, and already so nuts." Then we noticed it. The earpiece, the hidden microphone — a hands-free cell phone. SXSW snapshots: The high, mighty and downright loony go wild in Austin By Thomas Conner 03/22/2000 AUSTIN, Texas — More than 30 years after his death, musicians — and, indeed, Americans — are just now figuring out what Woody Guthrie was about. Greg Johnson, owner of Oklahoma City's revered Blue Door nightclub, summed it up ably during a South by Southwest panel discussion entitled "Made for You and Me: Woody Guthrie's Dust Bowl Legacy." "Woody was about freedom and community," Johnson said. "He was about propping people up. Bruce Springsteen used to say it this way: 'Woody was about the next guy in line.' " Veteran music journalist Dave Marsh led the panel, which also included Austin-based songwriters Jimmy Lafave and Michael Fracasso. The star of the panel, though, was Guthrie's youngest sister, Mary Jo Edgmon, who regaled the crowd with homespun tales of her proud father, her misunderstood mother and her iconic older brother. "I was reared on music all the way up to here," Edgmon said, pointing over her head. "Woody taught me chords on the guitar. I got really good at that C chord, I guess it was." Edgmon spoke proudly of the "1,000 percent turnaround" in America's perception of Woody, particularly in his Green Country hometown of Okemah. She said she's thrilled to see the misunderstandings about Woody's political and spiritual beliefs clearing up. "I want the world to understand that the Guthrie family was not trash, that Woody was as good a man as there is," she said. Lafave and Fracasso both punctuated the panel session with performances. Fracasso sang Guthrie's "1913 Massacre" and one of his own songs directly inspired by Woody's songwriting (Fracasso's chorus: "From the mountains to the valleys / from the prairies to the sea / If you ain't got love, you ain't got a nickel"). Lafave sang a song about Woody called "Woody's Road," written by acclaimed Oklahoma songwriter Bob Childers, and then closed the afternoon event with a rendition of Guthrie's "Oklahoma Hills," joined by members of the Red Dirt Rangers and Edgmon herself. Paint the town Redd Austin's Top of the Marc is a clean, classy place — not your usual SXSW mosh pit. The clientele shows the proper amount of cuff, and the bar has drambuie. Festival organizers couldn't just stick another all-girl Japanese punk band in here. They needed class. So they called upon Charlie Redd and his boys. Decked out and dynamic, the Full Flava Kings brought Redd back home in style. "Bring it on home, y'all!" Redd would shout in a song's closing jam, though it was unclear which home he was referring to — his native Austin or his new Tulsa HQ. Either way, his Austin friends and fans saw a new Redd on Saturday night: more groovy, more gravy and drizzling a more honeyed baritone over the band's dense rhythm-and-funk. In addition to charter Kings Dave Kelly on guitar, Brian Lee on keyboards and Stanley Fary beating the drums mercilessly, the Full Flava Kings debuted new guitarist and veteran Tulsa funkmeister Travis Fite (Phat Thumb) to the Austin crowd. Their response? Ask the female stranger who tried to start The Bump with me during the show. Here come the brides Tyson Meade, the colorful leader of the Norman-reared Chainsaw Kittens, used to wear dresses on stage as a rule. After his Friday night SXSW showcase, he took the fixation to a bold new level by getting married to another man in full white-gown fabulousness. Before the next band (the bizarro but like-minded Frogs) took the tent stage outside the Gallery Lombardi Lounge, Meade reappeared in a wedding processional that parted the crowd. The wedding party included several maids, matrons and misters of honor in various degrees of Mardi Gras-esque garb, all of whom surrounded the officiating Hindu priest for the brief ceremony. In a flurry of toasts and funny-but-heartfelt vows, Meade and Skip Handleman Werner — who was always preceded by the mysterious title "international pop star" — were pronounced unlawfully married. They smooched, and the wedding party bunny-hopped from the venue as "Y.M.C.A." blared. Reports of this high camp should not overshadow news of the Kittens' triumphant return. Still without a record deal after the sad demise of the Smashing Pumpkins' Scratchie Records, the Kittens blasted back into action Friday night with an explosive set of old and new glam-punk songs. Meade, juiced by pre-wedding jitters, took the stage in a royal blue feathery jacket and furiously belted and screamed his way through the serrated set of Kitty classics reaching all the way back to the band's debut album, "Violent Religion." I can't chaaange Billy Joe Winghead's lead singer, John Manson, took out his personal angst about Meade's marriage (he was distraught over not getting to, um, kiss the bride) through BJW's two sets of roadhouse rock. The OKC-Tulsa band blew into Austin late Saturday and played back-to-back shows at the Hole in the Wall, a University of Texas hangout, and Cheapo Discs. Shoppers at the latter venue were typically unfazed by the blaring band over in the corner — until they played "Free Bird." A cliche request that normally turns off young rock audiences always turns heads when its coming from the five-piece Billy Joe Winghead. Tulsa bassist Steve Jones sings over the guitar grind while Manson waves out the melody on his green theremin. Amid the band's repertoire of songs about rest-stop sex, doomed B-filmstars and car salesman lingo, "Free Bird" is practically the crown jewel and always a crowd pleaser. Hit me with your best shot Readers of the Austin Chronicle voted David Garza the city's second-best musician of the '90s. (Ask a blues fan who was first.) It's not simply because he writes well-rounded pop songs and executes them gracefully on record with his band; it's that he really doesn't need his band at all. On the Waterloo Park stage late Saturday afternoon, Garza held his own with only his pretty red Gibson guitar to keep him company. Songs that on record seem pieced together by clever arrangements of drum machines, acoustic guitar and Garza's versatile voice — like "Discoball World" -- evened out in frenetic and energetic solo jams. Near the end, he took requests, cheerfully tearing his fingernails off by barreling through "Take Another Shot." Thank you, sir, may I have another? The good, the bad, and the ugly Rumor of the week: That Neil Young was the mysterious "special guest" billed immediately before Steve Earle's Friday night set at Stubb's. Young was in Austin for South by Southwest, but not the music part. His latest concert film, "Silver and Gold," was premiering. The special guest was Whiskeytown singer Ryan Adams. Patron saint of the festival: Doug Sahm. The drive-train for the Sir Douglas Quartet may be dead but he hasn't left Austin. From two star-studded tributes to him — one at Wednesday night's Austin Music Awards (featuring Shawn and Shandon Sahm), another Friday at the legendary Antone's blues club (featuring former bandmate Augie Meyers and, straight from the where-is-he-now bins, Joe "King" Carassco) -- to posters in Mexican restaurants advertising prints of his portrait for sale, Sahm has edged out Townes Van Zandt as the bandwagon who bought the farm. Best TV footage no one could use: Steve Earle's Thursday morning keynote address. Earle delivered his words of wisdom wearing a T-shirt that read, "I'm from f—-ing outer space." Comeback of the week: Former Byrds icon Roger McGuinn, whose Friday night performance brought overplayed standards back down to earth with grace and style. Best T-shirt: "My lawyer can kick your lawyer's ass." Most shameless self-promotion: Dallas rap-rockers Pimpadelic not only drove around downtown blocks in its giant tour bus with the band's name emblazoned along the sides, the band also spent its free time walking around Austin with dancers it hired from the Yellow Rose strip club, all of whom, of course, sported tightly cropped T-shirts bearing the band's name. Watch for the band's debut on Tommy Boy Records. Most prominent foreign country: The Netherlands, buoyed by waning interest in the annual Japan Night and extensive lobbying by the Dutch Rock and Pop Institute. Best non-SXSW show: Austin's ear-splitting Hotwheels Jr. on Friday afternoon in a tiny CD shop way out in north Austin. They spell it r-a-w-k. Favorite new discovery: Scotland's newest guitar pop band Astrid, with a debut album, "Strange Weather Lately," out now on Fantastic Plastic Records. Best diversion on the way to another gig: The strolling horn band Crawdaddy-O, which braved the frigid cold Thursday night livening people's steps with funky Dixieland jams, including — at Adam of Fanzine's request — some sizzling James Brown. BY THOMAS CONNER
© Tulsa World Twenty years ago, "Star Wars" creator George Lucas would not have returned a phone call from a guy called "Weird Al" Yankovic. Packages bearing such a moniker likely would have been routed to Skywalker Ranch security. Today, though, everyone knows "Weird Al." He's famous. And infamous. "I've skewered enough famous people that they kind of know who I am now. Sometimes that helps, sometimes not," Yankovic said in a conversation this week. "At least now I get phone calls returned." Even with George Lucas, though, Yankovic was nervous. Just because he's sold more comedy albums than anyone else didn't mean Lucas would sign over permission to skewer the context of "The Phantom Menace," which Yankovic does in the first track on his latest album, "Running With Scissors." The song, "The Saga Begins," recounts the tale of young Anakin Skywalker to the tune of Don McLean's "American Pie" ("So my, my, this poor Anakin guy / may be Vader someday later / now he's just a small fry"). Yankovic recorded the song, set a release date for the album and booked the tour. Then he sent Lucas a tape of the song. Fortunately, Lucas loved it. Song parodies are Yankovic's stock in trade, and over the last two decades his witty gag covers have established the largest and longest career for a musical humorist. From his first parody — turning the Knack's "My Sharona" into "My Bologna" — to his latest transubtatiation — turning the Offspring's "Pretty Fly for a White Guy" into "Pretty Fly for a Rabbi" — you haven't really made it big until "Weird Al" makes fun of you. "I've never made fun of the actual performers, though — I mean, nothing mean-spirited," Yankovic said. "It's all in fun, and most of the artists are very positive about it. It's not about them, really." Sometimes the fans of the artist being parodied don't think so, though. "Well, there's one letter in a hundred from someone who completely misses the point. They say, 'How can you make fun of Michael Jackson or Nirvana?' But they're the ones who gave me permission to do it, and they think it's very funny," Yankovic said. "Weird Al's" passion for parody began when, growing up in California, he discovered "The Dr. Demento Show," a popular weekly show of humorous music that just celebrated its 30th year on the air. Tuning in each week, Yankovic heard the musical wits of Spike Jones, Tom Lehrer, Stan Freberg and Allan Sherman. He was hooked. "Comedy and music were the two driving forces in my life," he said. "To have them together, I thought, would, well, save a lot of time." Yankovic saw Dr. Demento as a "kindred spirit," and when he was 13, Dr. Demento spoke at his school. He was conducting a song contest at the time, and Yankovic gave him a tape of his recordings he'd begun at home with friends. "I didn't win — the stuff was awful — but it was the first thing I gave him, and I decided to keep sending him tapes. I got better over the years, and pretty soon we kind of had a relationship, and he played my songs," Yankovic said. The first "Weird Al" song Dr. Demento played on his show was "Belvedere Cruising," a pop song about the family Plymouth. It was driven by Yankovic's trademark accordion, and it received great feedback from listeners. The song that set him up, though, was "My Bologna" in 1979. Not only did listeners love it, the Knack themselves enjoyed it and persuaded their record company, Capitol Records, to release the song as a single. After that, all chart-toppers were targets. Queen's "Another One Bites the Dust" became Yankovic's "Another One Rides the Bus." Joan Jett's "I Love Rock 'n' Roll" became Yankovic's "I Love Rocky Road." Toni Basil's "Mickey" became "Ricky," satirizing both the hit song and the TV show "I Love Lucy." It was the latter song that ensured Yankovic's immense stardom. The humor of the song could now, in 1983, be amplified with visuals via the fledgling MTV music video network. Yankovic's relationship with MTV would become his main source of success — and excess. "We've had a symbiotic relationship," Yankovic said. "It's often difficult for me to get into radio playlists, but MTV loves to put my videos into rotation, so people have always known that I've had a new album out. Plus, you get more dimensions to the humor. Background gags and sight gags allow you to flesh out the humor a lot." Since then, Yankovic has resurfaced just in time to remind us that pop stars are not gods and can be taken down a peg or two. He's been rewarded for his efforts, too, winning Grammy awards for his note-for-note (and, in the videos, scene-for-scene) versions of Michael Jackson hits -- "Eat It" (Jackson's "Beat It") and "I'm Fat" (Jackson's "Bad"). "I've been lucky, but I think what I do is important on some level. We need satire in the culture to keep balanced and keep things in perspective." "Weird Al" Yankovic performs 8 p.m. Thursday at the Brady Theater, 105 W. Brady St. Tickets are $28 at the Brady box office and all Dillard outlets. Call 747-0001. Tulsans remember Al, filming of `UHF' Tulsans know "Weird Al" Yankovic a bit better than most Americans because, as his career took off, Yankovic wound up here filming his first — and, so far, only — feature film, "UHF." In 1988, Yankovic shot the bulk of the film in the then-vacant Kensington Mall on 71st Street (now the Southern Hills Marriott hotel). The film — about a TV station owner who tries to keep his UHF channel alive by programming very off-beat shows — co-starred quirky "Saturday Night Live" alum Victoria Jackson and was the film debut of future "Seinfeld" star Michael Richards. "We got a really good deal on the use of an empty mall there, so we were able to rent it and set up nearly all of our soundstages there," Yankovic said. "Almost all of the interior shots were filmed there, plus we did some exterior things around town." Other locations used throughout Tulsa included the former Joey's Home of the Blues club, where fans of the fictional station protested, and Woodward Park, where Yankovic was made up as Rambo for a slapstick fight, complete with bulging, latex muscles. The First Christian Church downtown was used as a city hall building. Tulsa songwriter Jerry Hawkins ("I'd Be in Heaven in a Truck") was one of the many local extras hired for several scenes in "UHF." He remembers some of the goofy fun on the sets. "They had the `Wheel of Fish,' a parody on the `Wheel of Fortune' (game show)," Hawkins said. "As the show host would ask the contestants, 'OK, now, which do you prefer — the box on the table containing some terrific prize or the fish on the spinning board on the wall?' We, as extras in the audience, would yell out ... 'The fish! The fish!' It was a blast." Hawkins also recalled the "incredible amounts of attention" Yankovic got around town, "and all without saying much at all and without doing much." "He was one funny dude," Hawkins said, and "definitely 'weird.' " Yankovic said he's been too busy with the current tour to think about making another film, but he enjoyed his Tulsa experience. "I loved it there," he said. "We spent the whole summer, despite that insane heat." BY THOMAS CONNER
© Tulsa World Back-to-back Grammy award-winner Roberta Flack was on the phone with us a few hours before the annual Grammys ceremony last month. She wasn't attending — the call came from her home in Barbados — and she wasn't even sure she would watch the show. "I'm not sure I can get it down here," Flack said, "and I couldn't sit down that long even when I was going to those shows." Grammys may be old hat for Flack; however, even when she doesn't attend, her presence often still permeates the glittering music halls. This year, for instance, the golden child of the evening was hip-hop artist Lauryn Hill -- once leader of the Fugees, a band that just two years ago launched its formidable career by covering one of Flack's signature early '70s hits, "Killing Me Softly With His Song." Flack herself has a unique place in Grammy history. In 1972, she took home trophies for Record of the Year and Song of the Year for her recording of Ewan MacColl's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face." She also shared a trophy for Best Pop Vocal Performance by a Group that year with Donny Hathaway for the duet "Where Is the Love." That alone was a nice haul, but the very next year Flack returned to collect three more statuettes for "Killing Me Softly" — an unheard-of one-two punch. Then what happened? Well, therein lies the rub, as well as what makes a musical artist distinct. The pop scene changed — the fans' love of story songs in the early '70s gave way to mindless disco beats — and Flack refused to blow with the prevailing winds. She remains an unmistakable talent at this point in her three-decade career precisely because she didn't try to become a disco queen (a la Patti Labelle) or a private dancer (a la Tina Turner). Flack was, is and forever will be a balladeer. That's not to say she hasn't dabbled. Her last album, 1995's "Roberta," opened with a kind of rap, and she's tinkered with jazz singing, but Flack endures as a vocalist who lures the simple, shining joy out of a ballad, from those first two smash hits to her chart-topping duet with Peabo Bryson, "Tonight I Celebrate My Love." She sings songs that tell tales — timeless ones. "I got started at the time people were really into songs that told stories," Flack said in our conversation. "That was a really good time, the early '70s. Even rock 'n' roll artists, country and R&B artists — and this is when those divisions were really clear — they were all trying to do music that told stories. It wasn't necessarily a once-upon-a-time story, but something people could connect to, some personal experience they'd been through. The exciting part about being a musician is recognizing that when you're on stage, when someone connects with what you're singing about, and you just watch them change. "But everything has its season, and things changed. Except me. The disco thing was next, and I'm not stupid enough to hang in with that. I'm perfectly satisfied to sing a beautiful ballad." The process of choosing ballads sometimes is subject to whim or instinct. Flack said she looks for ineffable concepts like "gorgeousness, effect, meaning" in a song before she tackles it, with an emphasis on that last one: meaning. "I have to think that somebody other than me is going to understand it," she said. "I don't want to sing and entertain myself, or provide just therapy for myself. I want to be sharing my feelings. I make sure I'm picking a song that speaks to experiences and attitudes and moments in all of our lives." Still, the meaning Flack may find in a song can be, well, unique. "Killing Me Softly" is a lyric written about the songs of Don McLean (telescope that notion through the Fugees' version and see what you get!), but Flack said she sung it because it reminded her of someone close. Plus, the face she had in mind when recording "The First Time" in 1969 was small and, well, furry. "At the moment I recorded that, I was singing to a little cat," Flack said. "It sounds cornball, but it's true. I'd never had a cat before, and my manager had just given me one. I named it Sancho. About the time I got him was when I got the chance to go to New York and record demos for that first album ... In those two days, I recorded between 35 and 40 songs live. (Not long after) I got back, Sancho died. Then, three or four weeks later, when I recorded the album, I was thinking about little Sancho, that cute little funny-looking, scrawny cat." In concert, Flack said she tries to gauge the temperament of her audience and chooses songs to fit that perceived mood. Set lists vary from night to night when she's on the road (the Tulsa shows are special engagements). She's been known to nix "The First Time" in favor of, say, John Lennon's "Imagine," because "the young kids today" might identify with Lennon more readily than her own signature work. Those same young kids are still driving record sales, and Flack's perceived distance from them is why she thinks she's without a record deal at the moment. Not that it troubles her greatly — she's looking, but she's got time and options, she said — but she recognizes that she's not alone. "A lot of us don't have deals now — those of us who sing those story songs well. There's just not a place for us in the scheme of things. "We're not doing hip-hop, and if you're not doing what sells," Flack said, "you're not going to be doing." ROBERTA FLACK With the Tulsa Philharmonic When 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday Where Tulsa Performing Arts Center, Third Street and Cincinnati Ave. Tickets $14-$58; PAC, 596-7111 and Carson Attractions, 584-2000 By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World The band's debut, 1996's "Great Divide," slipped under the radar of most music fans despite its shimmering beauty and sparkling guitars. But when Semisonic tweaked their recording approach and turned in a song that resonated with a wide audience of nightclubbers, the follow-up record, "Feeling Strangely Fine," inched toward platinum sales. The clincher, "Closing Time," was catchy enough to ensnare even the modern rock fans who didn't immediately empathize with singer-guitarist Dan Wilson's tale of precarious decision-making in a bar at 2 a.m., just before everyone is turned out to the sidewalk sale. Some bars now play the song at closing time as a cool nod to their customers. With that hit and the latest, the plucky "Singing in My Sleep," on the resume, Wilson and his bandmates — John Munson and Jacob Slichter — are now open for business, and this month they venture out on another arm of a lengthy tour, bringing them through Tulsa and points south. We caught up with Wilson in a Santa Monica, Calif., studio — tore him away, actually — to talk about Semisonic's success, the makings of a good "bedroom album" and the latest generation of crack rock bands coming out of Minneapolis. Thomas Conner: You sound exasperated. Is this a bad time? Dan Wilson: Oh, I'm just in the studio working on a song, and it's very hard to drag myself out right now. We've been on tour so long; it's so hard to find time to do this. Conner: What's the song like that you're working on? Wilson: It's upbeat, hard to describe. It's kind of got a Lindsey Buckingham thing to it. I've been hearing a lot of music lately, watching him play the guitar with his fingers blazing. I'm trying to cop that. Conner: Is this a break in the tour for you? Wilson: It's kind of a multi-purpose trip to L.A. before we go to Las Vegas to be on "The Penn and Teller Show." The last thing I saw on that show was a man putting this lighted wire down his nose and throat. It was all very grotesque. Hopefully they won't ask us to do that. Conner: This next leg of the tour brings you down south, which I think you've missed thus far, right? Wilson: Yeah, we're trying to hit some of the places we didn't get to last year. We kept missing Texas, and we've never been to Louisiana. We sort of saw the spring shaping up where we could play some of these places. I value that in a band — getting out there and playing the long shows and giving the fans as much as we can. I have a wife and daughter who I miss very much when we're on the road, but there's something about that contact with the fans that's really important. It lets you know if you're dealing out the real stuff. Conner: You once said that you wanted "Feeling Strangely Fine" to be a "bedroom record." What's that? Wilson: Well, not in the sense of turning it on and having sex with someone. It's one that you put on with headphones in a dark room when the rest of the family is asleep and listen to the whole CD. I dreamed that that's how people would use this record. I wanted it to be something really intimate and inside your head. Conner: So how do you go about crafting a bedroom record? Wilson: I wanted to make sure the lyrics were really apparent. On our last album, "Great Divide," we buried the vocals in this swirl of guitar tones and intricate samples. I was disappointed when the reviews came back — and I take what they say pretty seriously — saying that the melodies were great but the lyrics were meaningless fluff. Fact is, I think I try to be as honest as I can in my lyrics, and those (on "Great Divide") are some of my best. So I wanted this record to have a really intimate vocal sound up front. Conner: I would venture to guess that approach helped streamline the arrangements, yes? Wilson: Yeah. It put us in the situation of saying, "If there's no room for the vocals, then take out 11 of the guitar samples." It's looser sounding. It feels more like three guys having an interesting, passionate, intense time in the studio. Conner: What are some of your favorite bedroom albums? Wilson: "OK Computer" by Radiohead is a great one. "Hejira" by Joni Mitchell. Liz Phair's "Exile in Guyville." Tricky's first album ("Maxinquaye"), though I don't like the whole thing. John Coltrane's ballads album. I was the family member who never came up for air. I was always in front of the stereo listening through the headphones, and none of my family members could get my attention. Conner: I once heard "Feeling Strangely Fine" compared to R.E.M.'s "Murmur." It started to make some sense when I thought about it, mainly because of that intimate feel. Make sense? Wilson: That mysteriousness is probably — hopefully -- there in our record. "Automatic for the People" is my favorite R.E.M. record, and I was probably trying more to emulate that kind of directness, space and emptiness for the bedroom vibe. It just can't be a constant onslaught of fun, you know? Conner: "Murmur" hit the atmosphere about the same time some of modern rock's seminal bands were coming out of your hometown, Minneapolis. Were you caught up in the legendary Minneapolis scene? Wilson: My idols were the Replacements and Husker Du, plus Prince, Soul Asylum, Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis as producers. It was great — Minneapolis was one of the few towns in America where, for about 10 years, all of your teen idols were from your hometown. A lot of people in Minneapolis grew accustomed to having their entertainment needs fulfilled by local musicians. Conner: An enviable position, for sure. What's it like up there now? Wilson: Honestly, I think this will be a great year for Minneapolis music. There's a new album by the Hangups I think is incredible — a lot of early R.E.M. and Badfinger and Small Faces in this really weird but personal retro-sounding album. There's a provocative band called the 12 Rods that make some really weird sounds. My brother Matt came out with an album last year that I think was criminally underpublicized (Matt Wilson's "Burnt White and Blue"). And, of course, I think we've added a lot to the scene, too. Conner: How so? What's the legacy there in Minneapolis? Wilson: Anything we aspire to ends in this butt-shaking groove. SEMISONIC WITH REMY ZERO When: 7 p.m. Wednesday Where: Cain's Ballroom, 423 N. Main St. Tickets: $13 at The Ticket Office at Expo Square, Mohawk Music, Starship Records and Tapes and the Mark-It Shirt Shop in Promenade Mall BY THOMAS CONNER
© Tulsa World I felt daring. I thought it would be a bold experiment. I figured that as a music journalist at the second hometown Hanson concert it was my duty to have the raw experience -- to hear the full and frenzied screaming of the crowd. So I took out my earplugs. Just for a second. Ow. Big mistake. Hanson is hardly old hat for Tulsans. Thursday night's sold-out concert of more than 8,000 breathless, hysterical fans filled the Mabee Center — often host to more serene worship services — with as much (if not more) yelping, gasping and general high-decibel swooning than the first Tulsa concert on July 8. The trio may sing "Where's the Love?" to its other teeming bunches across the continent, but the question is moot in front of the fawning hometown crowd. Those valued earplugs, though, are designed to screen out the noise and let in the music. No, wiseguy, those aren't one in the same. Even though the last thing on most young girls' minds is the music, the Hanson moptops churn out plenty of good and grooving sound. Whatever your opinion of the boys' bubblegum bop and girlish locks, no one can watch a Hanson concert without reaching the conclusion that these kids are really in it for the music. The frothing girls are a bonus by-product for now, the serenade is their greatest thrill. Ours, too. When the excitement of actually seeing the boys in the flesh boils down by midshow, everyone realizes what solid music they're hearing. The Hanson brothers were raised on classic R&B — much of which they cover throughout the show with respect if not always fire — and their performances are saturated in soul. Taylor's deepening voice allows him to pull off a fair Steve Winwood impression in the Spencer Davis Group's "Gimme Some Lovin' " though these young rascals miss the spark of the Young Rascals' "Good Lovin.' " They encored with a righteous take on a hometown standard, "Livin' on Tulsa Time." Also, in this show they added a cover of Steppenwolf's "Magic Carpet Ride," a smart choice musically even though they might not have gotten the sexual leer of it quite yet. As always, though, they shine brightest during their own material: the R&B-injected "Where's the Love," the momentous ballads "With You in Your Dreams" and "Weird" (the "Open Arms" of the '90s), and the intriguing new song "If You're Ever Lonely," a moody plea that sounds like Ace-era Paul Carrack. Once again, the mid-show acoustic set was the brightest moment of the concert, allowing them to show off their oft-doubted instrumental chops and unbeatable harmonies. The vocalizing in "Soldier" is breathtaking; if only it wasn't a throw-away lyric about toys. Still, when Isaac has his moment alone at the keyboards for "More Than Anything," his deft command of balladry, showmanship and a fairly arresting tune makes for a goose-pimply moment. Soon after, though, Zac is spraying the front rows with a water rifle, so we're brought back to reality. There's really little tomfoolery, though, and even less blatant teen-idol posturing. These guys always come to play music and nothing more, despite the diversionary fuss that follows them everywhere. They thank the crowd profusely and just crank out the songs — about 23 in a 100-minute show. Sure, we have to wear the earplugs today for the screaming girls, but one day the screams will die away and — yes, just like the Beatles — their musical legacy will be all that matters. But hang onto the plugs, for now. Hansonmania is likely going to be a long, strange trip. And don't forget, this concert is a double-bill of Tulsa talent. Admiral Twin opens the show, and though their Thursday night performance hinted at the exhaustion of the unending summer, they still packed a wallop and kept the throng on its feet. Bassist Mark Carr and guitarist John Russell work as a tag team, taking turns striking the rock star pose at the edge of stage right. Fortunately, they aren't just posing. Carr's focused bass and Russell's lively guitar propel the pop band with real force. The guys are still promising a forthcoming announcement of a possible label deal. Stay tuned. The Hanson wave rolls back into town (quick, take your seats!)
By Thomas Conner 09/20/1998 © Tulsa World Perhaps you have experienced this particular strain of Hansonmania: you're on vacation or speaking to an out-of-state friend or relative and they immediately ask to exploit your insider Hanson connections. "If I send you a letter, would you give it to them?" "Can you get me tickets to the show?" "Where can I find their first two independent records?" The assumption is always the same — Tulsa is so small a town that we all know the Hanson family intimately. In fact, we wave to them on Main Street every afternoon. We're all pals, all in the loop. That's what most young fans around the country seem to think, and they have spent the past year and a half of Hanson's pop music reign calling, writing and e-mailing Tulsa businesses and government in a tireless effort to milk every drop of information out of the MMMBoppers' hometown. For some businesses, the influx of attention has been mildly amusing; for others, it's been a real headache. "It's been crazy. I got a call just today from a little girl in Missouri wanting me to give her the Hansons' phone number," said Kirby Pearce, owner of the hip Brookside clothier Zat's. "We get letters and poems. We've been inundated with it — from all over the world. "It got on my nerves right before the concert. People were coming in with movie cameras and talking to my staff and photographing each other. It didn't cause problems — it was just kind of aggravating. One family came in from Brazil and hung out for several hours. They seem to think we all have this direct link to them." Why would Hanson fans be targeting a clothing store? A homemade fan magazine several months ago printed an interview allegedly with the Hanson trio in which the boys listed some of their favorite spots in Tulsa. The 'zine proliferated around the globe, and Zat's was mentioned as the city's coolest outfitter. "They've obviously been here, though I've been in business here for nine years and probably wouldn't have recognized them if they came in," Pearce said. The fan magazine also listed Mohawk Music as a cool Tulsa record store, but Mohawk owner Paul Meek was fielding frenzied calls long before that 'zine hit the streets. "We started getting letters and e-mail right away from people looking for the first two indie albums," Meek said, speaking of Hanson's two pre-fame, locally produced records, "MMMBop" and "Boomerang." "Everyone figures that Tulsa would be the most likely place to find them. Some say they'll pay any amount of money. I have to tell them I've never seen the product and didn't even know it existed until they became famous." The notice has, at least, increased the foot traffic in Meek's shop. He, too, has seen whole families come through the door inquiring about Hanson merchandise. "People stopped by all summer while here or passing through on vacation. They're just amazed that a Tulsa record store isn't overflowing with Hanson stuff," Meek said. The Blue Rose Bar and Grill in Brookside has become something of a tourist attraction since the Hansons played an impromptu but contract-clinching show there some years ago. Even details like that don't escape the short but intense attention spans of fans. "Apparently our name is all over the Internet. These kids are very resourceful," said Blue Rose owner Tom Dittus. He, too, sifts through calls and letters from eager fans — most of whom first assure him that they're not obsessed -- seeking phone numbers, addresses or just correspondence about their latest obsession ... er, group. "There were families on vacation this summer that made Tulsa a stop on their route so they could come by the Blue Rose and take pictures and see where the guys once were," Dittus said. "We can't allow anyone under 21 in the restaurant, but we'll let them peek in the door from time to time. They walk out of here with T-shirts, cups, menus, caps — I've even given out several autographs myself, which is pretty hilarious." Radio stations, too, have been strangled by the fiber-optic strength of Hansonmania. "We've been swamped. Everyone wants to know where they can get tickets," said Mike Davis, promotions director at KHTT, 106.9-FM "K-Hits." "I had a 90-year-old great grandmother call me begging for tickets, and I had to tell her to hit the streets looking for scalpers." Davis said that this summer, before the first Hanson concert in Tulsa, two radio stations in New Zealand called for information. They were organizing a contest to send listeners to Tulsa for "the Hanson hometown experience." That kind of strangeness at least makes local chamber of commerce officials happy. There's no denying the increased exposure and tourist dollars Tulsa has received since Hanson began spreading our name around. Officials at the Tulsa Chamber of Commerce said they've already noticed an economic impact around the concert dates. "We're looking forward to having them back again. They're bringing in people from all over the country, and those people stay in our hotels, eat in our restaurants and shop in our stores," said Chamber communications director Chris Metcalf. The Chamber's switchboard has been swamped with calls, too — more than the usual queries about what to do and where to go in T-town. "We've gotten lots and lots and lots of calls about Hanson. All last week we gave out the 800-number for tickets," Metcalf said. "It was anywhere from 300 to 500 calls last week. We don't ask where the calls are coming from, but we've heard all kinds of different accents, and some of the connections are obviously overseas calls." Lewis Vanlandingham, director of the Mayor's Action Line, gets the same calls. And letters. And ... pictures? "They even send me pictures of themselves. They want to know where (Hanson) will be tonight. At home, I guess," Vanlandingham chuckled. "We're not used to getting calls like this at all. When Garth Brooks was here, we didn't have any of this." Yours truly still screens a daily barrage of phone calls, letters and e-mail from Hanson fans who don't read the paper, have never seen this paper or are convinced I know more about the Fab Foals than I print in these pages. So don't be surprised if some preteen girls call your insurance office or giggle their way through your cafe this week. The boys are back in town — and so are the groupies. Hanson hotline For official Hanson info, call the Tulsa-based Hanson hotline, 446-3979 (a recording, usually of Isaac updating the tour schedule and thanking fans profusely), visit the group's web site (http://www.hansonline.com/) or write to the fan club at HITZ List, P.O. Box 703136, Tulsa, OK 74170. Hansonmania in full force BY THOMAS CONNER 09/20/1998 © Tulsa World That's right — Hansonmania is in full force again. The world-famous trio returns to its hometown this week for a second concert. A second sold-out concert. The Hanson show kicks off at 7 p.m. Thursday at the Mabee Center, 8100 S. Lewis Ave. The nearly 8,000 tickets for the show sold out the day they went on sale, Sept. 12, in an hour and a half. The group's oddly named continental trek, the Albertane Tour, originally was scheduled only through mid-August. The high demand for shows, though, has led to several extensions, including this final swing through the South which will include the Tulsa reprise. Tulsa is the second city Hanson has repeated on this tour. The return trip also allows them to play Dallas (Reunion Arena, Sept. 30). Officials at Hanson's record company, Mercury Records, said the tour keeps getting extended because "they're having a blast and they want to play more shows." Another Tulsa group, the smart pop band Admiral Twin, has opened shows for Hanson throughout the tour and is scheduled to play the second Tulsa date, as well. Multi-instrumentalist and songwriter Brad Becker left the tour for two shows — he's still got a job here and an expecting wife — but he'll be back with the band this week for the Tulsa show. Hanson returns for second sold-out, hometown show By Thomas Conner 09/24/1998 © Tulsa World They're baaaaaaack! The hit musical group Hanson — three Tulsa-born brothers -- returns to Tulsa on Thursday for a repeat concert, following up on the high demand for tickets after its initial July 8 performance. The sold-out show kicks off at 7 p.m. at the Mabee Center with another Tulsa-based pop band, Admiral Twin, opening the concert. Hanson's Albertane Tour — named after a mythical location in one of the trio's songs -- kicked off early this summer and was scheduled to end in mid-August. The enormous demand for more shows, however, prompted the group to extend the tour several times, picking up cities they missed on the first legs of the tour. They returned for a second show in Detroit, then opted to swing back south to make a second stop in their hometown. "They've been wanting to come back," said Glenn Smith, the show's promoter, "and here we come again." There is less official hoopla this time around, though. No meet-and-greets have been scheduled, and the boys will not face another media conference before this show. Also, at press time plans to film the concert for a cable television special remained tabled as a result of scheduling difficulties. The nearly 8,000 tickets available for the show sold out in less than an hour and a half. Ticket buyers who have not yet received their tickets can go to the Mabee Center box office Thursday, at least an hour before show time. The ticket company handling the show will be there, Smith said. Also, although at press time the show was still sold-out, "production release" tickets sometimes come available at the last minute. Less than an hour before the July 8 concert, about 100 such last-minute tickets became available for sale. But don't hold your breath. By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World A small gaggle of nervous kids approached the members of Admiral Twin last month on the streets of Seattle. They had obviously screwed up a great deal of courage to approach the Tulsa band, and they were wide-eyed with awe. "Are you in a band?" one of the girls asked cautiously. The Admiral Twin fellows said yes, puffing with a little internal pride. The girls were particularly focused on bass player Mark Carr, his bushy locks and constantly furrowed expression. "You're ... Eddie Vedder?" they asked him. Oh well. There are worse things that can happen to a rock band on the road than being mistaken for Pearl Jam. It's an understandable error, too. Pearl Jam was playing in Seattle the same night Tulsa's pop-rock kings Admiral Twin once again opened for Hanson in the Emerald City. Admiral Twin is the other Tulsa band on the Albertane Tour -- Hanson's oddly named summer trek across the continent — and they might be having more fun than even the much-ballyhooed brothers. "We're on a national tour playing for sold-out arenas. Yeah, I guess we're having a good time," drummer Jarrod Gollihare said before the band's July 8 show in Tulsa. The fun continues — as does the development of future business prospects. Numerous record label scouts have seen the show at various stops, many specifically to check out Admiral Twin. A rep from Mojo Records (Cherry Poppin' Daddies, etc.) was hanging out with the band in Tulsa, and scouts from Mercury — Hanson's label — were on hand for the sold-out show at the Hollywood Bowl. The band, however, is tight-lipped about any deals going down. "We can just say for now that stuff is happening. We'll have some news at the end of the tour," said the band's instrumental everyman and songwriter, Brad Becker, in an interview this week from the tour's second stop in Detroit. In the meantime, these Tulsa players — Becker, Gollihare, Carr and guitarist John Russell — are high on the excitement of this incredible opportunity. Just last spring, Admiral Twin would have surrendered a digit or two to play before sold-out crowds of nearly 25,000 people as they did at Washington, D.C.'s Nissan Pavilion. After their sound check at the Mabee Center last month, they were remarking how small the 8,000-capacity venue was. How quickly they forget. Granted, these giant venues are not selling out on the strength of Admiral Twin's presense on the ticket. That's the bittersweet dilemma of every opening act. But the Hanson tour is a different animal for an opening band, Admiral Twin has discovered. "For a lot of the kids in this audience, this is their first rock show ever," Becker said. "They're all having a good time regardless. They're not jaded. They're open to anything they hear, and we just feed it to them." Surprisingly, the band isn't totally anonymous to these first-ever huge out-of-Tulsa crowds. Several audiences — on both coasts — have been sprinkled with Admiral Twin banners amidst the ocean of poster-sized declarations of devotion to Hanson. Some crowds — as the band chronicles in its tour diary (see related story) — have even chanted Admiral Twin's name. That's not the only feedback they get from new fans, though, Becker said. "We've been getting a ton of e-mail, too," said Becker, also the band's webmaster, who keeps track of the band's web page and e-mail daily from the road. "In the last month or so, we've gotten 2,000 e-mails. The Internet is where a lot of this started. First, some people posted on the Hanson newsgroup that we were goign to be on the tour. Then Hanson linked to our web page from their official page. That got the word out to Internet-savvy Hanson people. Then once we started playing shows, it turned it loose. We get 30 to 40 messages a day from people saying they showed up expecting to throw food at the opening band but wound up loving us. They say, `You guys aren't anything like Hanson, but we loved you.' " Aye, it's that disparity in sound that's the rub. Admiral Twin took on that name after seven years as the Mellowdramatic Wallflowers; the change was part of the band's effort to distance itself from an undeserved but nonetheless dogging image as a kiddie band. The group's power pop is suited ideally for whatever might remain of a college radio audience. So why did they turn around a month after the makeover and accept the offer — from the Hansons themselves — to be on this tour with demographics split above and below that college radio crowd? The short answer is another question: who in their right mind would turn down an opening bid for a group fresh from earning numbers as the No. 1 act in the world? "We're not a weird niche group. We're a pop-rock group. We've got a broader appeal than a punk-ska band or a weird art group. This is a portion of our target audience -- the low age bracket and their parents — and it's a great chance for us. After this tour, we hope to do some colleges," Becker said. Chronicle of a dream: The Admiral Twin tour diary © Tulsa World Admiral Twin joined the Hanson summer tour when it came ashore June 20 for a show in Montreal. Since then, these Tulsa popsters have been opening sold-out arenas across the North American continent for the teeny-bop trio. They've been keeping a tour diary all summer long. A long version, plus complete information about the band, is available on the band's web site (http://www.admiraltwin.com/). Here are some excerpts from the band's chronicle of star-struck shows, credit-card capers and barricade-busting: Montreal (June 21) Wow! What a great feeling, walking on stage in front of 12,000 screaming people. It seemed like we went over very well. Nobody threw anything hard or pointy at us. Our eardrums exploded the first time the crowd yelled and we're all now legally deaf. Toronto (June 24) The fun never stops on the Albertane Tour. Last night's show at the Molson Amphitheater was crazy. Sold-out (16,000 seats), the venue roared like an army of screaming cheetahs when we took the stage. Unfortunately, the crowd shrieked all through the Hanson show as well, making misery for the sound technicians. Anyone attending further shows be warned: earplugs are a prerequisite. Last night also revealed a marked increase in people that either recognized us or had signs for us. We don't mind being underdogs, but it's gratifying to not be totally anonymous to the crowds. Fans are good. Toronto itself is pretty crazy. Very multicultural. The first day we were there, Iran beat the United States in soccer. Nothing but a tiny blip on our mental radar, but those crazy Iranians were hootin' and hollerin' and ululating up and down the streets, honking their horns, driving cars while cradling huge Iranian flags on poles out their windows. Back and forth. Honking. Waving flags. Ululating. More honking. Up and down. This went on pretty much all day. Well, hey, I guess it's not every day you get to beat the Great Satan in soccer. Boston (June 27) Tonight was the Great Woods Amphitheater show. 19,900 people, or so we've heard. All in all a good show but it was so hot that “Dancing on the Sun'' (one of our songs) took on a whole new meaning to us. The crowd looked pretty sweaty by the end of the night as well. Brad tried to convince the Hansons to hire a helicopter with a water cannon to come spray the audience. No luck. We hope the heat doesn't get any worse in D.C. and Atlanta but our hopes are most probably in vain. By Atlanta our stage attire will have probably downsized from our black wool suits to simple loin-cloths. Just kidding. Detroit (June 30) Last night we played Pine Knob near Detroit. The venue was sized and shaped not unlike Toronto's. Both seat 16,000 people. Tomorrow's show in D.C. should be close to 25,000. Paltry numbers. We're trying to get out there and meet [the fans]. Sometimes before the show, sometimes after. Security people get scared, though, and think we're starting riots. In Toronto, the guard kept saying, “It's not funny! Can you go away? These girls are ...'' He was drowned out by shrieks from a group of girls that was pressing up against the barricade on a bridge, wanting autographs. He was clearly scared. How bizarre. You wake up one day and suddenly people want to meet you and so, of course, it becomes impossible. Life is funny like that. D.C. (June 30-July 2) Incredible. Nissan Pavilion was by far the best show yet. The crowd was insanely loud, full of Admiral Twin posters and very excited to hear us. They stood up while we played. They jumped up and down. They clapped and yelled. They even chanted, “Admiral! Admiral! Admiral!'' as we were leaving the stage. Of course, after a few seconds they switched to “Hanson! Hanson! Hanson!'' but that's OK, too. Tonight we ate dinner with Ozzy Osbourne's daughters and Zac and Taylor. Rumor has it the daughters paid an exorbitant sum for a backstage pass to the show at some auction. MTV was there to interview them and the Hansons. Tulsa (July 8-11) It's a real trip to observe the “fringe'' behavior that those boys [Hanson] bring out in people. Especially the younger members of the fairer sex. Unfortunately, Tulsa is languishing in the grip of a fierce and fiery heatwave. Talk about nasty. Hot and humid are the words of the day, and the only relief from the heat comes with rain, which only further incites the humidity. Yuck. Also, Brad had to go back to his day job for a day or two. He calls it “work.'' The word vaguely rings a bell with the rest of the band. It sounds like something we were trying to forget. The Tulsa crowd was markedly different from the other crowds so far. For starters, it was a sit-down kind of crowd. Even during the Hanson's set, the crowd sat and watched. They seemed attentive and appreciative, but perhaps slightly less fanatical. Chalk it up to familiarity, maybe. The Mabee Center also confiscated all the signs and banners that they saw, and it was quite dark inside anyway, so it was hard to see if any of the crowd was familiar with us or our music. We're wondering what kind of response we'll get in L.A. There's supposed to be movie stars at the show. Maybe someone needs an up-and-coming young band for their next directorial endeavor ... Los Angeles (July 11-13) L.A. is a very interesting place. You've got the ocean, the mountains, the highways, and just way too many people running around looking for trouble. Luckily, they somehow missed us and we had a very nice time in the City of Angels. We've been here before, so we knew what to expect. The show at the Hollywood Bowl was sold out. L.A. luminaries there included Gus Van Sant, Jenny McCarthy and David Hasselhoff. Yup, we talked to him about “Knight Rider.'' Really. Unfortunately, since there was a third band playing before us, we only got to play 15 minutes. The crowd seemed to like us, though. The next day, we toured Media Ventures, met Hans Zimmer (a famous composer) and drove up Pacific Coast Highway 1 to San Francisco. By the time we finally found our hotel, it was almost 3 a.m. Denver (July 16-18) Ah, Red Rocks! For those of you who've never been, it's as beautiful as you'd think. We're following in the footsteps of U2 and the Beatles. Not bad company. Unfortunately, we arrived late, and it was a somewhat stressful day, all told. Some of us got lost driving back to the hotel. Those darn roads are all dark and twisty around there. The crowd at Red Rocks was wonderful. They were quite attentive and receptive. They jumped up and down. They had banners. One difference there that we appreciated was that most of the general admission rows were close to the front. That meant that the front rows were packed out and excited to be there. A few people got a little too excited and made a golden calf to worship so we smote them. Whoa. It must be late at night. Time for bed ... Seattle (July 19-21) Next stop on the tour was Seattle, the Fertile Crescent of coffeehouses, grunge music and evil software empires. We saw the Space Needle (and the fuzzy Sneedle mascot), rode the monorail, explored the fish-scented Pike Street Market and found the Admiral Twin movie theater. It's just called the Admiral Theater now. Too bad for them. That evening, we dined in sumptious splendor at a quaint little local bistro called Denny's. We're really expanding our horizons. The audience at the Key Arena was the best yet. We were back up to our seven song set and the crowd didn't seem to mind. After 30 minutes of screaming, jumping, clapping, and even blowing kisses, we said goodnight. Some of the audience members were doing those things as well. Milwaukee and Detroit (July 23-29) After Seattle, we made a quick trek back home. It was an overnight flight, so we left the Key Arena and took a taxi straight to the airport. John, who's nervous enough about flying, particularly enjoyed the choice of "Titannic" as the in-flight movie. Why not just show "Airport '77"? For the first two legs of the tour, we flew from city to city. Now we're driving. Because of the drive, we didn't get to see much of Milwaukee, but we enjoyed what we saw. There was both a German fest and a Death Metal fest. Luckily the crowds didn't mingle. Our only previous knowledge of Milwaukee involved breweries and Laverne and Shirley. We learned that Mr. Whipple was from Green Bay and that this is the 70-year anniversary of Charmin so Mr. Whipple is going to start encouraging people to squeeze the Charmin. It's about dang time. Now, on to Detroit. There were lots of people there who have previously posted on our newsgroup and corresponded with us via email. They seemed excited to see us and we always like putting faces to names. We shook a lot of hands and signed stuff until carpal tunnel set in. After the show, we had one of those moments that you never forget. Behind the venue there were hundreds of people lined up hoping for a glimpse of Hanson as they left. Isaac came out to the tour bus and we looked on in amazement as an avalanche of people crashed the barricades and swept past the the security guards. Ike ran. Then people started looking around and recognized us so we prudently decided to step back inside. It's always an adventure. BY THOMAS CONNER
© Tulsa World If Hanson is the future of teeny-bop, I'm going to start hunting for the fountain of youth. But, no, this isn't music that can be easily lumped into that derisive category. Hanson shares nothing in common with bands usually referred to as teeny-bop, bubble gum or sugar pop. No way did New Kids on the Block put on a show with this much conviction, and I'll wager a good chunk of my retirement money that Taylor Hanson could wither every one of the Backstreet Boys to cinders with his voice alone. Hanson is much better than that, and the proof was in the group's eagerly awaited hometown concert Wednesday night at the Mabee Center. These three kids from Tulsa, America, have got soul. They're steeped in it. They drip it all over the stage. I don't know where they got it, but they've got a firm grip on it. They were kind enough to set the Mabee Center on fire with it for nearly two hours Wednesday. It makes sense — they were raised on '50s and '60s rhythm and blues and rock 'n' roll. They tried to justify those roots Wednesday night, too, by opening the show with “Gimme Some Lovin'' and covering other soulful oldies, like “Doctor, Doctor'' and “Summertime Blues.'' That's all well and good, and it pacifies the parents who feel dragged along, but it hardly makes a case to book three teen- agers into any city's biggest arena. Hanson, delightfully enough, shines brightest when they're Hanson, playing their own songs. After a cautious delivery of “Thinking of You,'' they launched into their second big hit, “Where's the Love,'' and the house started jumping. This was the moment they themselves seemed to come alive. This was a song in which they had a personal stake and one they could back with the impressive — but still limited — arsenal of life experiences. They can mimic the great soul pioneers — and Taylor easily does, frequently throwing in a very James Brown-ish “C'mon!'' But they can throw down by themselves, too. When they do, it's incredibly exciting. Even a completely silly, throw-away song like “Soldier'' became a dynamic performance live. It's an absurd little story of a lonely toy soldier, but when Taylor thwaps his keyboard and sings, “He sank to the bottom of the rivah,'' this goofy tale suddenly has almost historical importance. They played that song during a stripped-down, unplugged set, complete with armchair and mood lamps. The full-bore band sets that book-ended this intermission were exciting and tight, but this acoustic set illustrated just how durable these three mop-tops will prove to be. This is how Hanson's talent was sown, just sitting down and playing. That their songs are strengthened by this kind of delivery indicates a long life ahead. The acoustic set ended with Taylor and Zac leaving eldest brother Isaac alone on stage for a solo number at the piano. Isaac started off as the trio's lead singer, and he was shoved aside once the more buxom Taylor's voice came into its own. That was unfortunate, because as the latest record, “Three Car Garage,'' shows, Isaac is a strong singer. He definitely has an overly romantic streak, but his solo was surprisingly moving. If Fiona Apple ever experiences a relationship that doesn't make her feel dirty and cheap, she and Isaac could make beautiful music together. The show was sprinkled with moments that appeared to be special for the Tulsa audience. Other than repeatedly assuring us how glad they were to be playing at home, the Hansons played several songs introduced as “a song we played around here a lot'' or “a song that's only been played in Tulsa.'' The crowd, of course, loved every minute of it. Of course, Zac could have sat on the edge of the stage and clipped his toenails, and the girls still would have swooned. But one day, rest assured, these girls will look back on these exciting concert moments and listen to “Middle of Nowhere'' again. They'll cock their heads and realize how good the music is, how it still holds up, how it still gets them moving and brings to mind happy times. BY THOMAS CONNER
© Tulsa World Boy, the boys are glad to be home. "Finally, we've figured out what day and month it is, and where we are. We're home!" said Zac Hanson, youngest of the fraternal trio Hanson. The group returned home Wednesday for its first hometown concert since the group's major- label debut record, "Middle of Nowhere," hit No. 1 around the world last year. For the last year and a half, Hanson — that's Isaac, Taylor and Zac — has been racing a whirlwind schedule of promotional appearances and brief performances around the globe. The three boys spoke with the media at a pre-show press conference and said that this summer's tour is the most fun they've had yet. "People always ask us, 'Is being on tour such hard work?' Actually, being on tour has been less stressful than the last year and a half," Isaac said. Each young singer voiced and showed visible relief at being among familiar surroundings. The group — which usually travels with both parents and some or all of four other siblings — return to Tulsa on rare occasions, but the bulk of their time since "Middle of Nowhere" hit shelves in May 1997 has been spent in hotels and buses from Birmingham to Buenos Aries. In fact, there were fans young and old at Wednesday night's concert who traveled all the way from, well, Buenos Aires. "It's amazing that people would come that far," Isaac said. "I wouldn't go that far," Taylor added. It's amazing that these three Tulsa youths have come this far, too. Just two years ago, the under-age boys were still finagling gigs at Tulsa clubs and wondering how they would ever get their career off the ground. "Our last gig in Tulsa was just two years ago," Taylor said. ". . . at the Blue Rose," Isaac added. "I remember it distinctly. We said to each other, 'This is going to be our last show. We're going to go to L.A. and make an album.' " The amazement at their own good fortune seems genuine. These are three kids who have conquered the world and matured remarkably but still somehow remained bright-eyed and cheery. "We're still just so psyched about getting to play," Taylor said. "If it all stopped right now, we'd be totally psyched to say we have had the greatest year and a half ever." When asked what they missed most about Tulsa, Zac was quick to answer, "The food." Outside the press conference — held in a room at the Warren Place DoubleTree Hotel — was the usual gaggle of young girls hoping for a glimpse of the three stars. They screamed when Hanson entered the room, and they screamed when the boys left. The Hansons said they've gotten used to that sort of hysteria and haven't allowed it to hamper their normal lives too much. "We still go out — we just go in big groups of friends. We still do all the things we used to do — we're just more cautious," Taylor said. "It's cool to just have fans at all." Pop quiz: Hanson and the media BY THOMAS CONNER © Tulsa World They're just kids. That's the first thing you notice when you see Hanson in person. For a year and a half, those of us who pay attention to the goings-on of these three talented guys have been conditioned for their Celebrity Status. They must be bigger than life, right? Nah. They're just three kids. They laugh. They joke. They punch each other. And — I was thrilled to see — the rigors of fame haven't seemed to dull their spirits one bit. The three boys sat down with the Tulsa and state press a few hours before their Wednesday concert at the Mabee Center. The questions came fast and furious, and they handled them all with impressive aplomb. For those who simply must know everything, here are the juicy bits: Q. What do you think of being a role model for so many kids? Isaac: "If we influence people in a positive way, help them get inspired to do things they want to do, that's cool." Taylor: "We're really just psyched about getting to play. It's cool just to get to make your music." Q. You added a second show in Detroit. Why no extra show here? Isaac: "That was a fluke, really. We had planned to travel back toward the East Coast, and Detroit happened to be on the way. The scheduling just won't allow it here this time." Taylor: "We want to come back and play Tulsa again as soon as we can. There will be a more extensive tour after the next record. We'll probably play Oklahoma City, too." Q. Do you still horse around together as brothers, or are you sick of each other? (They each punch each other playfully. Hard, but playfully.) Zac: "We actually get hurt more when we're joking about that." Taylor: "We were doing a TV show and Ike nailed me in the face. We were trying to demonstrate (the punching)." Q. Are you worried about being a flash-in-the-pan? Taylor: "We can't worry about that. We can just do exactly what we've always done. It's up to the fans whether they want to buy the records or not." Q. Is anyone's voice changing? Taylor: "Duh." Isaac: "People have been asking us that a lot lately. That was news about a year ago." Q. Who's the most thrilling person you've met so far? Taylor: "Probably the president. That was the highest-ranking one, at least." Q. How do you keep up with school? Taylor: "Well, it's summer now. Our parents have always been our private tutors. We get to do cool things on the road." Isaac: "We went to the CDC (Center for Disease Control) the other day. Seeing all these pictures of people with the Ebola virus, I was, like, eeeuuwwww! I think I'll wash my hands now." Q. Do you get an allowance? Taylor: "Well, we're not doing any chores ..." Q. Is this Tulsa show the highlight of your world tour? Isaac: "It's hard for it not to be." Taylor: "We have a lot of friends and family who haven't seen us live yet." Q. What do you miss most about Tulsa when you're on the road? Zac: "The food. Literally, the food." Q. Any restaurant in particular? Isaac: "We'd love to tell you, but if we did everybody would go there at once." Q. Anyone got a girlfriend? All: "No." By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World To my sister, Lauren, Couldn't help thinking of you throughout every moment of Amy Grant's performance Friday night here at Tulsa's Mabee Center. It's funny — it caught me by such surprise. I'd forgotten this musical link you and I shared. Many circumstances and miles have come between us, but as Amy sang those old songs from our younger, more questioning years, I remembered everything I've learned and loved about you. So I thought I'd write and let you know, because I think these are the kinds of bond-strengthening revelations that Amy's music is all about. I may throw today's Tulsa World readers for a loop by showing my sentimental streak this way. I'm the rascally, young rock critic down here, and Amy Grant isn't the kind of show any regular readers might expect me to rave about. It's not power pop, after all. But even rascally, young rock critics have weaknesses they keep hidden behind their biting commentary, and Amy Grant is one of mine. Thanks to you. She reminds me so much of you — a strong, active woman who radiates an astonishingly calm assurance. This is true on stage more than on record, though the songs from her newest album, "Behind the Eyes," are clear signs of her reconciliation with that forum. But even if she begins relaxing in the studio, her live performances always will best convey the spirit of her songs. They are songs that, like you, often make their point so subversively you don't always realize that her spiritual convictions inform every lyric. Once you're aware of where she's coming from, the firmness (not rigidity) of her spiritual confidence is incredibly uplifting. She played a lot of songs from the new record, which I hope you've got, starting with the current hit, "Takes a Little Time." ("It takes a little time sometimes / to get your feet back on the ground" — you've given me that advice before, haven't you?) The show got off to a slow start, though. Her casualness — that astonishing calm — first seemed like apathy. This was her last show on a 100-day tour; she was probably exhausted. But singing is obviously more than just a gift she recognized and seized upon. Perhaps it's a real calling, because despite that exhaustion, she couldn't help but get revved up as she worked through her set. She had to ask the audience to stand up and sway for one song, but when she played the groove-woven "Curious Thing," we weren't following orders anymore. I saw you both in her inevitable revitalization and in that song's golly-gee wonder at life's unexpected quirks. Seeing you in the new material was a joyful surprise. I knew, though, that the old songs would remind me of you. I remember just as much "El Shaddai" and "My Father's Eyes" as "Whip It" and "Candy-O" playing in your car on the way to school 15 years ago, and each had its own set of inspirations. In fact, she took time out during her second set Friday to perform a lot of those oldies — from "Thy Word" to "The Wallet Song" — without the band. Wish you could have seen this. Everyone else was singing along, and I could have used your lyrical coaching. Then she played another one, "Missing You," from her new album. Oddly enough, she said she wrote this one for her own sister who had moved away recently after a lifetime of living nearby. Sound familiar? Can't say I was completely dry-eyed when she sang, "Missing you is just a part of living / Missing you feels like a way of life / I'm living out the life that I've been given / but I still wish you were mine." Rascally, young rock critics aren't supposed to tear up in public. Missing you nearly ruined my reputation. But that's what music is supposed to do, right — break down those emotional barriers? OK, so maybe everyone doesn't have the opportunity to write about it to entire cities, but I can't imagine there are many fans reading me this morning who haven't had similar experiences with Amy's — or anyone's — music. Songwriters write deeply personal songs, and they hand them off to us knowing (or at least hoping) that we'll share their feelings or apply our own. It's an essential part of human communication, and I don't think Amy would be embarrassed by my expression here half as much as you will be when you read it. Next time I write, I promise I won't print 170,000 copies of it. See you later this month, I hope. Love, T.C. BY THOMAS CONNER
© Tulsa World Some Hanson fans love the Tulsa trio sooooooooooo much that they channel their obsession into their own, um, artistic expression. Instead of merely daydreaming their fantasies of hanging out with Taylor, going camping with Zac or finding a soulmate in Ike, legions of fans are writing those fantasies into Hanson fan fiction and posting it on the Internet for all to see. The web is now thoroughly packed with clearinghouses of this novice prose. The stories are written mostly by girls and — yeesh — a few older women, and they cover just what you'd expect them to: idolizing a Hanson, meeting a Hanson and eventually smooching a Hanson. If you ever need justification that young girls harbor ambitions of becoming the next generation's Harlequin romance novelists, tune in. A good place to start reading, if you dare, is through the stories link at the Ultimate Hanson Links Page. Hanson fan fiction has it all — sex, violence, drugs and the dropping of more brand names than a professional product placement representative could contract in his or her entire career. It offers a glimpse into the lives of a segment of American youth that most miss — or ignore — and it ain't always a pretty picture. They've never been to Tulsa You wouldn't believe the number of stories that describe the Hanson home with a horizon of snow-capped mountains in the distance. In the notorious "Tulsa 74132," written by anonymous authors, Juliet and Isaac spend a day in the fictional Metro Parks, described thusly: It had huge ponds, trails, swamps and educational buildings, plus a ton of wildlife took sanction in the park, making for an always exciting animal spotting adventure. And now they sat on a bench in Buttermilk Falls, just enjoying the view. Buttermilk Falls was one of the most spectacular sights, for it was a trail that led from one stream of waterfalls to the next. Each bed of water was crystal clear, showing the hard work the city put into keeping it a nice area. They have underdeveloped palates. In one story ("Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow,") Taylor treats his latest female admirer to dinner at a Tulsa eatery called Ray's Restaurant: He picked up a menu, scanned it quickly and reclosed it. "I'll take the dill salmon and a large root beer." They are ready for the realities of marriage "Tulsa 74132" includes a scene in which Isaac's new lover, Juliet, pushes him away and retreats into pouting. Isaac tenderly inquires as to the source of her distress and is met with this harrangue: "We never go anywhere. All we do is sneak somewhere and make out. Why don't you take me places?" They are incredibly defensive about their work Rare is the piece of Hanson fiction that does not begin with a disclaimer warning all naysayers to step back, something like Rachel Munro's statement at the beginning of her 20-chapter story "Forever Friends": "There is only one rule I put on my story and that is that only true Hanson fans are allowed to read it." So there. The safe-sex messages are getting through Every story in which fan-Hanson copulation actually occurs makes explicit mention of using condoms — and not just rote regurgitation of safe-sex lectures from school. For instance, in "Near You Always" by Ashley Elizabeth Farley, Isaac and a young girl named Emma seal their undying passion after making sure that all the safe-sex requirements are met — with Isaac singing all the way through it (yegods). In "Tulsa 74132," a young temptress named Juliet sidesteps the typical safe-sex reluctance and insists on being smart. You go, girl! Shakespeare is still required study in American classrooms "Tulsa 74132" features a protagonist named Juliet in its tale of star-crossed love. Some other story titles: the aforementioned "Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow," "Where for Art Thou, Taylor?" and — really — "Methinks They're Sooooooo Hot!!!" Some of them are foul-mouthed little brats Some Hanson fiction authors use the medium simply to mouth off. Case in point: "Barbie and Her Three Kens" by Kitkat, a Dadaist stream of nonsense that turns the Hanson brothers into offensive little thugs. In Part Two, they insult every aspect of another girl's appearance — to her face. "Toss It Up, Tulsa," by an unidentified author, is loaded with profanity, vulgar situations and a version of Zac cast as a salivating sex fiend. Turn on those parental controls and wash out these modems with soap. There are plenty of lines that are fun to quote out of context. Par example: "Suddenly Isaac realized what he was doing: sitting in a darkened movie theater, looking at and feeling women's lingerie" (from "Tulsa 74132"). By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World One of the many bonuses of being a Loudon Wainwright fan is discovering his immensely talented children. On Loudon's previous record, he sang a duet with his daughter Martha, a formidable singer on her own and currently being courted by record companies. Martha's brother Rufus, however, beat her to the punch. The ballyhooed DreamWorks record label this month released Rufus Wainwright's astonishing self-titled debut to the accolades of critics across the continent. "I definitely have the writers under my spell," the younger Wainwright said in an interview earlier this month. "My favorite review said that I sounded like a cross between Kurt Weill and the Partridge Family." It's an apt description if you can fathom it. Rufus Wainwright's "modern standards" or "popera" is worthy of its other high comparisons, such as to Irving Berlin and especially Cole Porter. "I really want to be the next Wagner," he adds. Rufus plays piano, unlike his acoustic guitar-playing dad. Loudon divorced Rufus' mother — another noted folk singer, Kate McGarrigle of the McGarrigle Sisters — when Rufus was very young, and Rufus was raised chiefly by McGarrigle in Montreal. That accounts for a good deal of the operatic and French influences on his rich, warm songs. But is Generation X ready for this kind of sweeping, orchestrated pop? "Are you kidding? They need it. They're dying for it," Rufus said. "My main objective is to be in that great American songwriter tradition, like Porter and Gershwin ... Some reviews say I'm retro, but I'm not. I'm just doing the art of songwriting, which really hasn't changed much in thousands of years. I'm not doing sounds, I'm doing songs." But while Loudon spent a career singing mostly autobiographical songs about "Bein' a Dad," Rufus doesn't go for the first-person approach. He can't spend his life writing answer-songs to his father, he said. "He goes right for the nugget, my dad," Rufus said. "Sometimes I thought he used the family in a vicious way when he wrote about us, but then I realized that it's just the way he does it. It's whatever gets your goat. He wrote beautiful songs about the family, as well. "My songs are more innate. I'm still pretty much the central figure in all of them, but I tend to portray myself in songs as more omniscient, perhaps just as an observer of things around me. Then the listener can more easily place themselves into that position. The songs are still about me, but I'm more hidden. I don't want to embarrass myself." Rufus now launches his own series of concerts across the country to support the debut record. His dad said he gave Rufus a little advice, but not much was necessary. "I told him to get a good lawyer. But he doesn't need advice. He's a good performer and funny and nice looking and an egomaniac. If you ain't got that last one, you might as well hang it up in this business ... Plus, he and his sister have watched their parents make so many mistakes, and that suffices as advice. I'm just hoping in the end that they'll buy me a house." And how did Loudon react when he found out that Rufus was an openly gay performer? "He didn't care one bit," Rufus said. "One day he just turned to me and asked, `So do you like guys or girls or what?' I was a pretty flamboyant little child. He claims he knew from age 4." By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World Rufus Wainwright "Rufus Wainwright" (DreamWorks) It's been a season of rock 'n' roll legacies in the music biz. We've seen albums from Chris Stills, son of Stephen; Emma Townshend, daughter of Pete; and Sean Lennon, son of John — and none of them have been very striking. Enter Rufus Wainwright, son of folkies Kate McGarrigle and the also cumbersomely named Loudon Wainwright III. He looks hip enough — leather jackets, bushy hair, knife-blade sideburns — but he's crafted a debut that won't seem hip right away. Wainwright, you see, is so freakin' talented, he will have to slip into his destiny as the Gen-X Cole Porter or Kurt Weill slowly. Those comparisons are not tossed in here merely as reference points for the reader. Wainwright is writing standards on that level of charm and genius. His songs have been described as retro (or, my favorite, “popera''), but that's simply because the young generation responding to Wainwright's timeless laments and musical sighs only know of standards from the perspective of their parents. But these days it's the mainstream to buck tradition, so Wainwright's return to the traditional conventions of 20th century classic songwriting may turn out to be the hippest thing around. Like his father, the younger Wainwright writes form very personal experiences, but unlike Loudon, Rufus phrases his lovelorn laments and cheery ruminations in an omniscient voice. It's just as easy to place yourself in the center of the moseying “Foolish Love'' as it is his own reminiscing on boarding school days in the jaunty “Millbrook.'' His “Danny Boy'' is a rolling original, though like many of the songs it restrains Wainwright's delicious, reedy tenor into one constraining octave. String arrangements throughout are courtesy of Van Dyke Parks — a definite kindred spirit — while Jim Keltner provides drums and Jon Brion produces. This debut is an intelligent cabaret — with all the sly wit of Porter and the high-though-furrowed brow of Weill. Several notches above the cleverness of Ben Folds, Wainwright could be the closest thing my generation has come to an original, classic entertainer. Lucky fans of Hanson are 'armed'
BY THOMAS CONNER 05/29/1998 © Tulsa World At least one mother could sing about it. As she ushered her young daughter into the Drug Mart at 32nd Street and Yale Avenue to get one of the cherished Hanson concert-ticket wristbands, she sang, “MMMBop / Is it worth it? / MMMBop / I really hope so / MMMBop / Oh, brother . . .'' Hanson fans of every age were lined up outside — and around — eight Carson Attractions ticket outlets Thursday morning for a crack at the wristbands, which became available at noon. Some had arrived as early as 3 a.m. determined to get tagged with the bright pink and orange wristbands that guarantee a spot in line when tickets for the Hanson concert go on sale at 9 a.m. Saturday. A concert by the Tulsa-native hit trio Hanson is scheduled for July 8 at the Mabee Center. The Tulsa concert is the only show scheduled in the Midwest. Hanna Willsey, 10, was the first in line at the Maxwell Convention Center, decked out in her Hanson T-shirt and a necklace with beads that spelled out Hanson. She and a friend, Valerie Grannemann, 13, arrived outside the Convention Center at 5 a.m. “I'm glad school is out, but I would've missed school, anyway,'' Valerie said, jumping up and down. Jack Tubb at least had some leafy shade to stand in about halfway down the line at the Convention Center. He plans to buy some tickets for his granddaughter. She'll be visiting from Kentucky when Hanson appears here, and — shhh -- it's a surprise. As noon approached, the Convention Center crowd began clapping and chanting, “12 o'clock! 12 o'clock!'' By then, the line stretched a good 100 yards out the building's north doors. The wristbands are the first step in the ticket-buying process for the big show. A wristband does not guarantee a ticket, only a place in line Saturday morning. Ticket outlets were turning away hundreds of fans as their stock of wristbands quickly dwindled and ran out. Some frustrated fans hurried to other locations, but nearly every outlet had given away all the wristbands by 2:15 p.m. “I don't know what we're going to do,'' said Verna Smith, the mother of two pouting young girls. They were turned away from the Mabee Center, where an estimated 1,000 fans stood in a line that wrapped almost all the way around the building — all vying for the 350 wristbands available at that site. “I'm not sure my girls will forgive me if they miss this show,'' she said. Some crowds got a bit unruly. James McCarthy, manager of the Drug Mart at 31st Street and 129th East Avenue, said he had to call the police to help deal with a mob that started pushing and shoving. “We had about 400 people out there and only about 175 wristbands to give out. I thought we were going to have a problem, but everybody was pretty nice when it was all said and done,'' he said. Glenn Smith of Glenn Smith Presents, the show's promoter, said his company has tried-and-true formulas to determine how many wristbands to make available. “There are enough for one show, and 85 to 90 percent of the people who got wristbands should get tickets,'' Smith said. “It's not like paper money that we print until it's worthless. We've figured out how many should be at each location given the number of terminals there, the fact that each wristband holder can buy up to four tickets and our guess that about 15 percent of the tickets will be sold by phone.'' Smith handled last summer's five concerts by Garth Brooks and used the same procedure then. Hanson fans quickly purchase 8,000 tickets for Tulsa's July concert BY THOMAS CONNER 05/31/1998 © Tulsa World Armed police officers patrolled the line. Men with hand-held radios and clipboards checked off the numbers of the desperate refugees. When the signal came, everyone screamed. A child was torn from her mother. Sound like a war zone? It was just the Mabee Center on Saturday morning as tickets went on sale for the July 8 Hanson concert. Like any military skirmish, too, there were winners and losers and lots of cries to pity the children. But for those frustrated by the ticketing procedure and their inability to get tickets, it all boils down to a simple, military answer: There were only about 8,000 tickets and only time for one show. “We could have sold three shows here easily,'' Glenn Smith said Saturday morning after all 8,000 tickets had been sold. “It looks like about 85 percent of everyone with a wristband got tickets.'' Smith, the show's promoter, said, “We still turned thousands away. . . . You just don't know when you're planning a show like this in advance — scheduling the venues and the transportation and such — what kind of demand there will be. Who could have imagined eight months ago that there would be this kind of demand?'' Smith relayed a message from the Hanson boys themselves: “We will be back as soon as we possibly can.'' A second show can't be added because of the tour scheduling, Smith said. Also, the Mabee Center is booked the following night. Tickets went on sale at 9 a.m. Saturday at eight Carson Attractions outlets and via a toll-free telephone number. They were all gone by 9:58 a.m. Despite having their place in line already guaranteed by their numbered wristbands, fans began gathering at the Mabee Center box office as early as 4 a.m. By 6 a.m., they lined up in the order of the numbers on their wristbands and eagerly awaited the random drawing that would determine the first place in line. At 8 a.m. sharp, the number was called: 227. Summer Smith, 14, and her friends halfway down the line began squealing hysterically. The line ahead of her — now full of fallen faces, young and old — was moved to the rear, and Summer stepped up to the door. Ironically, Summer's mother, Teresa, had wristband No. 225. She had to head to the very back of the line, while her daughter stepped front and center. Mom took the twist with good spirits. “I was the one who brought all these girls here, who waited in line with them, who spent the night out here,'' she chuckled. Front and center is exactly where Summer will be on July 8, too. Her first spot in line scored her and her friends front-row seats. They're probably still screaming. Others at the back of the line had a few choice words about their predicament. The ticketing procedure required fans first to obtain numbered wristbands. A drawing was held Saturday morning at each ticket outlet to determine the first place in line. “Dedication doesn't pay,'' said Sue Smith, an end-of-the-line mother buying for her daughter in California. “If you sit out here from 3 a.m. because you care about these guys, you should get a ticket. This didn't alleviate people from camping out. They were still spending the night to get wristbands. What difference did it make?'' “Concerts have always been sold first come-first serve,'' one mother, LeAnn Rose, who was next in line, said. “It's not fair to these kids. They're the ones who will be the most crushed by it.'' Smith said he devised this procedure early on for other high- demand shows like Garth Brooks. He said he would rather bring it all down to luck of the draw than risk having kids injured in a mad rush or lose out to scalpers. “It's the fairest way,'' he said. “If we had done it first come-first serve, we'd have scalpers — not fans -- camping out for weeks ahead of time. Mothers wouldn't let their kids do that, but scalpers don't have lives — they can afford to beat you in that game. This gives everyone an equal chance to be first. Unfortunately, not everyone can be first, but I don't know a better way.'' One Carson Attractions employee predicted early on that Saturday would be a short work day. “This will sell out really quickly,'' the employee said Thursday. “It's still not as big a crowd as we get for (professional) wrestling tickets, though.'' Hanson ticket trauma BY THOMAS CONNER 07/08/1998 © Tulsa World Two girls. One ticket. Oh, the dilemma. Victoria Rodriguez, 15, stood in line for four hours back in May for wristbands to purchase tickets, but she -- and thousands of other fans — came up short. Rodriguez, however, managed to find one ticket through a friend a few weeks after the quick sellout. Just one. Good news for her, surely, but a friend of hers, Lili Lambert, 14, traveled here from Germany just to see her -- and the Hansons. "The girls are at the Hansons' house today in southwest Tulsa, hoping to see them and find another ticket," said Rodriguez's mother, Nila Estradda. "We found one from a scalper for $175, but that's just too much." For the time being, Estradda said, Victoria gets the ticket for Wednesday's show. Rodriguez met Lambert last year through the Internet. They chatted online nearly every day, Estradda said, until Lambert and her parents came to visit in mid-June. The trip was to unite the new friends and let them explore the hometown of Hanson in hopes of finding . . . something. "They are fanatics, both," Estradda said. Hanson — the Tulsa trio of Isaac, Taylor and Zac that scored a No. 1 hit last year with "MMMBop" from the group's debut album, "Middle of Nowhere" — is scheduled to play a concert at 8 p.m. Wednesday at the Mabee Center, 8100 S. Lewis Ave. The show sold out in less than an hour when tickets went on sale May 30. While Hanson may be hot, so are their fans. One of them was on Monday, anyway. That morning, disc jockeys at radio station KRAV, 96.5 FM, asked listeners, "What's the craziest thing you would do for passes to meet Hanson?" Lonnie Dugan called in with his bright idea — to ride around town on his Harley-Davidson motorcycle wearing a clown suit — and the station took him up on it. Dugan is a fan of Harleys, not Hanson, but his daughter -- like most young girls in the hit trio's hometown — is more interested in "Three Car Garage," Hanson's latest album. Dugan's idea won his daughter and her cousin two hard-to-find tickets to the show plus backstage passes. "They're definitely happy campers," Dugan said. He found out, though, just how hot a ticket this concert is. Dugan donned the clown suit and set off among rush-hour traffic — shortly after the air temperature reached its high mark of 99 degrees Monday. "I ride an old Harley, and it runs pretty hot. The heat outside didn't make it any better," he said. At least 8,000 fans — plus hundreds of others just hoping for a glimpse of the blond boys — are expected to descend on the Mabee Center for the show. Another Tulsa band, Admiral Twin, has been on the tour with Hanson for nearly a month. This power pop band — which includes drummer Jarrod Gollihare, author of Hanson: The Official Biography — will open the Tulsa show. By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World Hanson "Three Car Garage: The Indie Recordings" (Mercury-Moe) After one year on the international scene, Hanson somehow has seen fit to look back at its roots. It's an extraordinarily premature move that smacks of market milking, but then again, they might be playing the fleeting game of pop smarter than anyone. It also airs what now could be viewed as pre-fame ruminitions on Hansonmania in the media, like the chorus of “Stories'' (“Stories will be told until we're old / Stories will be told until the end of time'') or a line from “River'': “Lately we've been talking 'bout who we are / Seems we don't know anymore.'' This collection of songs from the boys' two Tulsa indie records is interesting if only to get a glimpse of the band from the perspective of another singer. It's Isaac singing lead on most of the 11 tracks here — and doing a surprisingly formidable job. Hearing his bold vocals on “Pictures'' and the exquisite ballad “Surely as the Sun,'' as well as his green-but-growing guitar work throughout, you can't help but wonder how the band would have fared had business types not put the more soulful (and, sure, more fetching) Taylor out front. It could have been a wholly different, grittier guitar band. But even though the 11-year-old Taylor sounds like a mosquito here, his immense talent is already evident. He takes the entire lyric of “Stories'' and makes it come from him, not through him, adapting every turn of phrase and every breath to his inate control. His voice may not be deep, but his soul is an ocean. Two songs from “Middle of Nowhere'' (“Thinking of You,'' “With You in Your Dreams'') are here in unpolished freshness, but a nascent version of the signature “MMMBop'' is a five-minute drag. Overall, it's a remarkably unaffected batch of pop songs that brims with a bright-eyed innocence the radio hasn't seen in two decades. Play on, boys. This post contains my complete running coverage of this annual conference and festival ...
© Tulsa World Musical Mardi Gras Spotlights Oklahoma's 'Red Dirt' Singing Poets By Thomas Conner 03/21/1998 AUSTIN, Texas — South by Southwest is a musical Mardi Gras, of sorts, but Chris Maxwell spent Thursday afternoon immersed in actual Mardi Gras beads. To draw some attention to his label, Binky Records, and its artists, Maxwell passed out Mardi Gras beads in the South by Southwest trade show. One artist, in particular, concerned Maxwell the most. In fact, it's an Oklahoman, and it's the whole reason Maxwell launched Binky Records. “I started this label a while ago after I met Tom Skinner and wondered why in the world this man didn't have records out all over the country,'' Maxwell said. Skinner is a popular performer in Tulsa and Stillwater, and he's at the apex of the group of songwriters that forge the “red dirt'' sound — Oklahoma's unique brand of singer-songwriter music with that good ol' boy touch. He and a few other immensely talented songwriters -- Muskogee's Greg Jacobs and Stillwater's Bob Childers — are featured on the Binky Records sampler that Maxwell handed out to every journalist and music industry mole that walked through the South by Southwest trade show. In addition, Skinner, Jacobs and Childers performed an unofficial showcase concert Thursday night at Austin's Waterloo Ice House. The bill also featured Green Country native Jimmy Lafave and area favorite Ray Wylie Hubbard. The Big Names: To seed the festival with exciting attractions, South by Southwest books a couple of unofficial headliners each year. This year's biggie: Sonic Youth. The announcement came just a couple of weeks before the festival, but word spread quickly because the lines to get into the show at Austin's La Zona Rosa wound around the block. Why the hoopla? Sonic Youth is a veteran New York quartet that — I realized upon hearing them again live -- created the entire sonic landscape that allowed grunge to exist. The carefully reined dissonance, the thudding guitar rhythms, the squelched noises and walls of distortion — it all opened the doors for modern rock's anger and angst. The band is still hot, too. During their long set Thursday night, they played mostly songs from the forthcoming new album on Geffen Records, “A Thousand Leaves.'' Actually, these experiences weren't just songs; they're compositions, sonic landscapes, carefully crafted noise. Hearing it live is breathtaking. Guitarist Thurston Moore closes his eyes and meditates on the music's off-kilter drone; then suddenly comes the inevitable change, a jerk in the song that turns Moore's guitar into a live transformer. He snaps the strings, scrapes them, even rubs them with a bow. Amazing. Another oldie act played Thursday night: Soul Asylum. The passe bunch of bores played songs from their new album, “Candy From a Stranger,'' due in May. Festival Highlight: Imperial Teen's Thursday night show was an appropriate follow-up to the Sonic Youth show. Here was a scrappy band from San Francisco taking the sonic expanse and reverence of dissonance that Sonic Youth pioneered on the other side of the continent and containing it all within head-bobbing pop songs. The same occasional guitar torture is there, and they learned their droning rhythmic lessons from Sonic Youth bassist Kim Gordon, but instead of crafting rock suites, Imperial Teen presses the same sonics into the mold of an accessible pop song. The results are exhilarating and smart. As the Austin Chronicle's Raoul Hernandez said, Imperial Teen is the Talking Heads as Nirvana was the Sex Pistols. It's the same shtick running backwards on the same rock 'n' roll road, and it's exciting. MMMSXSW: The Sheridans, a Pretenders-like Austin band, ran an ad in the SXSW program book that read, “In celebration of their third annual rejection from SXSW, the Sheridans are taking it to the street. Hey, it worked for Hanson!'' Indeed, Tulsa's own hit trio was discovered via SXSW in 1994. The brothers three didn't have a showcase; instead, they wandered among spectators at a music-business softball game, harmonizing for anyone who would listen. “You know, people were smiling at them cutely and laughing when they walked away. I don't think anybody really listened to their singing,'' Christopher Sabec told the Austin American-Statesman. Sabec was the one person who listened and realized the Hansons had hit potential. He rushed to talk to their parents about managing the boys, and the rest is history. Year of the Woman: Women dominated the annual Austin Music Awards this year, held on the first night of the SXSW music festival. One woman, in particular, Austin native Abra Moore swept the top awards, winning Musician of the Year, best album (“Strangest Places,'' Arista), best song (“Four-Leaf Clover'') and best pop artist. Shawn Colvin came in second behind Moore in each of those categories, but Colvin won for best songwriter and best single (both for “Sunny Came Home''). Other awards of note: best electric guitarist, Ian Moore; best female vocals, Toni Price; best male vocals, Malford Millgan of Storyville; best country artist, Don Walser; best alternative band, El Flaco (Sixteen Deluxe came in second); and the Hall of Fame inductees were Shawn Colvin, Doyle Bramhall, Daniel Johnston, Keith Ferguson and Jason McMaster. Respite From Rock: Thursday night's Daemon Records showcase provided the ultimate break from the rigors of other rock. Daemon is the Atlanta-based indie label started by Amy Ray of the Indigo Girls, and the star performer in the line-up was one Ray watched with intensity. Her name is Terry Binion, and her debut release, “Leavin' This Town,'' already has been reviewed by publications as diverse as People and No Depression. She's a lone singer-guitarist who warbles in that range-jumping singing style Nanci Griffith once dubbed “folkabilly.'' During her Thursday show, she played a song called “Dear Richard,'' which she explained was her ode to a night in the life of fellow Americana performer Richard Buckner. It was the perfect tribute, her reedy voice lurching between roars and coos much like Buckner himself. “Are these the songs that you write out on the prairie / with the moon over your genius head brightly shining,'' she sang. Band to Watch: The band of the festival that simply screamed “Next Big Hit'' hails from just up the turnpike from Tulsa in Stockton, Mo. It's Flick, a quartet of very green but hardy teen-agers with style and panache oozing from between their power chords. Oh, they've got their share of teen-age angst, but they radiate such spirit and energy that tames the whiny beast. Imagine the Smashing Pumpkins covering ballads by the Raspberries. Led by the Thornton brothers — Oran, 18, and Trevor, 14 -- Flick has a freshly scrubbed look and fuzzy rock sound that is destined to shoot them too high too fast. They're already writing songs for the radio; Flick closed its Thursday night set before a huge, responsive crowd with Oran singing, “This is my song for the radio / want the world to know.'' Flick's debut disc should be out in June from Columbia Records. Eyes of Texas: Every March, Austin experiences its own brand of madness By Thomas Conner 03/22/1998 AUSTIN, Texas — A shower would have ruined the whole experience. Straight from eight hours on the road — grubby, bleary-eyed, irritable and scatter-brained — we stumble into, of all places, the Bates Motel. It's Wednesday night in Austin, the first night of the South by Southwest music festival, a veritable flea market of new, young bands with a lot to prove (Flick, Sixteen Deluxe) and old, old bands begging for continued respect (Tommy Tutone, Soul Asylum). One such relatively new band with a lot to prove is Billy Joe Winghead, a quartet comprising slightly askew residents of Tulsa and Oklahoma City. At their official SXSW showcase tonight, they have to prove that they can draw a crowd and keep it — even people as bedraggled as I am, longing for fresh sheets and hot water rather than the club's stale cigarette haze and lukewarm beer. However, Billy Joe Winghead's lead singer, John Manson, is going into the gig with a different plan. “We like to have the opposite effect. We want to clear the room. Faster than pepper gas, if we can,'' he says, his maniacal grin stretching horrifically underneath his Uncle Fester bald head. With that objective in mind, he's not going to have much to work with. As the band takes the small, harshly lit stage, they look out over a paltry crowd of about a dozen disinterested faces. Again, it's the first night of the festival. All the industry people are across town at the Austin Music Awards, and the townies still have to go to work in the morning. But eventually, Manson's plan to evacuate the club will backfire. Of course, if anyone could clear a room, Billy Joe Winghead is the band to do it. Their kind of rock 'n' roll used to reverberate from behind a chain-link safety screen. They named their debut disc after a truck stop, and the distorted guitar chords don't crunch as much as they stomp. They sing songs about drug-induced car accidents, aging sex queens, crooked cops and tractor pulls. And they do it very, very loudly. But these are the desensitized '90s. Such topics don't frighten the gentlefolk anymore. Instead of clearing out the dingy little Bates Motel, Billy Joe Winghead fills it up. They start playing five minutes before their scheduled starting time (“We will now be the first band to play this year's South by Southwest,'' Manson declares as he starts “C'mon I Wanna Lay Ya''), and throughout the band's 40-minute set, people stream through the door. “Who is this?'' asks a smartly dressed Kate Winslet look-alike. I do my best to explain over the roar of the song “Peckerbelly.'' She looks and listens another moment longer and says, “They're so creepy. I love it.'' Indeed, this is the kind of sleaze you wind up wallowing in. My own whiny pangs for a respite from road weariness were satiated not by the meager comforts of hotel room isolation but by the bone-rattling thwacks of Tulsan Steve Jones' bass and Manson's glitter-green theremin (an eerie contraption that does as much to fascinate an audience as the band's own bawdiness). The music's tawdriness, boldness and spookiness fill a club with vibrations that relax the most exhausted road warrior, whether he be a truck drivin' man or a pop critic on the dole. Shower? Who needs it? We must revel in our revulsion. Whether tonight's exposure will reap the band any rewards remains to be seen. The band cleared the bar only when they stopped playing. The crowd included at least one booking agent and some industry types towed by Ray Seggern, music director at Tulsa's KMYZ, 104.5 FM, himself an Austin native. Manson is keeping a cool head. “I've been through this South by Southwest hoop before, and I'm not expecting miracles. The fact that we had time to set up and got to play right in the middle of the action is enough reward for me,'' he said. The band kicked around the rest of the week and was scheduled to play a wedding on Saturday. Yikes. A Tulsa Sampler By Thomas Conner 03/22/1998 AUSTIN, Texas — The bright yellow sign outside Maggie Mae's said, “Come hear the Tulsa Sound!'' It enticed the throngs of music lovers off the sidewalks of Sixth Street -- Austin's main drag and the heart of the South by Southwest music festival — and into the club featuring the first of several bills packed with Tulsans. Dave Percefull and Bud Barnes organized the festival line-up through Percefull's Tulsa-based music company, Yellow Dog Productions. The bill featured bluesy rockers Steve Pryor, Brad Absher and Brandon Jenkins, as well as a sister pop duo called Eden. For five hours late Wednesday night and late Thursday afternoon, the four acts rotated across the stage in the rooftop loft of Maggie Mae's club. The Tulsa Sound it was — Absher's smooth, loosened-tie blues; Pryor's hard-livin', cleansing blues of a true axman, and Jenkins' muddy wheatfield country blues. During Jenkins' first set Wednesday night, Pryor sashayed around the sparse room playing air guitar. He later commented, “Ever notice how the guys who can play the hell out of a guitar never get the record deals?'' It was a question intended to compliment Jenkins, but it spoke volumes toward the plight of these three players, each incredibly tight and accomplished musicians who have been slogging through the Tulsa club scene for years without any greater reward outside the city limits. But that's what these two showcases were for, Percefull said. “I can't think of anyone in Tulsa who deserves to have fingers pointed at them in front of record industry people quite like these guys,'' Percefull said. Percefull and Barnes landed the choice timeslots and location when another record company pulled its showcases out of the festival at the last minute. Percefull, who plays guitar with Jenkins' band and has been trying to grab a stage at the festival for several years, heard about the cancellation, contacted the organizers and gave a loud, “Ahem!'' That led to not just one night featuring four acts, but two nights in a row. “We lucked out, big time,'' Percefull said. Rounding out the Tulsa Sound was Eden, a haunting pop group made of sisters Sharla and Angie Pember. Sharla backs her sister's vocals with alternating piano and acoustic guitar, and the two blend their voices into evocative harmonies. Together, they sound like Sarah McLachlan's multi-track studio recordings, but they're creating the dreamy mood live with two voices. The Yellow Dog showcase got the most out of its location, too. Maggie Mae's loft opens onto a popular rooftop loft made even more popular by this week's warm weather in Austin. Plus, the bathrooms for the large club were upstairs, so eventually everyone at Maggie Mae's walked by the Tulsa players. Hey, they come down to here to be seen and heard, right? They'll take the exposure any way it comes. Prefab? Another Lennon Goes Into the Rock Wilderness By Thomas Conner 03/27/1998 AUSTIN, Texas — Saturday, at the South by Southwest music festival, was a hard day's night. After pundits debated the remaining relevance of Paul McCartney, Sean Lennon wowed a star-struck crowd with his meandering and pretty un-Beatlesque tunes. The young Lennon seems more interested in his parents' Beach Boys records than the records of his parents. Oh, there are flashes of “Revolver''-era John here and there, but Sean has carved out his own sound right from the start. It has more to do with jazz than John and it's more Pat Metheny than Paul McCartney. Unfortunately, like Metheny, it's not exactly captivating to a large audience. The club, Austin's Cain's-sized Liberty Lunch, was packed with eager fans at the beginning of Sean's Saturday night set, but many left halfway through. Sean and his backing band, the unusually subdued Cibo Matto, clumsily wound through some complicated material — a few breezy pop tunes (as breezy as the heavy bass and Sean's low-end guitar could get), a little post-Beatles electric R&B and a lot of roomy rock-jazz. When he played guitar, he sounded like the son of Santana, and when he sang he sounded like Red House Painters' Mark Kozelek -- soft, overly breathy and slightly out of his range. All in all, intriguing stuff that will demand careful listening (read: a sizeable cult following). John would be proud, surely, but John is dead. We know this for certain. McCartney we're not so sure about. Thus the Saturday afternoon panel discussion titled “So IS Paul Dead?'' which attempted to assess the relative worth of McCartney's checkered post-Beatles solo career. The panel, which included a spectrum of resumes from songwriters Tommy Keene and Vic Chesnutt to journalists Jim DeRogatis and Michael Azerrad, not surprisingly was evenly divided and came to few conclusions. DeRogatis, rock critic for the Chicago Sun-Times, led the charge by insisting that McCartney is “to 16-year-olds today, the one who put that damned 'Yesterday' song in the elevator.'' “To many kids, he's Sinatra. He's the target of rebellion. You play rock now to not be like him,'' he said. No matter how much support was voiced for McCartney's latest album, “Flaming Pie'' (and its one stunning song, the George Martin-touched “Calico Skies''), the discussion always came back around to “Ebony and Ivory,'' his sappy 1982 phoned-in duet with Stevie Wonder that he will never live down. It was uncomfortable watching this heated debate rage basically behind McCartney's back, but the very existence of the panel and the sparking of the debate did more to answer the question on the panel's title than any carefully crafted barb. The reports of his death, it seems, have been greatly exaggerated. Austin City Limits: A South by Southwest Diary By Thomas Conner 03/27/1998 AUSTIN, Texas — Four days, about 850 shows to see. Somehow this year, the crowds at the annual South by Southwest music festival were smaller and the shows were better, which probably goes hand-in-hand. Also, there weren't as many must-see bands on the schedule. That allowed for more wandering and exploring, which is the best thing the festival can offer. I tried to see as many cool new acts and veterans as I could, and I've got the aching calves to prove it. Here's a round-up of my subjective, serendipitous stumbles through the South by Southwest showcases: Sonic Serenade: With no bandwagons to jump onto this year, like last year's electronica buzz, the most interesting stuff being plied was experimental pop. The last-minute scheduling of Sonic Youth provided the perfect balance to trippy pop explorers like Imperial Teen, Apples in Stereo and the fascinating but doomed-to-obscurity Olivia Tremor Control. Even Sean Lennon veers away from his dad's succinctness and essays jazzier, more expansive sonic experimentation. Of course, his backing band is Cibo Matto, so he couldn't remain exactly accessible. Break on Through: 14-year-old Trevor Thornton simply drips rock stardom, from the tattered-but-swank floor-length fur coat he wore to the Friday night showcases to the completely green and vulnerable look on his face as he sings. He fronts the band Flick with his guitarist older brother, Oran. Together with their made-for-MTV looks and their immense sense of style, this Stockton, Mo.-based band is destined for at least 15 proverbial minutes. The quartet's Thursday night showcase was dogged by sound problems, but no one cared; they simply put on too enthralling a Big Rock Show. Imagine the Pooh Sticks with Smashing Pumpkins production levels. Get ready. Route 66 is nowhere near: Sporting an Australian ranger hat and a quite rugged red-plaid pullover, English folksinger Billy Bragg spent Friday pitching his latest project — an album of lost Woody Guthrie songs recorded with Wilco, due in June and titled “Mermaid Avenue.'' At his Waterloo Records in-store gig, he was introduced by Robyn Hitchcock, and he sang a tear-jerking politics-made-personal lyric that Guthrie had scribbled into the margins of a notebook, “She Comes Along to Me'' (“It never could have happened if the women hadn't entered into the deal / like she came along to me''). He still promises a Tulsa date on the fall tour in support of the Guthrie album. Save your pennies and pay whatever he asks. OK, Maybe It Does: Once the oldies licks being passed off as country finally oozes out of Nashville, the industry will discover that the roots of American country music have been kept alive in Oklahoma. Two nights of showcases at the Waterloo Ice House gave a sneak peak at the bands that are archiving these down-home sentiments. Red-dirt pioneers Tom Skinner, Greg Jacobs and Bob Childers spun their tales with more precision than usual. Michael Fracasso, the plains' answer to Chris Isaak, made up for his overly simple lyrics with astonishing subtlety and suppleness. Austin-based Okie Jimmy Lafave played a few of his bluesy-boogie classics. Finally, the Red Dirt Rangers capped off the fiesta with a typically satisfying set despite technical problems with multi-instrumentalist Benny Craig's steel guitar. And what a Texas following all these Okies have; the club stayed packed till nearly 4 a.m. each night. Also, Stillwater's Great Divide played an official showcase Thursday night at the hub for country music, the Continental Club. Look for the band's debut soon on Atlantic Records. Deluxe treatment: Their twisted, gnarled My Bloody Valentine kind of pop is sometimes difficult to digest, but the Saturday night show by Sixteen Deluxe was the most amazing spectacle. An intrepid projectionist ran four 16mm film projectors onto the band and the sheet behind them, providing smartly choreographed eye candy (explosions, shimmering water, sun flares, kaleidoscopic mouths) during the full-bore set. Near the end of the set, Robyn Hitchcock joined the band for a driving rendition of Lou Reed's “Vicious.'' Soon, lead singer and guitarist Carrie Clark was jabbing out her last guitar solo while crowd-surfing. Much mania and mayhem. They'll be here in April. Don't miss them. Visible Hitchcock: Oddball Brit Robyn Hitchcock was everywhere during this year's fest, from introducing Billy Bragg's in-store show to guesting with Sixteen Deluxe. His own shows are always fascinating. At Waterloo Records on Saturday, he played a delightfully trippy acoustic set with violinist Deni Bonet, including such standards as “Madonna of the Wasps'' and “Arms of Love'' plus two hilarious new ones: about Gene Hackman (“and when he smiles / it means trouble somewhere'') and “Viva Seattle-Tacoma'' (“they've got the best computers and coffee and smack''). A fan gave him a plastic tomato. “It doesn't say Texas on the bottom,'' Hitchcock said, examining the vegetable. “It says, 'Signs Point to No.' '' Get it? His new disc is due in September. He's Alright, and So Are the Kids: The Wainwright family was in town for the festival — and that's not a new sitcom bunch. Loudon Wainwright III was hyping his latest and most fully realized album to date, “Little Ship.'' His showcase before a packed university ballroom was witty as ever, focusing on the subject of families and kids and thus comprising a veritable Cosby-esque “Loudon Wainwright: Himself.'' Most of the topical material came from the new record (“Bein' a Dad,'' the moving “Four Mirrors''), but he took a couple of appropriate requests (“Hitting You,'' “Baby in the House''). He remains astonishingly underappreciated. Son Rufus Wainwright in the tradition of Ben Folds Five. And then there were ...: The windows of Maggie Mae's on Thursday night were coated with dripping, freshly hacked lung secretions. A ferocious punk band, Human Alert from Amsterdam, tore through a set of fierce noise and bravado, spitting on everything and everyone. One of the three lead singers wore a beaten leather jacket with the self-contradictory slogan “Master of Anarchy'' painted across the back. ... Fastball's “The Way'' already has conquered modern rock radio, but this Austin band has plenty more hit songs to come. They played many of them at an acoustic in-store show Saturday afternoon and their capacity show that night at La Zona Rosa. They also have going for them what Third Eye Blind somehow (and unfairly) missed: critical respect. ... Jonathan Fire*Eater is the best garage-club band in the country. Lead singer Stewart Lupton stumbled through his band's raucous set like a drunk Stanley Laurel, and he sang with such exciting desperation, as if singing was the only thing keeping him remotely lucid. Hot stuff. ... The theme nights this year were a bust. The only time eyes were smiling Thursday at Maggie Mae's Irish Night was during the Frank and Walters spunky power pop set. Japan Night, Friday at the Tropical Isle, was a dud compared to last year's mania. Also, Rock en Espanol at Maggie Mae's West was wholly indistinct. Each band was just another forgettable modern rock band who happened to sing in Spanish, like Miami's Volumen Cero. Bummer, compadre. Pop's Tops Flock to South by Southwest By Thomas Conner 03/28/1998 Depending on who you ask, South by Southwest is either the most important event in the music industry or the most embarrassing evidence of said industry's laziness and greed run amok. Both viewpoints are pretty much on the money. Being part of that evil liberal media to which the festival caters ever so kindly, you won't be surprised to hear that I vote the former. This annual bridal fair of pop music's best and burgeoning is still the only time each year when the bulk of the music industry and its press are gathered together to actually ask, “What's new?'' Deals are still made at this behemoth, and stars rise out of Austin every year. Here's a bit of call-and-response answering some of the questions and criticisms of the best time an expense account can buy: What the heck is this thing, anyway, and why does the Tulsa World pay it any mind? South by Southwest is, as Alternative Press editor Jason Pettigrew so wisely stated it this year, the spring break of the music industry. Journalists and music biz types go down to Austin for four or five days, spending someone else's money, talk a lot of crap and wear badges that grace them with a rarely bestowed V.I.P. status. And don't forget the endless buckets of free barbecue and beer. We wear out our trendy black shoes striding between downtown clubs every hour on the hour trying to see the latest buzz band or the most interesting confection. Hopefully, we see something worthwhile and we do what we do in our respective professions to help make some noise about it. It's all about making noise, from the actual music to this ink. Plus, if Tulsa bands are part of the fiesta, by God, I'll be there. No one actually gets signed or in any way propelled forward as a result of SXSW. In a word: Hanson. Tulsa's own mega-star trio proved that just being near the festival can be the first step toward taking over the planet. In 1994, the brothers three wandered among the crowd at an industry-only softball game, singing for anyone that looked remotely interested. This impromptu performance grabbed the attention of Christopher Sabec, who rushed to talk to the Hanson parents behind the bleachers. You know the rest of the story. If it can happen to three smooth-faced doo-woppers, it can happen to punk bands and performance artists. Need more proof? Here are some acts that were discovered — at least by the music press — at SXSW: Green Day ('93), the Toadies ('92), the Gin Blossoms ('89), Big Head Todd and the Monsters ('90), Lisa Loeb ('93), Ani DiFranco ('92) and Veruca Salt ('94). Each showcase is about 40 minutes long, and there are too many going all at once. How can any artist hope to discovered out of that? First, the actual showcase is not what helps your band. That's purely entertainment for the club-crawlers. South by Southwest is not about actually seeing music as it is talking about it. The deals go down in the convention center trade show, at the record company parties, at the chance meetings here and there. The priority is to meet people and — dare I say the word? — network. Learn from the Hanson experience. Just being there and being brave enough to stand out, that's what puts contracts on your tabletop. It's only for signed bands. Unsigned bands can't ever get in. Indeed, if you ain't from Austin, cowpoke, and you ain't got a record deal, chances are you ain't getting an official showcase. Unsigned bands are a rarity, but they're there (case in point: Tulsa and Oklahoma City's Billy Joe Winghead this year), and the bulk of bands are on indie labels, which still means no one likely has heard of them. Frustrated applicants should keep in mind, though, that South by Southwest aims for a level of professionalism a notch or two above your basic talent show. Also, if Tulsa bands want more clout in this kind of arena, someone's got to get off their keister and launch a credible indie label here. We've got to walk it like we talk it. How can they call it a new-music festival when they bring in such huge acts? If you booked a festival of 845 Billy Joe Wingheads, do you think it would attract more than 6,000 industry types and another 6,000 journalists? The harsh reality is that you've got to seed the thing with some known names or no one will come and chance upon the undiscovered gem. Gotta get used to riding those coattails. It's just an excuse for critics to get together and feel important on someone else's tab. And the problem with this is ... ? By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World Contrary to popular opinion, I don't hate Hanson. Sometimes I grow weary of dealing with the story — fielding daily calls from an endless stream of pre-teen girls, foreign journalists and creepy sycophants who think I have some inside track on the personal habits, bodily markings and whereabouts of the world's newest pop triumvirate. One guy even offered to snap infra-red photos of the boys in their secret rehearsal spot. Yeesh. Nobody really hates Hanson. Even the ghouls who create web pages glamorizing fantasies about assaulting our cherubic idols don't really hate them. Real hatred rarely inspires such tribute. Cynics who naturally rail against anything that becomes hugely popular can't hate them completely. The songs are too good, the melodies are too sweet and Taylor has too much raw soul. I can't tell you how many times such people — myself included — have begun discussions of the pop trio by saying, “Well, I don't have anything against their music, but ...'' But what? All other arguments are irrelevant. If you dislike a group because of its look, you're shallow. If you dislike a group simply because of its popularity, you have an inferiority complex that should be dealt with. If you dislike a group because the members' personalities chafe you, you're missing the point of pop music. As Diana Hanson, the Hanson mom, told me early this year, “All that stuff about what it was like for them to play Legos together is diversionary. The music is what matters, and that story is out there.'' Hanson's “Middle of Nowhere'' album was a triumph for pop music. The melodies are catchy — resistance is futile — and the words frequently nonsensical. It's bright, cheerful and completely disposable. “MMMBop'' sounds great every time you hear it, even after a hundred listens, and it demands nothing intellectual of you. That's pop. It could be gone tomorrow, but it will have served its purpose well. For those reasons, I love the guys. I'm a power pop fanatic, and this music fits into my personal groove. In my reporting and criticism, I attempt to craft a more personal tone than your basic national media outlet. In so doing, I often end up sounding more snide than is warranted. The last thing I want to become is part of the Tulsa music scene's problem. Tulsa's scene suffers mostly because area media -- and fans — consistently disrespect their own. I have infinite respect for what these boys have achieved this year, and I hope others join me, regardless of musical tastes, in puffing with just a bit of pride in our hometown sons' accomplishments. Perhaps we could do the same for numerous other impressive musicians in our talent-packed local scene. Of course, there's the rub: Hanson may have been born and home-schooled within our city limits, but they are hardly a product of the local music scene. The 300-plus local gigs Hanson publicists love to tell you about likely were as much as 95 percent private functions — not exactly dues-paying circumstances. They made virtually no effort to test their mettle in the Tulsa marketplace, where clubgoers choose to pay for the performance. In the end, bypassing that probably helped Hanson succeed better than anything. After all, Leon Russell — previously Tulsa's most famous rock 'n' roll product — usually charges a greater fee when he plays Tulsa. Why? Because the audiences here aren't as big, and they don't respect him. Had Hanson suffered in the local concert scene, Mercury Records might not have mustered the confidence to support the boys as heartily as they did. Therein lies my only valid gripe against the group: since the album hit, Tulsans have not seen hide nor hair of the boys. They have completely ignored their hometown fans. They even canceled their scheduled appearance at Tulsa's centennial homecoming celebration in September — a bad PR move that only made their heads look larger from the perspective of us little people back home in Green Country. Then again, maybe this is why Tulsa fans are so punchy; if we do help someone reach stardom, we'll probably never see them again. It's something to think about the next time someone complains about Tulsa's dearth of culture and fame. Suggest that next weekend they blow their movie-rental bucks on a cheap cover charge at a local club. Hear some music. Socialize instead of retreat. See what happens. And thank you for your support. By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World In August, Hanson played, well, a record-breaking show in Toronto, Canada. Trick is, they didn't set the record — their fans did. The mob — mostly ecstatic young girls, of course — screamed their way into the Guinness Book of World Records. The sound meter at the show registered the audience frenzy at 140 decibels. The previous record is 126 decibels, set by fans of the Who nearly two decades ago. (Parents, fill in your own “The Kids Are Alright'' joke here.) That's just one way the Hanson brothers have made noise this year. When the calendar turned to '97, the Hanson boys couldn't get arrested. They'd been on the local pep rally circuit and become Mayfest staples, even had quietly released two indie albums, but the Hanson moniker meant nothing to the masses. This New Year's holiday, the Hanson family has a lot to toast. The family's singing trio — Zac, Taylor and Isaac — has sold more than 10 million albums and become the No. 1 pop group in nearly every country on the planet. Here's a look back at the past year of Hanson-mania — the exposition and explosion: Feb. 1 — A photograph appears in Billboard magazine with a caption kicker that would prove all too prophetic: “Eat My Dust.'' The Hanson brothers are pictured with the Dust Brothers and two Mercury Records execs. The caption simply mentioned that the boys were finishing their album in a California studio. Feb. 28 — The song “MMMBop'' is among 10 (including Springsteen and Journey) rated by radio DJs in an issue of Hitmakers magazine. The one-liners say, “What a great record,'' “This is great!'' and “I love this! A great record!'' March 24 — “MMMBop'' is released to radio and debuts at No. 43 on Billboard's chart of top airplay. April 7 — A petition for majority rights is filed in the District Court of Tulsa County in the name of Clarke Isaac Hanson, Jordan Taylor Hanson and Zachary Walker Hanson. That means they were asking the court to allow the boys to enter into contracts as if they were adults (18 or older). Gotta get the legal ducks in a row. May 3 — “MMMBop,'' just released for sale, debuts at No. 16 on the Billboard singles chart. May 6 — The full album, “Middle of Nowhere'' on Mercury Records, hits record shelves and debuts on the Billboard album chart at No. 9. Nearly 75,000 copies are sold just this week. May 7 — Hanson appears at the Paramus Park Mall in Paramus, N.J. They have to be rushed off the stage because the place was mobbed by a frenzied crowd topping 6,000 people. “More than Christmas,'' Isaac marveled. Fans rip the laces from Taylor's shoes. May 14 — “MMMBop'' hits No. 1 on the Billboard singles chart. May 26 — Hanson appears on the “Live With Regis and Kathy Lee'' morning show. Kathy Lee is visibly annoyed. End of May — 30 web sites are devoted exclusively to Hanson. Early June — Hanson appears on the KHTT, 106.9 FM, morning show with Andy Barber and sings an a capella version of “MMMBop.'' June 11 — Already the legions of screaming girls are panicking the publicists. An editor at Super Teen magazine relays, “Danny Goldberg (president of Mercury Records) said he's trying to get the label to focus marketing more on boys. They love the screaming girls, but they're trying not to lose the boy market.'' June 12 — Hanson appear as presenters at the MTV Movie Awards. They announce the award for Best Fight. June 13 — Hanson stops at the Frontier City theme park in Oklahoma City for a seven-song show. The tiny venue is crammed with people, young and old. Tulsa's Mellowdramatic Wallflowers opened the show, playing twice as long. July 11 — The boys perform and are interviewed on “The Tonight Show With Jay Leno.'' July 29 — “Where's the Love'' is released as the second single from the major-label debut. Sept. 1 — The first two unauthorized bios show up at bookstores: “Hanson: An Unauthorized Biography'' and “Hanson: MMMBop to the Top: An Unauthorized Biography'' by Jill Matthews. Sept. 26 — Sandwiched between scintillating sitcoms like “Sabrina the Teenage Witch'' and “You Wish,'' Hanson “host'' ABC's Friday night T.G.I.F. line-up. It wasn't much — a few cutesy remarks, a peek at the newest video (“I Will Come to You'') and a quick harmonizing of “Where's the Love.'' Oct. 3 — Hundreds of Tulsa teens show up at school in tears because of widespread news that Zac had been killed in a road accident in Europe. Just a sick rumor, fortunately. Oct. 18 — Hanson sings the National Anthem to open the first game of the World Series. A bald eagle flies down to the plate afterward. Some losers actually booed them. Late October — Fred Savage, former “Wonder Years'' star, shows up on “MTV Live'' and declares “MMMBop'' as his favorite video. Oct. 31 — MTV spends the day airing “the scariest videos of all time,'' such as Ozzy Osbourne, Prodigy and Marylin Manson. Hanson's “MMMBop'' is included, introduced as “definitely the scariest video ever.'' Early November — 150,000 web sites are devoted exclusively to Hanson. Nov. 1 — “Hanson: The Official Book'' by Tulsa writer Jarrod Gollihare arrives on bookshelves. Nov. 6 — Hanson wins trophies for Best Song and Best Breakthrough Act at the MTV Europe Music Awards. Nov. 11 — Heard rumors that the Hansons are planning to move from Tulsa? The boys appear on a live chat and simulcast on America Online; when asked if they will be moving, they reply, “No, Tulsa is home! :D'' Also, the album's third single, “I Will Come to You,'' is released. Nov. 18 — “Snowed In,'' the boys' Christmas album, is released (debuting at No. 7 on Billboard's album chart) along with a video documentary of the whirlwind year of touring, “Tulsa, Tokyo and the Middle of Nowhere.'' Nov. 21 — They can still pack 'em in: nearly 30,000 people cram into a shopping mall in Columbus, Ohio, for a free Hanson performance. Nov. 28 — ABC airs a prime-time special about Hanson, in which Dick Clark interviews the boys as if they were on “American Bandstand.'' Dec. 9 — Hanson is first on a bill including the Wallflowers and — get this — Aerosmith at New York City's Madison Square Garden. Dec. 13 — The trio appears as the musical guest on NBC's “Saturday Night Live.'' Dec. 18 — Hanson roars through “Run Run Rudolph'' for its second appearance on “The Late Show With David Letterman.'' By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World Hanson “Snowed In'' (Mercury) Christmas is a kids' holiday, right? So tune into the true spirit of the season with this exuberant pop album from Tulsa's own international sensations. Granted, most of Hanson's covers of Christmas classics — written scores before they were born — are frequently cloying and don't necessarily improve on them, but these are carols for the Spice Girls' Generation Next; they ain't s'pposed to be reverent. A handful of originals keeps the spirit bright, like the sincerity of “At Christmas'' and the frenzied funk of “Everybody Knows the Claus'' (“Ridin' down the air highway in his sleigh / Bringing all the presents for the next day — don't forget the donuts!''). Taylor continues exploding with soul, while Isaac shows signs of becoming Bolton-esque. By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World The Buddha, the Godhead, resides quite as comfortably in the circuits of a digital computer or the gears of a cycle transmission as he does at the top of a mountain or the petals of a flower. To think otherwise is to demean the Buddha -- which is to demean oneself. David Byrne, it seems, is a machine. He's moving around the stage like a plastic doll in some art student's stop-motion short film, like two successfully fused halves of the mechanized mannequin parts in Herbie Hancock's "Rockit'' video. He stepped onto the Cain's Ballroom stage Thursday night upholstered in a pink, feathered suit, thick and bulky like the white one in the quintessential video for one of the disaffected anthems of his former band — the song he's opening the show with, Talking Heads' "Once in a Lifetime.'' His voice is clipped and cold, same as it ever was, and this old, cyclical lyric spews forth the same questions — where does that highway go to, and, my God, what have I done? — that none of us gathered for this otherworldly, Harlan Ellison kind of display have found time to answer. He must be a machine. He hasn't aged. By the time the programmed jungle rhythms for "The Gates of Paradise'' (from his latest album, "Feelings'') begin tsk-tsk-tsking out of the timid speaker stack, Byrne has stripped down to a baby blue jumpsuit that outlines a very svelt and fit 45-year-old. Grasping his guitar as the chorus riffs, he plants his feet firmly just inches from the front row of wide-eyed, cautious onlookers. He's so close that the peghead of his guitar nearly smacks the hat off the head of Don Dickey, the cheshire-grinning singer of Tulsa's own Evacuation of Oklahoma. Byrne is right there in front of us. Two nights previous, barricades and burly security goons kept a crowd of fanatics a safe distance from Morrissey, a performer claimed by fans to be coursing with real, palatable passions and, thus, to be esteemed as utterly human. This David Byrne model requires no protection. He is a machine. He must be replaceable. The five people on this stage are machine components, anyway. The keyboard player is merely pulling stops and turning knobs to allow the samples and programs to speak. The drummer plays a live snare and two cymbals; the rest are computer pads. The plucking and strumming of the bass and Byrne's guitar are only the beginnings of the sonic impulses, which — after numerous devices have encoded the frequencies — are emitted as wholly new and unreal wavelengths. Even Christina Wheeler, a dancer and backup singer, takes her turn playing not an instrument but a portable station of sound processors and compressors that capture her voice and utilize it as the breath of a larger, more layered sound. The machinery is co-opting the energy of humanity for its own artistic goals, the kind of live-vs.-Memorex dichotomy we've seen this year mastered by Bowie and muddled by Beck. But this is Byrne, and he doesn't seem to let the technology control him. If I dashed back to the sound board right now and severed the power cables with a quick hatchet chop, I'm convinced Byrne would still be able to make his music. He wears a headset microphone and dresses his new songs in doo-dad drapery, but there is a deeper and more fluid sense of art in this display than in Beck's synthohol or Bowie's ice crystals. Of all the classics to revive, Byrne starts playing the Al Green song that gave the Talking Heads the first sign of a human face, "Take Me to the River,'' and the cold, jerky Devo concert atmosphere begins to thaw. For "Daddy Go Down,'' a roadie who had just been adjusting microphone cables reappears on stage with a fiddle and balances the martial drum machine with Circean sawing. For "Dance on Vaseline,'' Byrne bops back to the stage wearing a black T-shirt and a red, plaid kilt (his third costume change thus far and, for many, the most titillating — a young woman shrieked, "He's wearing tighty-whities!'') and chuckles about the, um, slipperiness of love. People are bellowing, People are bouncing. People are bobbing. Byrne, the efficient showman — show-man -- smiles and shakes and sweats. Machines can't do that. The music swells and glows, like oceanic phosphorous — pouring through the sensual balladry of "Soft Seduction,'' foaming with the borderless joy of "Miss America'' and flowing swiftly through the righteous riffing of "Angels.'' Finally, the set ends with a song based on that live snare drum, another Talking Heads anthem -- "Road to Nowhere'' — recorded at the dawning of the derision of the post-boomer generation and written as a reductio ad absurdum argument against the prophesies of our detachment and cyberization. No, we may not know exactly where this highway goes to, but with Byrne running in place and the rest of us unconsciously jumping up and down on the Cain's spring-loaded floor, it's clear that the road leads somewhere and that Byrne is as good a piper to follow as any. In fact, he raises us to such cheer and wonder that we won't let him go. We call him back for an encore. He returns, this time in the most astonishing costume I've seen on a public stage: a full-body skin-tight suit, with only eye and mouth holes, illustrating the body's underlying muscles and bones. Like an alien child of the gimp in "Pulp Fiction'' and educational television's Slim Goodbody, Byrne sings a slow, eerie version of "Psycho Killer'' while climbing across the stage in slow motion. After folding himself into a yoga posture, the band bows, exits, and the crowd demands more. Byrne returns in another tight jumpsuit featuring flames from toe to chest. The rhythm festival cranks up for "I Zimbra.'' After a shouting, dancing frenzy, the band bows, exits, and would you believe Tulsa demanded a third encore? Exhausted and hoping to settle us down so that we'll let him leave, he returns and plays the new lullaby "Amnesia.'' In our newfound calm, we discover we are at peace. It feels good to be alive and to be human. David Byrne, it seems, is very human. By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World Let's take a song from David Byrne's latest CD, "Feelings,'' as an example of our post-postmodern everything-and-the-kitchen-sink era of art. Knitting together the unabashed, knee-slappin' country-and-western chorus are delicate, jittery jungle techno rhythms. Sounds absurd, but it works beautifully. Or "Daddy Go Down'' — a Cajun fiddle see-saws on a playground of droning sitars and tell-tale scratching. Walk into your local record label office and pitch that to a talent scout. See what kind of looks you get. David Byrne is used to strange looks. In the 20 years since the debut of the Talking Heads' first album, he has led that band and his own solo career through a series of unbelievable and harrowing stylistic twists and turns, and every time he pitched one of his art-student ideas, he met numerous odd looks. He's racked numerous successes — personal (a wedding — at which Brave Combo played -- and a daughter) and commercial (you know the hits — "Once in a Lifetime,'' "Wild, Wild Life,'' "And She Was,'' etc.) — in those 20 years, though, and there's no good reason to stop now. "I'm used to the look of bewilderment,'' Byrne said this week in a telephone interview from a tour stop in Florida. "I just have to explain that I'm from the same planet you are — you just don't realize how strange it is out there. You're living in some TV dream world.'' Fortunately, Byrne has reached a position from which he can act on his whims with relative freedom. For instance, his record label, Luaka Bop (a subsidiary of Warner Bros.) signs and produces artists from around the world that normally wouldn't get looked at twice by American labels. It cuts out the middlemen and those looks of bewilderment. "Look at the new Cornershop record. It looks like it's making some kind of impact, but if you went to someone and said, 'We have this band with an Indian singer and their single is about Asha Bosley, this woman who stars in Indian musicals, and we think it's a hit record,' they'd look at you like, 'What planet are you from?' But it worked. Every now and then one of them clicks,'' Byrne said. Cornershop found success for the same reasons Byrne continues to astound listeners: they both realize the patchwork potential of pop music now. They mix styles. They bridge the gaps between musical genres. They play to our expanding awareness of the world. It's not intentional, of course. Byrne doesn't hunker down next to his wall of gold Talking Heads records and plot ways to better communicate with today's collage minds. His consciousness is a collage, too, so the music comes out that way. Upon the release of "Feelings,'' Byrne explained it this way: "We all seem to have these musical styles and reference points floating around in our heads, things we've heard at one time or another that rub off on us — sometimes in small ways, as a feeling in a melodic turn of phrase, other times in the overall style of a song. There's a subconscious cut-and-paste going on in our heads that doesn't seem strange at all. It seems like the most natural thing in the world. It's the way we live now ... borrowing from the past and future, from here and there.'' It's the way Byrne lives, anyway, and he said the ideas for style-melding sneak up on him. "It doesn't come when you have your forehead furrowed, figuring out what to do with a song. It comes when you're not paying attention, when you're making coffee late in the afternoon and there's a record playing in the background,'' Byrne said. " 'The Gates of Paradise' is an example of that. I had a jungle record playing while I was in the kitchen, and my ear caught something. I realized that the rhythm I was hearing was the same basic beat of the song I had just been working on.'' In the making of "Feelings,'' those moments came with greater frequency, Byrne said, because of the way the album was made. The songs were recorded with musicians and producers all over the world — the dance trio Morcheeba in London, the Black Cat Orchestra in Seattle, Devo in Los Angeles, Joe Galdo in Miami and Hahn Rowe in New York City. No big studios, either — everything was economical, in home studios. That contributes largely, Byrne said, to the natural, relaxed gait of the songs. Nowadays, with advancements in technology and lower prices, home recordings sound as good or better than those from big, complicated studios. This is not breaking news to musicians, but it's a new dynamic to the musical marketplace. "All artists have gone through this — you make a demo at home that sounds great, that has this intensity and feel and spontaneity, and it gets scrubbed clean in the studio. They listen to the final product and go, "There's something missing here. Why doesn't this sound as exciting as the demo?' That's an old story,'' Byrne said. "Now we're coming around to where if you take a little more care when recording the demo, you can release that as the record.'' That's what Byrne did this time around. The result is an album that packs a suitcase of musical styles that ordinary musicians wouldn't be able to carry across the room, but the disc holds together with a surprising fluidity and coherence. It may be the most enterprising effort Byrne has tackled since the heady days with his old band. "In the beginning, the Talking Heads were always kind of beat-oriented. Always in the living rooms and the loft there was R&B in the air as well as experimental music and rock stuff. That resulted in the same fusion that I think I still capture from time to time,'' Byrne said. "It's a natural tendency to end up putting together the different things in your experience. You act out what you love. That's how different music comes into being. What we call rock 'n' roll is a patchwork of many different things. It's not like Elvis Presley had no roots.'' Byrne prefers continuing on his own path, too. The other three members of the Talking Heads reunited last year without him, calling themselves simply the Heads and using different vocalists for each song on the resulting CD "No Talking Just Head.'' Bad blood still exists between Byrne and his former bandmates, so his part in the reunion was never an issue. "Years earlier I had tried to talk to them, and they didn't want to even talk to me,'' he said. "It's been going on for a very long time. It just finally got to the point where I realized I was not in this as a masochist and that I don't need to be whipped and berated. Music should be a joy. It was time to move on.'' Even when Byrne gets venomous or angry, though, his music somehow maintains an air of cheer, optimism and hope. Even with a foreboding lyric like that in "Daddy Go Down,'' the song's rhythmic momentum instills a crucial air of confidence. In fact, it's that rhythmic element that pulls off that trick, Byrne said. "You can dance to it,'' he said. "For me, you can say something very bleak and pessimistic, but if you counter it with a groove, it implies that the human being is going to persevere and survive. At least, that's what it feels like. Despite what ominous clouds gather, the groove and the life force is going to pull you through.'' David Byrne with Jim White When: 7 p.m. Thursday Where: Cain's Ballroom, 423 N. Main St. Tickets: $20 at the Ticket Office at Expo Square, Mohawk Music, Starship Records and Tapes, the Mark-It Shirt Shop in Promenade Mall and the Cutting Edge in Tahlequah By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World Relax — our three little cherubs are alive and well. A rumor is making the rounds that Zac Hanson, the youngest of the Tulsa-native hit trio Hanson, was killed in a bus accident in Europe. It's not true. Of course, he is the barefoot one on the album cover, and “MMMBop'' played backwards does sound like, “Zac is dead.'' (It's a joke, kids. Ask your parents.) Sources at Hanson's record label and management group confirmed on Friday that the rumor was just that — and not a very funny one, either. “You must be a star when rumors like this start floating around about you, even if it is kind of sick,'' said Jolynn Matsamura, publicist at Mercury Records. Students at Jenks East Middle School were crying in the halls on Friday morning when the rumor reached the Tulsa circuit. A Jenks counselor said the rumor created “quite a stir'' and that students were “all in a twit'' upon arriving at school. “Everyone was freaking out,'' said Jenks seventh-grader Mary Ellerbach. “We were all crying.'' Most students said they had been told that someone else had heard the report broadcast on KHTT, K-HITS 106.9 FM. However, the station denies reporting the rumor. “We never announced it. After a lot of calls about the news, though, we called Hanson's agent in Los Angeles, found out it wasn't true, and reported that,'' said KHTT operations manager Sean Phillips. A Jenks student's mother who knows the Hanson family verified the rumor as false and relayed the information to the school. “Then all the kids chilled,'' a counselor said. The rumor apparently originated in Europe and came ashore via the Internet. It was in Oklahoma by mid-week; callers to a Thursday night radio show on KSPI in Stillwater (which featured the Tulsa band Fanzine) already were asking, “Is it true?'' BY THOMAS CONNER
© Tulsa World Hanson songs aren't so thick on radio anymore, but this is just the eye of the storm. Get ready for TV and more hype as the Christmas season draws nigh. Here's a round-up of Hanson news for the giddy Hanson fans and their exhausted parents: I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus: How do you capitalize on a No. 1 smash debut record and avoid the sophomore slump? Make a Christmas album, of course. The trio has been stashed away in a recording studio outside of London, hurriedly recording a full-length disc of Christmas tunes called “Snowed In.'' Look for the elves on shelves Nov. 18. Read All About 'Em: An unauthorized paperback biography, Hanson: MMMBop to the Top, is already on bookstore shelves, and it was written by a woman who clearly has never set foot in Tulsa. Rest assured, all will be righted when the official bio is released by Virgin Press, also on Nov. 18. Written by Hanson family friend and Urban Tulsa writer Jarrod Gollihare, the book, tentatively titled The Official Hanson Book, has the blessing of the Hanson clan. Gollihare said the book will stand out from others simply because he's the only author granted interview time with the boys. Not-So-Candid Camera: Also in November, look for a feature-length video documentary of the Hansons titled “Tulsa, Tokyo and the Middle of Nowhere.'' Cameras followed the kids around on their recent world tour and put together footage of the wild and crazy antics. The film's director, David Silver, told Entertainment Weekly: “Despite their busy schedule, Hanson found time to participate in the editing process. Their analysis of the footage was absolutely right on.'' After all, they do have to figure out what to do when they grow up. But Wait, There's More: If a Spice Girls feature film wasn't bad enough, the Hansons, too, are working on a theatrical-release film likely due sometime next year. Word is that they plan to spoof the Beatles' “A Hard Day's Night'' (Beatles fans, start writing letters now). The project is in development now, and the writer signed onto it is Morgan J. Freeman, who shepherded the acclaimed “Hurricane Streets.'' He promises a light comedy, not a biography. It Always Snows in My Hometown: Superteen magazine, in an interview from its October issue, asked the Hansons if they took anything on the road to remind them of home. After Isaac mentioned a turtle (??!!), Zac said, “Our friends gave us a big globe of Tulsa.'' Isaac: “Ya know, one of those balls you turn upside down.'' Hanson Prank of the Month: Rhino Records mailed out an advertisement for its Christmas season slate of boxed sets. In it, they included some joke sets. Along with “Mista Rogers: What a Wonderful Day in Da Hood'' and the 50-disc “Titanic: The Box Set,'' they listed “Hanson: The Early Years,'' billed as “three volumes of pre-natal hits.'' The cover art was a sonigram of a fetus. It's just a joke, kids! I Sat Through “Sabrina'' for This?: ABC wrapped up its TGIF Hanson appearance PDQ. The boys were due to “host'' the network's Friday-night sitcom line-up on Sept. 26. After sitting through two hours of hype about this allegedly momentous occasion, fans were treated with a far-too short and pointless little performance. Rumors are flying now of an ABC Hanson Thanksgiving special. Stay tuned. Internet Geeks, Part 1: There are more than 150,000 Hanson web pages on the World Wide Web. Among those teens with all that time on their hands, one has formed the Hanson Internet Alliance. It's mission: “To protect Hanson webmasters from cyber-thieves'' who steal photos, banners and ideas. If you are discovered ripping off a fellow Hanson fan, the alliance will spread your site address around and urge all fans to boycott it. Shiver me timbers. Internet Geeks, Part 2: By far the most bizarre juxtaposition of cultures appears on the page for Hanson Addicts Anonymous (http://www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Stage/7608/index.html), which uses a quotation from Kierkegaard to introduce its page full of typical prepubescent hysteria. The page even offers a 12-step program for Hanson addicts. Step One: “Place all Hanson CDs in the trash can next to your computer. Close the lid and forget about them.'' Step Two: “What were you thinking? Open the lid! Open the lid!'' All I'm Askin' Is for a Little Respect: In Britain teen mag Live and Kicking this month, Zac stated the band's motto: “Judge us for our music, not our age.'' Then he expanded it: “Think of us as old people with high voices.'' By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World In France, they're lauded with headlines like, “Hanson ... groupe de l'heure!!!'' In Germany, the boys show up on shows like “Geld Oder Liebe.'' In Portugal, it's, “Hanson!! Hanson!! A banda que e sucesso no mundo inteiro!'' In Tulsa, the hometown public hasn't laid eyes on them in nearly a year. That's because once the Hanson album hit the shelves in the spring, these three youngsters hit the road (well, boarded the plane) and haven't looked back. With “Middle of Nowhere'' and its hot-agent single “MMMBop'' still resting comfortably in the Top 20 in a majority of the world's time zones, who needs to go home? Europe is absolutely batty for them, and this week the boys are sowing the seeds of their adoration on the western edge of the Pacific. Indeed, these three tykes from Tulsa have gone from zero to hero faster than Disney's Hercules himself, and while Tulsans shouldn't get their hopes up about a hometown performance probably in this century, the boys' bubblegum sounds are certainly taking over the world. Here are some curious bits of news about Hanson's international impression: It Ain't Me, Babe Early in July, the Tulsa World received this desperate plea through e-mail from a teen-ager in Australia: “I have had mounting annoyance at the people that think I am Jordan Taylor Hanson. I have been receiving faxes, e-mails and so forth at all times of day and night. Due to this I am totally distressed and hope that Hanson go away! Nothing personal, but I'm furious. What do you suggest I do???'' His name is J. Taylor Hanson. Not only does he share the name with Hanson's soulful, androgynous, 14-year-old singer, but this Hanson also happens to hail from Tulsa. He's in Australia for six months, and the rabid fans have tracked him down via the Internet thinking he's the famous Taylor. When J. Taylor left Tulsa, the Hanson touring schedule was still a list of private parties in south Tulsa. Now the group is an international phenomenon, much to J. Taylor's dismay. “The trouble really began when "MMMBop' went to No. 1,'' J. Taylor said through an Internet interview last month. “It was really weird. People would ring — mostly of the female gender -- and I'd be like, "Who is this?' and they would be going, "Is this Taylor Hanson?' and I'm like, "Yeah. You are?' but they'd usually hang up. I had no idea what was happening.'' Then his e-mail address was mentioned in Hanson online circles as the famous Taylor's personal address, and the messages began pouring in “hundreds at a time,'' he said. Messages like this one: “Hi! Oh my god, i can't believe this is your e-mail!!! I love u sooooooo much, you're sooo SEXY!!! I LUV ALL OF UZ!!! I LUV your music 2!!! So yeah, if you're not 2 busy E-mail me!!! I luv u babes!!!!'' J. Taylor has had to change his e-mail address twice and his phone number once. “When I'm in a good mood, I just laugh at most of them, although there were a few insulting ones which I found scary,'' he said. It Ain't Me, Babe, Part II Last week a woman phoned the Tulsa World also pleading for help. She claimed that MTV had broadcast the wrong phone number for the local Hanson hotline. Instead, Hanson fans from around the world were dialing her parents' west Tulsa home at all hours of the day and night. Lackeys at MTV could not confirm whether or not they had ever broadcast a phone number in relation to Hanson, and officials at Mercury Records said they were 99 percent sure that a phone number — correct or incorrect — had not been given out. The phone at the Hanson home in southwest Tulsa features a regularly updated recording with information on the trio's current events. Kids may be misdialing the number and getting this woman's parents instead. “It's been going on for two weeks,'' she said. “They've got Caller ID, and they're seeing numbers flash up with area codes from around the country and all over the world. I had no idea.'' Happy Birthday, Tulsa Organizers of the city's “Take Me Back to Tulsa'' centennial homecoming festivities originally had Hanson inked onto the big weekend's schedule. They were going to do a show Sept. 20 at the River Parks Amphitheater, but the boys have backed out in favor of yet another jaunt to Europe. A friend of the Hansons' father contacted the homecoming committee and proposed some kind of live satellite remote for the day while the band was in Ireland, but according to Paula Hale, the centennial coordinator, the project would not be feasible for the event. “It's unfortunate because we really wanted to have something for the younger kids to enjoy during this celebration,'' Hale said. “We've got something for every other age group, and we were trying to different things. This just wasn't feasible.'' Perhaps they'll drop us a line for the state's centennial in 2007. Happy Birthday, Sis Ah, the life of a superstar. Ever the close-knit family, the Hansons still manage some quality time while touring the world. It just requires a bit of cloak-and-dagger to pull off. While in Australia last week, the Hansons stole away to a private room at the Sydney Planet Hollywood so they could celebrate Hanson sister Jessica's ninth birthday. In order to divert the wild throng of fans, an announcement was made that the boys would be visiting the Sega World theme park that day. Psyche! Taking Tulsa to the World They may not come home much, but simply being from Tulsa has helped spread the city's name around the world — a nice treat for our centennial year. Tom Dittus, owner of the Blue Rose Cafe in Brookside — site of a Hanson patio performance that helped secure their record deal -- has been basking in the glow of Hanson's stardom. “We've gotten a lot of mileage out of this,'' Dittus said. “Entertainment Weekly did a big story on them and mentioned us, and we were mentioned on Casey Kasem's "Top 40 Countdown' show. The story gets embellished a little bit each time, but I'm not worried.'' Feature stories and photos of the boys in Tulsa media, from yours truly to several Urban Tulsa stories, have been reprinted in fanzines — online and otherwise — across the world. Urban Tulsa's Jarrod Gollihare and I now have the creepy distinction of having our work appear without permission on a Danish web site dedicated to Hanson drooling. And everywhere they go, in every other breath in every interview, the boys say “Tulsa.'' After they went on at some length describing Tulsa as an oil town in a recent interview for French radio, the translator piped in with this: “The only real attraction in Tulsa are the Hanson now. You are the new oil.'' What was that Dittus said about things getting embellished? Taking the World to Tulsa With Hanson causing major prepubescent hysteria in Europe, journalists from the mother continent have begun taking an interest in writing about every possible detail of the boys' existence and history. That means coming to Tulsa to check out the hometown and report the local color. How Tulsa will translate through, say, the Dutch media is anyone's guess. Last month, a German journalist showed up out of the blue in the Tulsa World newsroom. Claiming to represent a series of publications with a circulation of 6 million, he was after all the information he could scrape up on the boys — knocking on the door of their house, quizzing locals who knew them and some who didn't, and snapping photographs of Tulsa World editors, for some reason. Five other European media organizations have called to determine whether it would be worth their time and effort to travel here and write about Tulsa. Be prepared to give directions to someone with a European accent. Teen Beat Think this talk of Hanson's international hype is just that -- hype? Here's where the boys' product stands on international charts this week, 14 weeks after the first release, according to Billboard magazine: “MMMBop'' single No. 3 in Germany No. 20 in the U.K. No. 9 in France No. 7 in the Netherlands No. 1 in Australia No. 3 in Sweden No. 3 in Denmark No. 5 in Norway No. 1 in Japan No. 11 in the United States “Middle of Nowhere'' album No. 6 in Germany No. 5 in the Netherlands No. 6 in Australia No. 5 in Finland No. 14 in Japan No. 4 in Malaysia No. 7 in Canada No. 6 in the United States The second single, “Where's the Love,'' has begun its climb, too. Also, watch for the boys on a CBS broadcast Aug. 24 and in a milk advertisement this fall. By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World The pages of a thesaurus easily could be worn thin trying to find the appropriate words to describe Saturday night's Hanson concert at Frontier City in Oklahoma City, but none would better sum up the show's madness and frustration than these two: seven songs. The No. 1 musical sensation in the country finally returned to its home state in a swath of glory, they packed thousands upon thousands of ecstatic young girls and their dumbstruck parents into a venue meant to hold hundreds, they stayed cloistered in their bus before showtime listening to the crowd chant, “Hanson! Hanson! We want Hanson!'' — and they graced us with only seven songs. That's a pile of gall for three kids who were begging for a public gig this time last year. Other bands in their position (with older, stronger audiences) would have been dragged back to the stage — particularly by the sizeable Tulsa contingent that traveled 200 miles round-trip for the Big Event, not to mention paying up to $20 a head to get into the park. Heck, the Mellowdramatic Wallflowers — another Tulsa band more seasoned and deserving of the rocket to superstardom than our young heroes -- opened the show with maybe twice that number of songs. How quickly they forget. They were certainly seven fantastic songs, though, and during that fleeting half hour, the crowd of sardined fans adored their triumvirate of pubescent blonde ambition with the kind of power-drill-in-the-ear screaming that hasn't been heard since the You Know Whos came ashore. The crowd was so huge and so eager to get a decent vantage point on the stage that they were squeezing into the tiny field and crushing the front lines of girls against the barricades. Ten minutes before Hanson took the stage, extra manpower was called in from across the park to reinforce that line of defense and keep the hysterical young'uns from rushing the stage. More than a few were led away for heat exhaustion, despite the afterthought of park officials throwing handfuls of ice into the crowd. When the Fab Three finally jogged onto the stage, they started off with a couple of songs by themselves, letting their a capella foundations show a bit. For “Madeline'' and “Man From Milwaukee,'' Isaac strummed a guitar, Taylor slapped a tambourine and Zac shook a shaker. The harmonies were sweet as ever and further testament to the boys' whopping vocal and performance talents. For the remaining five numbers, the boys went electric along with several other musicians, each of whom lurked discreetly on the back of the stage. For the legions of cynics who wonder, the boys actually do play their instruments, even if they're not always playing the most significant parts of the songs. Every song was hard-hitting and tight, more than thrilling the crowd. The bulk of the signs held up in the crowd were announcing various carnal desires for Taylor, but interest in the young Hanson singer and keyboard player runs far deeper than mere teen-age lust. This boy has soul, and it's evident from the first instant he slouches into a microphone and beats a tambourine. If the boys' career outlives the here-today-gone-tomorrow projections prone to such young acts, Taylor Hanson looks like he's equipped to lead dedicated fans through a lifetime of great and possibly forward-thinking music. It's been a long time since rock 'n' roll had a great white soul man, and I'm sure Tulsa would be proud to say they knew him when. Before any of that happens, though, the kids have got to hook themselves up with a decent tour manager. They played this Oklahoma City gig for free, meaning that each $20 admission from the several thousand fans didn't go to the artists who deserved it. But then again, for seven songs, maybe they didn't deserve a penny. If they are indeed headed straight for Madison Square Garden, they'd better work up a set that offers our money's worth — no matter how adorable they may be. |
Thomas Conner
These online "clips" reproduce a self-selection of my journalism (music etc) during the last 20+ years. It's a lotta stuff, but it only scratches the surface. I do not currently possess the time or resources to digitize the whole body of work. These posts are simply a bunch of pretty great days at the office. Archives
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