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 There's a big underground rock show in town Friday night, but Flick is not on the bill. It's probably just as well, because these kids — now with their major-label debut on shelves — won't be underground for very long. They'll be playing at the Fur Shop on Friday night, the band's first Tulsa appearance despite living just up the turnpike in Stockton, Mo. That's near Springfield. Don't worry, you're not missing much, according to the band. It's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of town, and that's exactly the environment in which Flick enjoys creating its slow, serious, patient rock rhapsodies. "It's a town of about 1,500 people. There's not a lot going on," said Flick guitarist Oran Thornton of his hometown during an interview this week. "Trevor and I work better writing-wise being in someplace really quiet instead of someplace fast-paced like New York or L.A. It's nice to work in the middle of the night and walk outside to dead silence, stars and crickets rather than some busy street." Giving polish to the American-dream side of the music business, Flick has reached the big time without straying too far from its southern Missouri hamlet. Before the four members — Oran, his lead singer brother Trevor, bassist Eve Hill and drummer Adam McGrath — had graduated high school, they had major-label scouts finding their way to Stockton to hear them play. The band landed a few opening slots for artists like Duncan Sheik, most of whom went back to their record companies raving about "the kids in Missouri." A deal with Columbia Records was a quick rescue from a struggle to find place to play and an audience to fill it in a rural area not known as a magnet for modern rock. "Around here, it's pretty much all country music," Thornton said. "I think there are a few bars outside of town. If they even have live music, it's probably some country band that doesn't even play good country like Hank Williams — it's that awful, hip new country." With his distaste for country's current regime tucked snugly under his cap, Oran and his bandmates ironically recorded the bulk of their Columbia debut, "The Perfect Kellulight," in a studio outside of Nashville. Nashville turned out to be the perfect place to hone and record the album — again because of the Thornton brothers' desire to be away from any hustle and bustle. "Down in Nashville, we were away from label pressures and opinions of too many other people," Oran said. "It's frustrating when too many people get around you while you're trying to complete a thought. They try to put in their input when you haven't really gotten your whole thought out. We were able to finish our thoughts down there, so the record came out more like we'd envisioned it." Not that the members of Flick harbor any resentment toward Columbia, a major among major labels. The company has taken its time with Flick. Instead of snatching up the band of youngsters, flinging an album onto the shelves and shoving them out on the road, Columbia has given the band the time and resources to develop, releasing an EP early on and giving them space to shape the album. "Making that EP was the learning experience," Oran said. "At the time, we weren't completely happy with what was happening. If we didn't go through that process, we wouldn't have ever learned for sure what we wanted and what we didn't want. You have to figure that out early on or else other people will make you into what they want you to be." Oran is a sprightly 19 years old. His brother Trevor is his younger brother, and the other bandmates teeter similarly around that median age. Somehow in the '90s (after the '80s, during which most of the chart-toppers were retooled boomers) we've come to think this is an awfully young age to be snatched up by the record industry. Oran disagrees. "Back in the '60s and '70s, if someone was in a band at 17, 18 or 19, that was normal," he said. "That's what most rock bands were — young guys. That's why it was cool to want to be in one. Jimmy Page was 19 when he started. Tommy Stinson was 14 when he made the first Replacements record ... "It's an advantage in some ways because you can relate to your audience more. It's a disadvantage in others because of the hype around it. People want to compare us to Hanson or something, just because we're young — which is all we have in common with Hanson." For now, these young'uns will be touring around the region, casually supporting "The Perfect Kellulight" until the record is officially released to radio next month. Then stand back and watch as they shove the Smashing Pumpkins off the modern rock chart. Just a prediction. Flick With Fanzine and the Kickbacks When: 9 p.m. Friday Where: The Fur Shop, 320 E. Third St. Tickets: Cover charge at the door BY THOMAS CONNER
© Tulsa World I'll be at a party somewhere in 10 years, and the discussion inevitably will turn to concerts we've seen. We'll be swapping takes on Lollas and Liliths, and somehow I'll mention that I saw Billy Bragg perform his Woody Guthrie songs in Woody's hometown of Okemah back in the summer of '98. The faces around me will tighten — brows raised, cheeks drawn, lips pursed. There will be a beat of silent, palpable awe. Someone will say, "Wow, you were there?" By then, the Woody Guthrie Free Folk Arts Festival in Okemah will have surpassed the Philadelphia folk festival as the country's largest celebration of folk music and all things acoustically American. Each year, tens of thousands of folkies will invade Okemah — the once peaceful town few in the nation had heard of — for the four-day festival featuring the world's biggest names in folk music, from Arlo Guthrie to Bruce Springsteen. Jewel will be trying to mount a comeback, begging the festival organizers for a spot on the prestigious bill. Congress will have replaced the national anthem with Woody's "This Land Is Your Land." These are the images that floated through my mind Tuesday night as I stood outside Okemah's Crystal Theater after Billy Bragg's historical performance inside. Surely I had just witnessed the beginning of something big. Surely something significant had happened tonight. Whether the momentum of this week's incredible folk festival in Okemah — featuring Arlo, Tom Paxton, a host of talented folkies and Billy Bragg — will carry it far enough to realize my little daydream remains to be seen (a good bet, though). Still, something significant certainly happened Tuesday night. After years of hesitation and doubt from his home state, Woody was finally welcomed home. The festival hooted and hollered all weekend, but the defining performance was Bragg's Tuesday night show. Himself a union-backing troubadour, Bragg was asked by Woody's daughter, Nora, to write and record music to several of the thousands of tuneless manuscripts in the Woody Guthrie Archives. The results of this collaboration were released this month as an album, "Mermaid Avenue," and Bragg opted to perform some of these gems in Woody's hometown — on a vintage stage where Woody himself once performed. The evening was electric. The faces of the all-ages, standing-room-only crowd were bright with anticipation and thrill. Camera crews from the BBC, CNN and various regional production groups scurried throughout the theater. Woody's sister was there. Journalists from France were there (gloating over their nation's World Cup victory . . . on Bastille Day, no less). Best of all, no one was protesting Woody's socialist leanings. Everyone was friendly, and the show was free. But despite the build-up and the hype preceding this simple folk concert, Bragg wound up surpassing it. A veteran British rocker with folk tendencies and punk roots, Bragg emerged on stage as humble and personable as ever. He plugged in his lone electric guitar and began serving up songs and stories. He played a few of his own tunes — opening with the romantic "A New England" and closing with an encore of his greatest political song, "Waiting for the Great Leap Forwards" — but concentrated on the task at hand: reintroducing us to our nation's most important songwriter. The album, as I've already huzzahed in these pages, is a stellar achievement, but Bragg's performance realized every hopeful anticipation. That these songs communicate just as effectively through one man and his guitar (rather than the full band on most of the record) speaks to the already established simple genius of Guthrie's writing. That Bragg revived Woody's spirit with such vitality speaks to the simple genius of his own talent. This evening in Okemah was not the knee-slapping nostalgia-fest I partly feared it might become. Instead, Bragg's sincerity, tenderness and obvious appreciation for the material and the man fluffed, buffed and wholly restored the memory and image of Guthrie in the minds of a curious crowd. It's like finding out something new about someone you've known for years — this new light shed on the person's character shatters your preconceived notions and makes their personality more tangible. Woody not only was an earnest, guitar-toting activist; he was a lover, a worshiper, a voter, a dreamer and a father. Bragg made sure we saw these sides of Woody. His Christian devotion rang proudly in Bragg's harsh reading of "Christ for President." His playfulness bounced through "My Flying Saucer." His amazingly graceful blend of the personal and political inspired chills in "She Came Along to Me." "This is the Woody most people haven't seen — the Woody in the archives," Bragg said on stage, "and it's just as important as the Woody we already know." Why is this important? Ask any of the people there Tuesday night — the grandparents, the tattooed punks, the grizzled Okies, the dewey-eyed high schoolers, the well-starched nine-to-fivers. These disparate groups were all gathered together peacefully to celebrate a few glories of living, and Woody's words — thanks in no small part to Bragg's faithful delivery — spoke to every one of them. Woody's impact effects more people than Will Rogers, Troy Aikman or even Garth Brooks, and his legacy has only begun. Welcome home, Woody. Braggin' rights: Who better to put tunes to a stack of Woody Guthrie lyrics than a Labour man?7/12/1998
By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World Last fall, British folk singer Billy Bragg was kicking around Green Country chasing the ghost of Woody Guthrie. He'll be back this week — and this time he's bringing his guitar. Bragg will be performing a special kind of Guthrie tribute. In fact, it's less a tribute than a collaboration with the late Okemah-native and legendary American folk singer. At the request of Guthrie's daughter Nora, Bragg wrote music to several dozen Guthrie lyrics — verses whose music was stored in Woody's head and died with him in 1967. With the backing of premier American roots band Wilco, the results of the collaboration were released a couple of weeks ago on a CD named for the location of Guthrie's New York City home, "Mermaid Avenue." His solo show in Okemah this week — kicking off the first Woody Guthrie Free Folk Arts Festival — brings full circle his study of Woody's still-struggling legacy. We caught up with Bragg again last week to talk about the finished project, and he tore himself from a televised World Cup game to talk about the album, his crash course in Oklahoma history and the irony of the continuing struggle of the country's greatest songwriter to find acceptance in his home state. Thomas Conner: Before you started working on this album, how much of America had you seen? Billy Bragg: I've seen more of America than most Americans. I've traveled here two or three times a year since 1984, and I've been through every state except six. I don't like to fly, either, so I drive it. You see more that way, you know? If you just fly over it, how do you know what's different about it? If I hadn't been looking at a map and driving, for instance, I wouldn't know that the Texas panhandle is not really a panhandle at all. It's Oklahoma that's got the real panhandle. TC: And how much did you know about Woody before embarking on this project? BB: We've driven through Oklahoma before but never stopped there. When we drove down from Pittsburg last fall, I read Woody's biography on the way. Before that, I knew as much as anybody, I guess. I knew he influenced Bob Dylan, he died of a terrible disease and he wrote "This Land Is Your Land." I'm used to hearing his music performed by other artists. I first heard "Pretty Boy Floyd" done by the Byrds, and I heard "Do Re Mi" done by Ry Cooder. This project is sort of a continuation of that tradition. TC: Tell me about some of the experiences you had exploring Oklahoma last fall. BB: Well, I'd never been to Tulsa before. When we visited the Cain's Ballroom — that stuck with me. The whole idea of Bob Wills and the Sex Pistols all wrapped up in one place — it really speaks to something ... TC: What does it speak to? BB: The — what is it? — the melting pot of America. All that melting stuff of humanity seems to do its mixing in the center of America, in Oklahoma. The whole state tends to stand out, whether it wants to or knows it or not. Oklahoma doesn't fit easily into the categories of Midwest, Southwest or the South. It's very much a crossroads. TC: Indeed, much to the dismay of chambers of commerce and tourist departments that try to find a marketable identity for the state. BB: But they've got it. Woody Guthrie is your Mickey Mouse. Those chambers of commerce have resisted the man who wrote "This Land Is Your Land." If the person who wrote the actual national anthem came from Oklahoma, you'd call yourselves home of the national anthem. Thirty or forty years ago, you could have called yourselves the home of Woody Guthrie. TC: No signs like that in Okemah, eh? BB: We went to Okemah and walked the streets — some still sort of brick cobble streets — and walked to the ruin of the Guthrie house, just getting the vibe for it. It's really rolling hills around there, not flat as everyone pictures it from images of the Dust Bowl. My preconceptions about Oklahoma were about as correct as my preconceptions about Woody Guthrie. We went to Pampa (Texas), too, which is flat as a pancake. Looking out my hotel room window on the third or fourth floor, just before the sun came up, in the distance I could catch the lights from Calgary or Edmondton ... TC: What did you learn about Woody that really surprised you? BB: I learned that if you think of Woody Guthrie as a character in a world like the movie version of "The Grapes of Wrath" you're only getting half the picture. He also belongs as a background character walking onto subways in Manhattan, in the background of a movie like "On the Town." TC: I understand you found a few folks around Okemah who don't think much of their native son because of his socialist politics. BB: Yeah, we found some people with rather strong views about Okemah's favorite son. They're dying off, though. It's very much a generational thing. If this project leads to a reassessment of Woody's life and career, the place it needs that most is in Oklahoma. One day it may come to pass that people there begin to be unashamed of him as they are. TC: How did you approach the writing process — putting music to words already written, and written by someone you respect so much? BB: The process was really very simple for me. When I write songs, I slave over the lyrics, but the music just flows. I suppose it's some sort of intuitive thing, and I just sort of tune into it. I just sat down with these lyrics and in some ways just felt the tunes. You sit down and feel what you feel. If there's nothing, you turn a few pages, and maybe the next one gets you somehow. TC: Was it your idea to work with Wilco, or was that a record company strategy? BB: My idea. When Nora approached me, the deal I made was that I chose the musicians. She was very concerned that this not sound like a tribute record. Tributes are nice ideas, but they're often focused on the personalities of the people who record them. We wanted to focus on the artist. TC: So why Wilco? BB: They sound like the ultimate Midwest Americana red-dirt band. (Wilco leader) Jeff Tweedy is a marvelous songwriter, too. He really understood what we were doing. TC: And why did it take a Brit to get such a firm grip on Woody's ethos? BB: Well, there are very few people out there performing today who talk openly about unions. Maybe that's why they needed me, a foreigner. There's really nothing we have in common as artists. But even though the political situation I went through in Britain in the 1980s was different from what Woody was experiencing in the '30s, the conclusions we came to are quite similar. TC: Will you have another go at this kind of collaboration? BB: Well, we recorded 40 tracks, so there might be another disc. I'd like to think others might go in there and work with Nora, though. Woody wrote for everyone, and there's plenty of room for interpretation. By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World Billy Bragg & Wilco "Mermaid Avenue" (Elektra) And it takes a night and a girl and a book of this kind a long, long time to find its way back. — Woody Guthrie, "Walt Whitman's Niece'' When we write stories about Woody Guthrie — the folk singer whose guitar had scrawled on it, "This Machine Kills Fascists'' — we inevitably get a handful of letters from bunched-up patriots who remind us that Woody was a "flaming Communist,'' damn us for our "poisonous propaganda'' and insult that other threatening commie: Jane Fonda. Such is the sorry state of Woody's legacy in his ungrateful home state nearly 20 years after his death. Leave it to a British folk singer — one who votes Labour, of course — to help right the memory of the man who wrote "This Land Is Your Land,'' "Union Maid,'' "Dust Storm Disaster'' and, ironically, "I Ain't Got No Home.'' Guthrie's daughter, Nora, sought out Billy Bragg — a humble, strong performer with political ideas nearly parallel to the vocal and union-backing Guthrie — for her father's first posthumous collaboration. The result undoubtedly will help to give Guthrie long-overdue recognition on his native soil, but more than that: this album, "Mermaid Avenue,'' does more to establish Woody in the pantheon of great American champions than even "Library of Congress Recordings,'' the ultimate collection of his output. Guthrie was a prolific composer, but he usually failed to write down the music or chords to his songs. Thus, when he died in 1967, the tunes to thousands of unrecorded songs died with him. The remaining reams of lyrics comprise today's Woody Guthrie Archives, run by Nora in New York City. At Nora's request, Bragg sifted through these orphaned songs and — with the help of Jeff Tweedy and his pioneering American roots band Wilco — wrote new music for them. The album they recorded is a glowing testament to the enduring power of Guthrie's imagination and conviction. By turns raucous and witty, touching and insightful, these songs — some of them a half century old — summon a musical and social vitality the mainstream hasn't known since the '60s. (And those "revolutions'' in the '60s were a direct result of the ideas first publicly circulated by folk singers like Guthrie.) Anyone remember when popular music educated without preaching and entertained without pandering? That music lives — and loves living — on "Mermaid Avenue.'' It's the collaboration with Bragg and Wilco, though, that's essential to this vitality. Had the Archives simply come across some lost recordings of Woody himself, the inevitably tinny mid-century tapes and archaic production quality would automatically date and distance the sentiments. The same result would have come if this project had been led by a Guthrie obsessive; the tunnel vision would be exclusive — a very un-Woody quality. Even in the electronic age, the oral traditions (the very basis of folk music) transmit our culture, and it's the maintenance of art throughout new generations that verifies the art's worth as well as shaping the whole society. Bragg came to Guthrie second-hand — through Dylan and the Byrds and Ry Cooder — and it's perhaps because of his own distance from Woody's material that he so easily embraces it, refreshes it and tunes it up for a few more years of declaration in the marketplace of ideas. Bragg and Wilco have crafted an album that reveres Woody's lean, direct lyrics while at the same time reveling in the breadth of his character. Woody's oft-forgotten playful side is brought to life in Tweedy's bouncy ramble through the children's song "Hoodoo Voodoo,'' and while the words to "Ingrid Bergman'' may seem on paper to be a tongue-in-cheek acknowledgment of the actress, but Bragg's breathtaking, simple delivery reveals more oft-forgotten human qualities of Woody's: desire, romance, even lust. The politics are here, too — still relevant in songs like "Christ for President'' and the Frost-y (as in Robert) "The Unwelcome Guest'' — but "Mermaid Avenue'' concentrates on love ("She Came Along to Me''), longing ("California Stars'') and beer-drinking sing-alongs ("Walt Whitman's Niece''). It's a fitting approach that may aid us in the realization that Woody was a man — not just an easy, dehumanizing label. Funny, though, that it took a socialist Brit to bring Woody back home. Even when Bragg — in his fairly thick, English brogue — interjects spoken bridges into these easy-going new tunes, the color never drains from the red dirt on this album. No Oklahoman could listen to this record and not conjure those heartfelt, enigmatic images of this territory — the dust, the wheat, the sense of home and hope, the pervading far-off look in every pair of eyes. And that's the point. The fact that Woody's songs still find life in the mouths of singers from every culture and continent is proof of his lasting legacy — a legacy that will outlive his detractors by centuries. Dust to dust. 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"). The heat may have kept the crowds away at Reggaefest '98, but the music was cool
By Thomas Conner © Tulsa World The Specials had an encore planned, but Hepcat did not. Ironically, the crowd had to be suckered into hollering for a Specials reprise, but they willingly screamed bloody murder to bring back Hepcat. “This is really cool,'' said Alex Desert, one of Hepcat's two singers. “You guys are really hip.'' Indeed, when Tulsans show up to a concert, they are always a feisty and appreciative bunch. The trick is getting them to show up. As Reggaefest '98 got under way Friday afternoon at the River Parks Amphitheater, organizers were wringing their hands and gazing at an unusually thin crowd. Until the headliner, Dave Wakeling, you still could plop down a blanket close enough to see the wrinkles on the singers' faces. This was, after all, the 13th annual Reggaefest — was the numerology working its evil? The thin first-night crowd likely had more to do with the extreme heat (you weenies) and the question numerous readers might have asked in the previous paragraph: “Dave who?'' Friday's bill — indeed, this year's whole Reggaefest line-up — was less focused and recognizable than previous bills. The talent quotient was high as ever — higher in a couple of cases — but we're still a city that won't lay down the entertainment dollars unless we're sure we'll be able to sing along. Most folks over 25 probably would have at least hummed along with most of Wakeling's crystalline tunes. The crisp, Cockney voice that once led such inimitable (and nearly identical) second-wave ska groups as the English Beat and General Public has lost none of its crispness in such standards as “Tenderness,'' “I'll Take You There,'' even his old cover of “Tears of a Clown.'' No one else sings with Wakeling's kind of panache — punctuating verses with a falsetto bark, opening songs with desperate panting and stylizing his creamy vocals evenly along a line between romantic indulgence and lurid excess. His new foursome, tentatively called Bang!, is a straight guitar-bass-drums four-piece. True, their are no horns — a ska no-no — but the witty Wakeling has always been a better pop act than a trooper in whichever ska revolution, and when the quartet (electrified by the impressive effects of guitarist Danilo Galura) blasted through a full-bore rendition of “Twist and Crawl,'' who still gave a hoot about the unwritten traditions of ska? Tulsa's own Tribe of Souls started off the day with their usual aplomb, and the Rhythm Lizards again deftly fashioned their own Margaritaville on the second stage, but other acts fell short. The Blue Collars are a frenetic young ska-tinged posse absolutely packed with potential, but lack of rehearsal and enough material to fill the timeslot made for a weaker-than-usual set and a troubled ending. Judy Mowatt arrived as they were finishing and, after asking where was the changing room, added, “Ooh. Who's making that sound?'' Mowatt herself, a former I-Three singer behind the Wailers, didn't do much to blow anyone away, though. Backed by a flavorless band, she relied on Bob Dylan covers to boost the intake of her strong but indistinct voice. Somehow, when she sang, “We're livin' in a mad, mad world / When will the war be over?'' it packed the same punch as it would have coming from the mouth of Anita Baker, though her set warmed up as the night cooled down. Saturday's line-up held faster and drew the standard Reggaefest throng. Tulsa's own Local Hero again dazzled a crowd left hanging when King Chango didn't show (instead opting for another bar gig in Spain — whatever). The night was capped off by Eek-a-Mouse, a veteran reggae cowboy who scatted (“bing bing biddley bong bong'') his way through some middling reggae, but the evening acts nearly brought the stage down. The Specials were as smokin' as most fans thought they would be. Opening with “The Guns of Navarone,'' they tore through several classics (“Rat Race,'' the scorching “Concrete Jungle'') and equally arresting new songs with the manic Mark Adams gyrating behind his keyboards, Neville Staple singing and toasting (“Man, I thought Jamaica was hot ...'') and the ferocious Roddy “Radiation'' Byers striking his Steve Jones (Sex Pistols) poses and wailing on much more melodic and jumpy guitar solos. After the still-topical anti-racism rant “Doesn't Make It Alright,'' Hepcat trumpeter Kincaid Smith joined the Specials for their classic “A Message to Your Rudy.'' That was only a glimmer of the fun to come. Hepcat may be the classiest, most entertaining act at Reggaefest since it moved from Mohawk Park. Led by the playful duo of Desert and Greg Lee, Hepcat brought the festival to life with an unusual elixir: they combined the carefree cheer of Jamaican roots rhythms with both the wide-eyed swing touches of current retro bands like the Royal Crown Revue and the cool soul-jazz stylings abandoned since the days of '60s cats Earl Grant, Brother Jack McDuff or Harold Johnson. As the poker-faced band kept the music bouncing, Desert and Lee (and sometimes Smith) kept dancing. They seemed to prefer instrumentals like “We're Having a Party'' because it gave them the opportunity to dance together on the runway, though their warm voices blended well for both sprightly romantic ballads (“Goodbye Street'') and grooving movers (“I Can't Wait''). Worth every drop of sweat. 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 Loudon Wainwright III isn't bitter. Nominated for two Grammy awards, he lost both times ('85 and '86) to the same dead guy — the equally humorous and compassionate folkie Steve Goodman. For his latest album, "Little Ship" — his 17th — Wainwright worked with John Levanthal, who just won two Grammys with his songwriting and production partner Shawn Colvin. "He was very gracious and did not flaunt his trophies," Wainwright chuckled in an interview this week, "though I suppose he's got one for each ear." Wainwright is the oft-overlooked wry songwriter once hailed, among many others, as the New Bob Dylan (also, the Woody Allen of Folk or the Charlie Chaplin of Rock). He couldn't quite live up to that title, though, because he's got too great a sense of humor. That same sense of humor also cursed him with his one and only "hit" song, 1972's "Dead Skunk," which remains a perennial favorite on Dr. Demento's radio shows and CDs. "It was a novelty. People thought it was funny, and they played it. It surely had more to do with payola than anything," Wainwright said. "I'm being facetious, but not entirely. If you recall, Clyde Davis was kicked out of Columbia for the payola scandal not long after my song got around. Thing is, we start this leg of the tour in Arkansas where 'Dead Skunk' was No. 1 for six weeks. So surely it wasn't all payola." Today, radio support for Wainwright's confessional, sometimes cheeky folk music is tough to find, though Wainwright said a few major cities boast acoustic-oriented stations. "There's still college radio and NPR stations, and there's this format called triple-A. That's the Automobile Association of America, as far as I'm concerned. Fortunately, I am a member, but it doesn't guarantee me airplay. In fact, that's why I joined ..." Wainwright, though, is one of those artists with a devoted cult following. Since his eponymous debut in 1970, he has crafted albums with laissez-faire care and razor-sharp wit, frequently turning out deeply personal songs with the ability to touch the heart and bust a gut -- sometimes within the same verse. His small but mighty legions of followers have charted his course through minor novelty hits to sorely underappreciated masterpieces (1988's "Therapy") and his occasional acting whimsies, such as his three appearances on "M*A*S*H" as Capt. Calvin Spaulding, the singing surgeon. Still, he keeps in mind the goal of branching out to attract new audiences, and he said he hopes that his work with Levanthal on "Little Ship" — one of his most fully realized records — bolsters a few new fans. "I've been only marginally successful in my career. It actually helps me to be fairly flexible when recording," Wainwright said. "For instance, the song 'Mr. Ambivalent' (on the new record). I went to John with a lot of songs -- things I'd thrown out, forgotten about, old stuff I hadn't gotten to — and just played him stuff for days. 'Mr. Ambivalent' was one I wouldn't have recorded, but John liked it because it had a chorus and a hook and was fairly catchy. I decided to try something different, you know. Whether or not we fooled some new people, I don't know." Teaming up with Levanthal came about as most musical collaborations do: they were mutual friends of someone — in this case, Colvin — and after several years of casual suggestions that they should work together, finally mustered the time and energy to do it. "I've known Shawn for 15, maybe 20, years since she came to New York City. They were living together in those days, and I'd heard he was interested in working with me," Wainwright said. "His contribution to this record was substantial. He has his stamp on the way it sounds, and it's a way that I like very much. It was a different way of working for me. “John's got this little funky East Village pad with foam rubber gaffer-taped to the door, and he records in there hoping all the while that the people upstairs stop stomping around and the buses don't go by. It's primitive, I suppose, but it's relaxed. He works in his own way, too. You record with him, and then he sends you away. You come back in a few weeks and hear what he's done to your songs. He's kind of a mad scientist kind of guy." Wainwright continues touring this summer in support of "Little Ship." Loudon Wainwright III When: 8 p.m. Thursday, Old Fort River Festival, Ft. Smith, Ark. Where: Harry E. Kelley Park near downtown. Admission: $5 at the gate, with children under 12 free. When: 8 p.m. Saturday Where: City Arts Center in Oklahoma City (at the fairgrounds, gate 2-26 off of May Avenue). Tickets: $8 in advance or $15 on Saturday. Call (405) 951-0000. 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. By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World We've told the story of Leon Russell in these pages numerous times. Thus far, it's been a process of piecing together bits of well-known history and the accounts of those who knew Leon and hung around — or on — him during his beginnings here in Tulsa and his ultimate international fame. Not since Leon had a Tulsa address has he spoken with the Tulsa World or, for that matter, many press outlets at all. This week — since he's comin' back to Tulsa just one more time — the artist known almost as much for his shyness as his hit songs broke down and talked with us from his home near Nashville about his new album and his much-mystified roots and days in Tulsa. It was an eagerly awaited conversation that set a few records straight and shed new light on the shadowy mystique of the master of space and time. Home Sweet Oklahoma Russell spent his formative and most successful years in Tulsa, moving here in 1955 from Maysville, just west of Pauls Valley, when his father was transferred. He arrived at age 14, but that wasn't too young to start playing in local clubs. Things were a bit different back then. "In those days, Oklahoma was dry, and the clubs weren't supposed to have liquor. So a 14-year-old or anybody of any age had no problem working anywhere," Russell said. "I worked six or seven nights a week till I left Tulsa at 17. I'd work 6 to 11 at a beer joint, then 1 to 5 at an after-hours club. It was a hard schedule to do when going to school. I slept in English a lot. Then I got out to California, and they were more serious about their liquor laws. I about starved to death because it was so much harder to find work at my age." Russell remembers dozens of old Tulsa nightspots — the House of Blue Lights, the Paradise Club, the Sheridan Club, the Cimarron Ballroom — as well as his perennial stopover, the Cain's Ballroom. He said he also was partial to the hot goings-on along Greenwood Avenue. "There was quite a scene over there. They had classier shows than the other parts of town. There was the Dreamland, I believe, where they had big revues every night — traveling package shows with big stars. I saw Jackie Wilson over there when I was very young, I think at the Big 10. Saw Bobby Bland at the Dreamland. It was quite an experience." In California, instead of steady gigs in clubs, Russell found a lot of session work in recording studios, playing piano for other musicians and singers. The list of his contributions is nearly as impressive as his own three-decade discography, including work with the likes of Phil Spector, the Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton and Bob Dylan. Goin' Back to Tulsa After cutting his first, eponymous album, Russell returned home to Tulsa in 1972. First, he was just visiting, but the story goes that he and a friend were tanked up on psychedelics while in a boat on Grand Lake. A lightning storm came up, and the boat got stuck on a sand bar. Russell apparently found the experience so mystical that he took it as a sign to stay in Tulsa. "Yeah, that's not true, but it's a great story," Russell said. Russell moved his whole recording operation to the area, living in a big house in Maple Ridge and recording in a huge studio on Grand Lake. His presence here attracted numerous other big names to visit Tulsa, from Dylan to Clapton, and the excitement the scene generated in turn brought new local musicians out of the woodwork. Through his label, Shelter Records, Russell helped Tulsa-native talent like Dwight Twilley and the Gap Band reach a higher level of success. "That was the whole point, you know," Russell said. "There are so many talented people around — and Tulsa maybe has more of it than most places — but it's hard for the talented people to get a chance. The (music) business is largely run by accountants and lawyers. They hire people to tell them whether stuff is good or not. It's difficult for good, young artists to get someone standing up for them saying, `This is a great band.' I figured I could give some people a chance who deserved it. I mean, you know, the Wilson brothers (in the Gap Band) are some of the most unique talent in the world." Anything Can Happen Since that early '70s heyday of hits like "Delta Lady" and "Tight Rope," Russell his lived back and forth between Los Angeles, Tulsa and Nashville, and his career has meandered through different styles and varying levels of commercial success. 1974's "Stop All That Jazz" (which featured the Wilson brothers before they became the Gap Band) dabbled in funk and Afro-beat, and his 1992 comeback, "Anything Can Happen" — his first record in more than a decade — featured Bruce Hornsby and tinkered with traditional themes and island tempos. Russell's most noted stylistic side-step, though, is his occasional masquerade as a country persona named Hank Wilson. He first debuted Wilson in a 1973 album, "Hank Wilson's Back." It was an excuse for this rocker to purge his inherent Okie-born country leanings. "Hank Wilson came about on a road trip," Russell said. "I was bringing a car back from L.A., and I stopped at a truck stop that had about 500 country tapes for sale. I bought a bunch and listened to them on the way home (to Tulsa). I don't really listen to records very much, except for research. I liked some of that stuff, though, and thought it would be fun to do a record like that." Russell revisited Hank Wilson again in the early '80s, and a third Hank Wilson record is the reason for Leon's latest public presence. The new Ark 21 label just released "Legend in My Own Time: Hank Wilson III," a new set of country standards performed by Russell with such guests as the Oak Ridge Boys ("Daddy Sang Bass"), T. Graham Brown ("Love's Gonna Live Here") and longtime Leon pal and collaborator Willie Nelson ("He Stopped Loving Her Today" and "Okie From Muskogee"). Nelson and Russell still work together, performing occasional acoustic shows, but this album marks their first recorded duet since the 1979 "Willie and Leon" album. Ironically, the two collaborated musically before they ever met. "Somebody called me and said, `Joe Allison is working on Willie's album. Would you like to play?' " Russell said. "I went in and did some overdubs, some clean-up work, but I didn't meet him. Years later, I was sitting with Willie at his ranch in Austin. I said, `Listen to that guy playing all my stuff.' As I listened to it a little more, I realized I had played on those records. I didn't know it and he didn't know it." This Masquerade Harold Bradley, himself a legendary session musician who served as bandleader and production assistant for the new album, raves about the new Hank Wilson project. He said this album has finally captured Leon's true country spirit. "What I really like about this project is that we captured Leon totally," Bradley said. "In the other two albums, which I really liked too, I thought we had done really well. But in those albums, not really having done it before, we tried to make Leon go the Nashville way. On this album, we went Leon's way." Russell is equally excited about the results of the new Hank Wilson recordings. He recorded the vocals and piano in his home studio, then the musicians built on the framework he had established. Guest vocals were added later; Willie Nelson recorded his part in Austin while the Oak Ridge Boys made a visit to Russell's home. Twenty-four songs were recorded for this album in two days. "Nashville is full of master players," Russell said. "I mean you can go up to them and say, play this at this tempo, play it as a samba, and they can play it ... They're ready to play, and they're trained to play master quality at all times. It's great to be able to take advantage of that. I tried to do this rapidly, too. They get it right the first time about 95 percent of the time, and I tried to capture that. "The first time someone plays the tune, it's off the top of their head. It's somewhat more free and loose than if they'd practiced it 10 times. It gets confusing if you make a lot of takes and you start second-guessing yourself. You start arranging it in your mind. That first time, you play from the heart and it has a special kind of feel. Most of the songs (on this record) are first takes. Ten of my vocals are first takes, and in most cases I'd never sung the song before." Russell usually records his own albums at home, but he said he enjoys the chance to work with session players for these Hank Wilson albums because — with his own background as a session musician — he has such respect for them. "Those years I played in studios gave me invaluable experience," he said. "I worked with probably the best 200 or so producers and arrangers in the world. I learned so much from those guys. I can't imagine what it would be like not to have that." 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 Someone just had to have the Dwight Twilley rubber stamp. She's probably got it by now, too, and is currently stamping all her correspondence, memos and personal papers with the old Dwight Twilley band logo. And she's happy as can be. The stamp is just one of many such vintage trinkets available for sale on Twilley's new web site (http:/members.aol.com/Twillex/), in the Twilley Store. Twilley — the Tulsa pop star noted for such hits as 1975's “I'm on Fire'' and 1984's “Girls'' — set up the site as a way to communicate directly with his fans and to clear out his inventory of rubber stamps, old stickers, Dwight Twilley pendants and classic posters. Oh, and records, too. “I've just always kept really good archives,'' Twilley said this week. “I was digging through some video stuff a while back and found some old films that I had transferred to video. One of them turned out to be a rehearsal film of the Dwight Twilley Band preparing for the 1977 tour. I think it was shot at Channel 8. It's real nice footage of us clowning around. That's a big seller. People have got to have that one.'' Yessir, to a certain segment of bright-eyed pop fans, Twilley hung the moon. He was, after all, a big-shot on radio for a good decade. He claimed Tom Petty as a close, personal friend. People in other countries know who Twilley is. Heck, he performed on “American Bandstand'' three times. So he must be a big, untouchable star, right? Probably just sits at home on a pile of royalty money, playing around with his web site. Nah. Since Twilley returned home to Tulsa a few years ago, he's let everyone know that he's just another Tulsa musician. He mostly sits at home writing new songs and enjoying the lift the recent resurgence in power-pop has given his career. He hopes to further prove the point with this weekend's shows — two in a row at Steamroller Blues and BBQ, with the raucous Brian Parton and his Nashville Rebels opening each night. “I like to get out every now and then and play, just like anyone else. It's not feasible to get out an play clubs every weekend, but I play when I can ... I kind of get jealous when my friends — all musicians — are talking about their Friday-Saturday gigs around town. I wanted one, especially because most of the shows we've been doing lately are the big Balloon Fest and centennial shows. I just wanted to get out and be one of the guys. I'm a Tulsa musician, too,'' Twilley said. The Twilley band this time around will include Tom Hanford and Jerry Cooper on guitars, Dave White on bass, Bill Padgett on drums and Twilley's longtime stand-by percussionist Jerry Naifeh. Fans ought to enjoy the live performances while they can. Twilley is currently considering a contract with a record label to record a new album. Since his rousing performance at last year's South by Southwest music conference perked up the ears of scouts, some major labels have been toying with the idea of signing Twilley. At this point, though, Twilley said he just wants to put out a record. “I've got a lot of songs building up,'' he said. “If this goes through, we'll probably be out from in front of the microphone for a while.'' Meanwhile, you can check out some of those new songs on the cassette packages available on the Twilley Store. And don't forget those key rings. And the imprinted vinyl editions. And the ... Dwight Twilley With Brian Parton and the Nashville Rebels 10:30 p.m. Friday and Saturday Steamroller Blues and BBQ 1732 S. Boston Ave. $5 at the door By Thomas Conner
© Tulsa World This story should never be written again. You're probably sick of hearing about it. Riot Grrls. Angry young women. Lilith Fair. Girl power! It's been written a thousand times, particularly during the recent glut of female artists finally cracking the popular charts in droves. Rolling Stone nearly spent its entire 30th anniversary edition looking at women in music. Seven books have been published in the last three years about women in music, most of it rock. Friday even sees the release of “Spiceworld,'' the Spice Girls' much-ballyhooed feature film — noteworthy if only for the fact that you're probably hard-pressed to name another widely released feature film about an all-female music group. Women, women everywhere. This is news? But the reason this story, by all rights, should be the last one of its kind is that the issue of women in music has finally become a moot point. It's not a story anymore. The presence of women on the radio is no longer the novelty it once was to the male-dominated music and media industries. Granted, here I am — Mr. Conner — practically pronouncing women free of their former bondage. Well, I wouldn't presume that, but I will say this much: in music, gender cannot be called a genre. Oh, I tried. I assembled 10 female musicians last weekend in a conference room here at the Tulsa World and intended to probe the woes of sexism and restraint. But these artists complained less about what their chromosomes held back from them and more about the danger of the media's distractions and the struggle to make it in Tulsa playing original music. So the story here is that there is no story — that women are now being heard more as individual voices than as unwilling spokespeople for the feminist movement, and that while sexism still rears its bony head, all the talk about women in music has simmered down to little more than a marketing ploy. And we know how long those hold up. The following musicians were gathered for this discussion: jazz vocalist Pam Van Dyke, rock and standards singer Lori Duke, pop singer Jennifer Gee (from the Pedestrians), rock songwriter Sarah Wagner, rock-country singer Tex Montana (head of Tex Montana's Fireball Four), pop-rock singer Shawna (formerly from Daisy Strange), rock singer Angie DeVore (from Outside In), jazz singer Jennifer Miller, pop-dance diva Melodie Lee (from Degage) and solo rocker Holly Vassaur. Here's the nut of the conversation we had, and the poignant insights it generated: The Fixation on `Women in Music' Wagner: It's the big trend now because you see more women in music, and not only that — they're making big hits. Duke: You don't have to have the curves to get people's attention anymore. DeVore: Yeah, that beauty-pageant mentality that dominated the industry for so many years is gone. Women are being successful, so the media writes the story of that ... More women are breaking now. They've always been out there, but more now are having really big success. Shawna: A lot of the people who think in those ways about women being second best to men — well, this is blunt — they're dying off. A younger generation is stepping up and saying that women are as talented as men, if not more talented. As a result, women are focused on as a gimmick. Wagner: It cuts both ways, too, because sometimes the focus on women in music hurts the guys. Back in the days of (my original band) Food Chain, we always had a guy in the group. We'd roll into some town, though, and there'd be a poster saying, `All-girl band!' I kind of felt sorry for the guys there. Different Approaches Within the Media Shawna: Radio listens for the talent and whether or not someone has the chops to attract an audience. The press looks for the story to tell, something worthwhile to share about the artist. TV only worries about who looks good, and since TV is such a dominant medium, that's what's hurt us more than anything over the years. But I think people are starting to get beyond that now. Why Women Are Making It Miller: The cost of making a CD and doing things has come down within the grasp of most beginning artists, many of whom are women. It's affordable now to get into the business. That changes the whole face of doing things. DeVore: For $30,000, you can build a studio that's equal to the $3 million ones of yesterday. Wagner: And what about the audience? Look at the people working in offices now. You have more women in the workplace, more women with purchasing power and business presence. What market do they want to hear? Some guy wailing on a guitar or stomping on a nail? No — there are more women in the audience wanting to hear what appeals to women. Two Steps Forward, One Back Miller: Still, even though my name is on the bill, when someone in the business approaches us at a show to talk to us, they'll almost always first go to the guitar player or the drummer, thinking someone else must be in charge besides the woman. Montana: Here's how far things have come. Two months ago we played a happening spot here in Tulsa, and a happening band played after us. Afterward, I went up to the guitar player — who had fully seen me playing guitar earlier — and said, `That's a really cool guitar,' and he said, `It's a ... Les ... Paul,' like I wouldn't have any idea what a Les Paul guitar was. Duke: We were watching a band a while back out of Nashville called the Wild Rose Band — all women. A guy I was with said there was no way they could be playing all the instruments, that surely they had session players — men — come in to play the parts and the women just sang. Vassaur: I worked at a music store here, and the reason I quit was because a sales job came open and they hired a guy who had zero experience and barely knew about music. Wagner: Someone told me once that a woman's place is in the audience. That was actually a lot of what inspired me to pick up a guitar and prove him wrong. The Curse of the Angry Young Woman Vassaur: Women are always going to be angry at men. There's always going to be that element of bitterness. Miller: Heck, Motown's been trashing men for decades ... It didn't seem like that with most of the early jazz singers who were women, but they weren't usually writing their material. Jazz, too, emphasizes the music more than the words and the message. Van Dyke: Someone like Billie Holiday, though, wrote some of her own songs, and they were pretty dark. DeVore: Alanis (Morissette) did a lot to open doors for women, but there were a lot of pioneers before her. Working With Female or Male Musicians Wagner: You work with whoever can play the part. Men, women — it doesn't matter. Montana: Yeah, but then who carries your gear around? Writing Montana: I am a woman. That's all I know. The life experiences I'm writing about are a woman's experiences ... It's a lot easier for a woman to go out and sing a pretty song about something that's pretty inane — that's easier than going out and displaying your anger and jumping around and trying to be a guy among the guys. That's pretty difficult, I think. Duke: Gus Hardin came to me years ago, when I was about 21, and said, `You sing real good, but one day you're going to get rid of all this stuff, and you're going to have some emotions come to you, and then you'll have something to sing about.' Your perspective changes with experience, and you have to be ready to drop the facade and give yourself to the performance — guys or women. Miller: You write about what you're going through at that time, at that moment. You write for yourself. I write for me — a woman ... But there are some basic emotions — love, fear, happiness — for which it doesn't matter who you are. Performing Wagner: Audiences and critics are so much more critical about women's performances. I'm sorry, but Johnny Rotten couldn't sing a note, so why are we getting all over Courtney Love? She yells just as good as he did. Montana: There's a part of you that's always a ham if you do this. Part of you is going, `Look how high I can kick while playing guitar!' R-E-S-P-E-C-T Gee: It's easier for women to get started in music, and it's easier to move ahead. People don't give you weird looks as much when you tell them you're in a band. Lee: I don't tell people I'm in a band. I don't want people to say I'm cool just because I'm in a band — and they do. People find out and turn to me, going, `Melodie, you're really cool!' How Tulsa Measures Up Miller: I'm from the East Coast originally, and I've noticed much more of the good-ol' boy mentality here. It's a totally different mindset here than in Europe or on both coasts. It's more critical of women. Sarah: If you play standards, you can land a five-nights-a-week gig, but if you play original music in this town — let me tell you, honey — you won't get a thing. DeVore: If we didn't have some covers worked up, we wouldn't get most of the gigs here. Genuine Differences Montana: You take a man and a woman, and when kids come into the picture it's real easy for the man to walk himself right over and keep playing in a band and keep doing what he wants. Women can't do that. Most of us don't let ourselves, anyway. In that respect, we don't have the same opportunities as men. In a Nutshell Van Dyke: Women are simply very interesting — across the board. For a long time, a woman's place was not in public, and the women who did make into fields like music and acting had to get over their reputation. Now the barriers are broken down, and people realize how great we all really are. © Tulsa World
Concert: Sex Pistols Tribute Show featuring N.O.T.A., Riot Squad, the Skalars and Steve Jones When: 7 p.m. Sunday Where: Cain's Ballroom, 423 N. Main St. Tickets: $5 at the door It sort of crept up on us. It caught Davit Souders by surprise, anyway. Souders — concert promoter for Diabolical Productions and Little Wing Productions — had been looking at his calendar for January and wondering why something in the back of his head was hinting that this month had special significance. Special significance to punks, that is — and these days, that's not as limiting a category as it once was. It dawned on Souders as the calendar began to turn. It's 1998 — the legendary Sex Pistols played here 20 years ago this week. Gotta throw a party. “It occurred to me that out of the seven dates on that historical U.S. tour, perhaps we should celebrate the history of that event,'' Souders said this week, waxing rather eloquently. So on the actual anniversary — this Sunday — Souders has thrown together a bill of rude boys and punks to celebrate the brief stopover of the world's most notorious rock band in one of the nation's more famous venues, Tulsa's own Cain's Ballroom. Yes, the Sex Pistols came ashore in the winter of 1978 and careened through the heart of virgin America at the height of their brief career. Infamous manager Malcolm McLaren purposely scheduled the British punk band's first and only U.S. tour through the South so as to generate appropriately confrontational attention. Cain's owner Larry Shaeffer fills in the details of how the band came to our humble hamlet. “I had booked a jazz-fusion group in the mid-'70s called Go. A Warner Bros. rep named Noel Monk came with them and loved the Cain's. When Malcolm McLaren was putting together the Sex Pistols' tour, the theory was not to play the Chicagos and New Yorks but play the South, where the likelihood of adversarial situations would be greater. Noel was working with them and said, `I know the perfect venue, too,' and set them up for the Cain's,'' Shaeffer said. The Cain's was already a famous musical venue, thanks to the smarts and endurance of a native Texan named Bob Wills half a century before, but this event put the ballroom on the map for a new generation. (Each interview I do with serious rock 'n' roll performers includes at least some banter about the Cain's, their eagerness to return to/see the place, and this question: “The Sex Pistols played there, right?'') The Cain's also is one of two venues from that 1978 Pistols tour still in operation. The Longhorn Ballroom in Dallas — where the Pistols played (and fought) the night before their Tulsa show — has recently reopened. At least for some, the concert proved to be a pivotal moment. Tulsa resident Mike Lykins (you may remember him as Michael Automatic from the Automatic Fathers) was right up front for the Tulsa show — he's in the photo that ran in Creem magazine — and left the ballroom that night a changed man. “It was just raw,'' Lykins said. “Every little creepy band that came out around here in the next few years probably wouldn't have if the Pistols weren't here. Until then, it was all coming from Aerosmith and Kansas and Yes, getting more and more sophisticated. These guys said, `No, let's just crank up those creepy guitars and have at it' ... I mean, that wave would have come here eventually, but to have them give it to me personally was something else.'' The Cain's survived with no lasting scars (though I'm told one of the holes in the backstage walls is the result of Sid Vicious's fist) but plenty of lasting memories. “That was the first dangerous show Cain's ever did, but it wasn't really bad,'' Shaeffer said. “People came expecting all these dangerous things to happen — there were vice cops thick in the crowd, the fire department was here, protesters outside — but I don't even recall them using any profanity on stage. They didn't do anything but play loud rock 'n' roll music.'' Which is exactly what four other acts will do this Sunday to remember the event. All the bands will be playing at least some Sex Pistols songs. Tulsa's own punk legends N.O.T.A. will be heading the bill. Leader Jeff Klein said he missed the Pistols' Tulsa performance. “I was sitting around with a girlfriend who didn't want to go, whining about wanting to go,'' he said. Surely the most intriguing performance this weekend will come from Steve Jones — not the Sex Pistols' guitarist but the bass player in Tulsa's own out-of-control rockers, Billy Joe Winghead. Jones will be performing an acoustic set of Pistols songs. Don't be tardy — that's too weird to pass up. Some memorabilia will be on display from the Tulsa show — tickets, photos, Sid's autograph, possibly the contract for the show — all wrapped up in a Union jack that once flew over the British embassy. God save us. 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 The story, as his old compadre Chuck Blackwell tells it, goes like this: Leon Russell and his close friend, Emily Smith, were cruising Grand Lake one afternoon looking at various pieces of property for sale. This was around 1972, and Leon's career was rolling. He'd been around the world with the likes of Jerry Lee Lewis and Joe Cocker, and his most recent solo album had just landed the revealing single “Tight Rope'' at No. 11. He was looking for someplace to settle for a while. The pair ran into a sand bar in the lake, and suddenly a storm came up. What would have been a mere nuisance to any boater took on a bit more significance to Russell. “Was that a deal! It was storming and thundering and lightning, and I think Leon had taken some psychedelics. He saw that lightning storm and thought it was a sign from above that he should settle here,'' Blackwell said. So he did. He found a lake attraction called Pappy Reeves' Floating Motel and Fishing Dock (“You could pull your boat right up to your room and fish right there,'' Blackwell said), bought it, and converted it into a recording studio. He did the same thing to the First Church of God at 304 S. Trenton Ave., which still exists today as The Church Studio (where everyone from Dwight Twilley to the Tractors have recorded). He also bought a Maple Ridge estate, the Aaronson mansion at 1151 E. 24th Place, and did what he came to do — he settled in. Russell had been in Tulsa before. He'd practically grown up here, which is why many say he felt like returning for a while at the crest of his fame. Most musicians agree, though, that Russell's growly drawl and piano pounding had an effect on local music that was instrumental in — possibly even the foundation of — the creation of the “Tulsa Sound,'' a subdued blend of country and blues. A handful remember Russell's early years cutting his chops in Tulsa beer halls, but many more refer to his mid-'70s stay and his Tulsa-based record company, Shelter Records, as a watermark of Tulsa music. Russell was born C. Russell Bridges in Lawton in 1941, but he migrated to Tulsa when he was just 14 to explore the bustling music scene here. “I got a lot of experience playing music. Oklahoma was a dry state at the time, so there were no (under-age) laws, and I didn't have any problems,'' he explains in the liner notes to his recent greatest hits collection, “Gimmie Shelter'' on EMI Records, written by Joseph Laredo. Blackwell and Russell both went to Tulsa's Will Rogers High School, but they met each other out playing music and eventually played in some roadhouse bands together. “I met Leon, I think, playing on a flatbed truck downtown. I remember him sitting up at the piano on a couple of Coke boxes. He wanted to get with me about forming a band,'' Blackwell said. “In the early '60s or late '50s, one of the first bands we had, the Starlighters, we'd play country in supper clubs — him, David Gates and myself. Leon was good at playing Erroll Garner and stuff, and then we'd rock when they were done with their meals. “We were playing once, opening for Jerry Lee Lewis at the Cain's (Ballroom). His band was kind of loose, and Leon was, too. We got offered to go on the road with him, and we played for him through Kansas, Iowa, Nebraska and Wyoming. At one Kansas gig, we were in one of those hogwire places — this is back in the days when things were pretty wild. Jerry had appendicitis, and the doctor had to go out and quell the riot and tell people they could get their money back. Leon went out there and played Jerry's repertoire. He kicked the stool back and everything. Nobody wanted their money back.'' The chance to play with Jerry Lee Lewis was a pivotal offer in Russell's career. “I had a chance to go on the road with Jerry Lee Lewis,'' he said in the best-of liner notes. “I'd just spent three days, 12 hours a day, taking entrance examinations to Tulsa University, and I just thought, "Well, it's a waste of time, 'cause I have to study so many things I'm not interested in.' ROTC I had to take, and right away I knew that I didn't want to do that. I figured this was my chance to eat in a lot of restaurants and travel around, playing some rock 'n' roll music, which I decided was easier and better.'' In addition to Blackwell (who currently plays in Tulsa's Fabulous Fleshtones) and Gates (who went on to form the band Bread), Russell was playing with and absorbing the influences of other Tulsa musicians, including J.J. Cale and Ronnie Hawkins, a native Arkansan who was a big Tulsa presence at the time. But Lewis had an effect on Russell that's evident in the first singles Russell recorded in Tulsa, “Swanee River'' and “All Right,'' leased to the Chess label in 1959. The year earlier, though, Russell headed west to find work where all hungry musicians went: Los Angeles. He started selling some songs, and in no time, he was working as a session player for the likes of Phil Spector. Throughout the 1960s he racked up an impressive list of studio credits, playing on recordings for the Ronettes, Herb Alpert, the Righteous Brothers (“You've Lost That Loving Feeling''), Paul Revere and the Raiders, the Byrds (on their classic cover of Dylan's “Mr. Tambourine Man''), even Frank Sinatra. By 1969, he had hooked up with British producer Denny Cordell who took Russell to England to work on Joe Cocker's second album, from which Cocker scored a big hit with Russell's “Delta Lady.'' That year, Russell led the band for Cocker's notorious Mad Dogs and Englishmen tour, a veritable circus of nearly three dozen players that included one-time Russell girlfriend Rita Coolidge and pals Delaney and Bonnie Bramlett. On a trip through Detroit with Cocker et al., Leon ran into old Tulsa pals David Teegarden and Skip Knape, who were playing the area as Teegardan & Van Winkle. (Drummer Teegarden's Grammy-winning association with Detroit's Bob Seger would begin a bit later.) “We were inspired,'' Teegarden recalled in 1994. “We thought, "Leon likes that gospel sound, so let's write our own gospel tune.'' The song they came up with was “God, Love and Rock & Roll,'' a 1970 single that became the duo's only Top 40 hit. At the same time “God, Love and Rock and Roll'' was riding up the charts, Russell's solo career was taking off. 1970's self-titled debut included some of his best songs (“Delta Lady,'' “Shoot Out at the Plantation,'' “Hummingbird'' and the now-standard “A Song for You''). The follow-up, “Leon Russell and the Shelter People,'' heralded both the foundation of Shelter, his record label, and the return to Tulsa. A few songs are backed by a group of Tulsa musicians Russell called the Tulsa Tops, though the song “Home Sweet Oklahoma'' (with the chorus, “I'm going back to Tulsa just one more time'') was recorded with “friends in England.'' At the height of his success, Russell came back to Tulsa. In July 1972, he bought the Grand Lake property, and by 1973 his land-buying spree had included 54 different pieces of property, including lots near 61st Street and Madison Avenue, in the 1600 block of South Boston Avenue and at the corner of 16th Street and Utica Avenue. The lake retreat was the crown jewel, though — 7 1/2 acres on a point so secluded that many lake residents didn't even know the five buildings (sound-proof studio, 3,500-square-foot house, swimming pool, guest apartments) were being built. It soon became affectionately known around the lake as “the hippie place.'' The house in Maple Ridge was the scene of parties of all sorts. Instead of the rock 'n' roll bashes you might expect, Russell's fetes usually were warm gatherings of friends. In June 1973, Russell's close friend (and still a Tulsa resident) Emily Smith was married at the house in a festive ceremony; Russell himself married Tulsa singer Mary McCreary a couple of years later. In July 1973, Russell hosted a benefit party to help the Maple Ridge Association raise money to pay the legal debt it tallied while blocking construction of the proposed Riverside Expressway. The church studio quickly became home of Shelter Records, the label Russell founded in Los Angeles and moved to Tulsa shortly after he returned. A lot of noted musicians came through to use Russell's studios, including Bob Dylan and J.J. Cale, but neither was built with money-making opportunities in mind; rather, they were simply retreats from the distractions of Los Angeles. An associate of Russell's at the time was quoted in the Tulsa World saying, “Leon just wants a place where he can record any time he feels like it.'' Russell chose not to utilize his fame only to lure big talent to town; he frequently used his musical muscle to push Tulsa musicians into the national limelight. Tulsa hitmaker Dwight Twilley got his first break through Shelter Records, as did the Gap Band, which Russell used as his backing band on his 1974 album, “Stop All That Jazz.'' Les Blank, a California documentary filmmaker, got to see and document the parade of talent through Russell's studios during that time. Blank got a call in 1972 from Cordell, Russell's producer, who pitched him the idea of hanging out with Russell and his teeming bunch of hangers-on, filming the whole scene all the while. Blank, whose grants on other films had run out, jumped at the project and spent the next two years in Tulsa, shooting film of the action. “It was kind of a continuous party,'' Blank said in an interview from his current California home. “There were recording sessions that would go all night long. There was a constant influx of people coming and going. I think the people were excited to have all the new play toys — things like computerized mixing panels. There was this sense of momentum that seemed to be feeding on itself as a result of the records and concerts doing really well ... People just felt like they were in the right place at the right time.'' Blank's cameras followed Russell's entourage nearly everywhere, from a weekend jaunt to see the mysterious spook light in northeastern Oklahoma to Russell's recording sessions in Nashville. However, you probably won't see the film that resulted from all that footage. Although Russell approved the project's beginning, when the film was finished he decided not to approve of its release, and Blank said he has yet to receive a concrete explanation why. Blank is allowed only to show a 16mm copy of the film for no profit. He showed it at the University of Oklahoma in 1991. “People, I guess, who have an image to protect are sensitive to how it's presented and perceived,'' Blank said. That's Russell to a tee. Rarely giving interviews (requests for this story went expectedly unanswered), Russell has guarded his privacy fiercely. In fact, though he returned to Tulsa to escape the bustle of Los Angeles, he ended up leaving Tulsa again because the pressures of fame were just as weighty here. Russell sold the Maple Ridge home in 1977 and moved back to California, but in two years he was back, telling the Tulsa Tribune, “I've decided I like Tulsa a lot ... I've got a lot more friends in Tulsa than I do in California, so I'll be spending a lot more time here.'' But he left again because of incidents like the one reported in the Tulsa World on Oct. 19, 1979. The headline read, “Top Rock Star Turns Tulsa Courthouse On,'' and the newsworthiness of the story seems quaint on reflection. All Russell had done was go to the courthouse to renew his passport. However, the story says, “No sooner had he taken off his mirror-lens sunglasses Thursday afternoon and sat down at a desk when gawkers gathered outside the glass-walled office. Bolder ones walked in quickly, asking for autographs.'' In a 1984 Tulsa World story, Russell reflected on that aspect of Tulsa living: “Tulsa wasn't used to my sort of reality. I went to the bank to borrow $50,000 and that prompted a story studying the finances of people in the music business.'' By then, Russell had moved to Nashville, a town that better suited him as a home and a musical headquarters. Russell always had drifted in and out of country, recording a straight-up country record under a pseudonym Hank Wilson in 1973 and a duet album with Willie Nelson in 1979. After a Hank Wilson sequel album, Russell laid out of the spotlight until a 1992 comeback with the Bruce Hornsby-produced record “Anything Can Happen.'' He still lives near Nashville today, but he comes back to Tulsa — just one more time — every year near the first of April for his annual birthday concert. This year's show, the fifth such event, took place April 11 at an old haunt Russell knows well, the Brady Theater (fellow Tulsa-native musician Bill Davis opened the show). Russell's son, Teddy Jack, now plays drums in his band. What Russell does next is anybody's guess. “Predictability,'' he has said, “is not one of my strong points.'' Leon Russell With Dwight Twilley, and Gary Busey as Buddy Holly When 7:30 p.m. Saturday Where River Parks Ampitheater, 2100 S. Jackson Ave. Tickets $10, available at The Ticket Office, Dillards and the Brady Theater box office |
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
May 2014
Categories
All
|