Bottlecaps

I'm a late-comer to the iTunes / iPod revolution — in spite of my buddy Bret telling me a decade ago how cool it was. What can I say? I been wrong before.

I totally get it now. I can think of a song, buy it in 20 seconds for $1, have it on my iPod in another 2 minutes and be driving down the road listening to it in my car 5 minutes after that. But I'm a slow-adopting, slow-moving technology outlaw. Most of my narrow, but deep, song library is still on CDs. I probably have more songs on vinyl than in my iTunes library.

But in the spirit of a totally unnecessary writing exercise, I got to thinking the other day (sparked by listening to "Copperhead Road," of course): "What are the most bad-ass songs in my iTunes collection?" Not the best, mind you. Not even my favorites. But the most bad-ass.

Here goes.

20.  "Ride Me Down Easy," Billy Joe Shaver, "Unshaven."
I'm a sucker for live albums, I guess. But I never understood why this album isn't worshipped by every music critic from El Paso to Atlanta.

19. "Casting my Lasso," Don Walser, "Texas Legend."
I always wanted to pair Don Walser with Monte Montgomery and have the big feller and the guitar wizard compete yodel-for-guitar solo. The goddamn ultimate call-and-response. It would have been awesome.

18. "The Ecstasy of the Gold," Ennio Morricone, "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly."
I loved the movie long before that Nike commercial — you know the one — but I'm not too proud to say the commercial moved me, too.

17. "The Randall Knife," Guy Clark, "Dublin Blues."
No, wait, I hate commercials. Fucking Taco Cabana commercials.

16. "We Can't Make it Here," James McMurtry, "Childish Things."
A protest song that absolutely should galvanize every American with truth that transcends politics … I mean if such a thing were possible for most people.

15. "My Cup Runneth Over," Johnny Bush, "Bush Country."
The other day on the radio I heard a Justin Trevino song where he apparently had invited his mentor, Johnny Bush, to sing backup. That's like asking Fred Astaire to be a backup dancer in your touring show. Like asking Daniel Day-Lewis to be an extra in your movie. Like asking Johnny Gimble to play second fiddle. This song is Johnny Bush at the height of his powers. But even all these years later, he still can't help but eclipse poor Justin.

14. Carmina Burana: "O Fortuna," London Philharmonic Orchestra
Seriously, listen to this. Then RIGHT after it's over, play ZZ Top's "I Gotsta Get Paid." It's meant to be.

13. "Wishing All These Old Things Were New," Merle Haggard, "If I Could Only Fly."
"Watching while some old friends do a line / Holding back the want to in my own addicted mind / Wishing it was a still a thing even I could do / Wishing all these old things were new."
Every would-be Nashville outlaw out there today might as well hand in their professionally battered cowboy hat right the fuck now. None of y'all can ever touch this level of bad-ass.

12. "For Whom The Bell Tolls," Metallica, "Ride The Lightning."
"Take a look to the sky / just before you die / it's the last time you will"
If you didn't do some air drums right after reading that line, you haven't heard the song. Or you're rolling your eyes at us stupid boys.

11. "The Messenger," Ray Wylie Hubbard, "Loco Gringo's Lament."
I bought a Rilke book. It hasn't changed my life yet. But I'm still holding out hope.

10. "King of Rock," Run-DMC, "King of Rock."
People my age, there's something: It surrounds us, flows through us, binds our galaxy together. No, not that "Star Wars" was the first significant movie we saw in the theater, but the fact that we grew up in the 1980s. You can take the most hard-core 1970s Cosmic Cowboy / Redneck Rock enthusiast (yours truly, for example) and play a scratchy cassette recording of "Rock Me Amadeus," and we CAN'T FUCKING TURN IT OFF. It's a sickness. The '80s are us. We are the '80s. It's incurable.

The other day I was walking through a hallway by the snack bar at work and I heard "Eye of the Tiger." I stopped. I looked. After awhile I found that somebody had left a small radio playing. But for a minute … for a minute I actually had to consider the idea that the "Eye of the Tiger" was playing in my head, completely unbidden, like some sort of "I Love the '80s Tourette's" or something. Jesus.

9. "Agua Dulce," Rusty Weir, "Don't It Make You Want to Dance."
Rusty Weir came out to Blaine's Picnic in San Angelo one year. He opened with an ambling verse of "Don't it Make You Wanna Dance" and stopped. He told us that was how he recorded the song originally. Then he said "this is how Jerry Jeff does it" and … we all learned a lot that day. San Angelo was a town on the rise with its own music scene, its own annual picnic and a growing sense of pride. But one old feller whom we hardly knew of could smile benignly at all that and then tell us, in so many words, "this is cute, but take a listen to how we invented this shit in Austin 30 years ago."

Rusty Weir blew us all away. Wish I could remember more of the show.

8. "Does my Ring Burn Your Finger," Solomon Burke, "Nashville."
For the No-Soul Simmons version of the song, take a listen to Charley Pride's "Does my Ring Hurt Your Finger." No, it's not the same song, just the same idea. Charley is beginning to suspect his sweetums isn't on the up-and-up. Solomon is beginning to feel guilty for burying that cheating bitch in a shallow grave.

7. "Copperhead Road," Steve Earle, "Just an American Boy."
I dig this version. Is it bad-ass in spite of the 2-minute mandolin intro? Or it it more bad-ass because of the mandolin? Remember what Ray Wylie Hubbard said about bluegrass: "In music, Ralph Stanley has killed more people than Ice-T."

6. "I Washed my Hands in Muddy Water," Stonewall Jackson, "Greatest Hits."
I'm always mystified by (and impressed by) the old-school country songs that stand the test of time. Ernest Tubb's "Waltz Across Texas" will be cool 1,000 years from now. "Too Old to Cut the Mustard" was cornball crap when he cut it. Did he know at the time? Stonewall cut "I Washed my Hands …" in 1965. Which is damn near a half-century ago. And it's still cooler than most anything you'll hear today.

5. "The Highland Street Incident," Todd Snider, "The Devil You Know."
So Todd Snider gets mugged outside a bar. He's having trouble writing a song about it … until he decides to write from the perspective of the hoodlums. I hate to compare eras. There's not going to be another Johnny Cash, not another Willie or Kris. But if he lives that long, I think Todd Snider is going to be one hell of an old man artist, with a catalog of impossibly original and significant songs. I worry about the guy, though. I hear success is hard to handle.

4. "Dead Flowers," Townes Van Zandt, "Abnormal."
OK, confession time. When I got to be friends with Bret, he set about improving my knowledge of classic rock, which was so pitiful that I can hardly admit to it. He was with me when I heard Townes do "Dead Flowers" the first time and I remarked that it was a hell of a Van Zandt song. He never stopped giving me shit over that. Of course it's a Rolling Stones original. And I've learned enough about the Stones to admit that they are one of the world's greatest rock and roll institutions (and if you listen to "Country Honk," you get the idea they could have been a great country band). And I was a fool for not knowing about them, even if I came of age in the '80s when they were pretty low-flying.

Still, Bret never understood properly, that when I said this was a great Townes song, I was paying the Stones the highest compliment I could, in terms of songwriting. Like Billy Joe Shaver doing an incredibly rare cover of Haggard's "Rambling Fever," I believe that Townes Van Zandt was a natural fit for "Dead Flowers."

3. Lonesome, On'ry and Mean," Waylon Jennings, "Greatest Hits"
This song swaggers through my iTunes library liked a coked-up West Texan on a three-bender. Balls like watermelons. '80s songs scatter like spooked deer. Shannon's songs get the vapors. Even the songs on this list, give or take one or two, still give this song a wary eye and a wide berth.

2. "Dagger Through The Heart," Sinead O'Connor, "Just Because I'm a Woman."
OK, this takes a little explanation. This song was on one of Shannon's CDs, a Dolly Parton tribute CD. I don't listen to Sinead O'Connor on a regular basis, but a good song is a good song. Dolly is a bit of a vamp for my taste, but you'd be a damn fool to confuse that with her songwriting skills, which are as sharp as a skinnin' knife.

Dolly's version, is of course, all Dolly. Full of warbling and hand-wringing. It's the song of a woman who is fixin' to pack up to go to mama's and will take some convincing to come back to her no-good husband. Sinead O'Connor's version feels completely different. There's a tinge of madness to her breathlessness. You can't tell whether it's going to be homicide or suicide, but there's a pretty fair chance that someone is getting their ass stabbed to death tonight.

1. "Hurt," Johnny Cash, "American IV: The Man Comes Around."
I hate to be laughed at. After that I hate to lose. After that, I hate to be predictable. But, yeah … Johnny Cash, "Hurt," that video ,,, what the hell are you going to say?

1.      I got to be on stage at the Willie Nelson Fourth of July Picnic. It was a small Picnic. It was the secondary stage. It was during soundcheck, not a performance. But it was damn cool. I took a few notes, chatted with a roadie, got a picture of Ray Wylie and Lucas Hubbard. The only other time I came close to the stage at a Picnic was in Luckenbach in 1995 or 1996. I went around the corner and there was the stairs to the stage. The only thing separating me from glory was a security guy who looked to be particularly upset that he had narrowly lost a Conan the Barbarian lookalike contest. I didn’t try it.

2.      Interviewing Willie was cool, of course. I mentioned that this was my 13^th Picnic and that I had interviewed him before and he just said “Well, I’m glad we’re both still here.” A very polite way of saying “Yes, you and a thousand other assholes.” I was prepared, kept it businesslike and Willie was nice, but not inclined to elaborate in his answers. They had planned to pair my interview with some TV fellow, but he was late and I didn’t have to share. Good.

3.      I missed “Whispering Bill” Anderson. Damn. This is mostly because the laptop I was given to take to the event was pretty much shit dipped in molasses. Trying to file my blog reports, which I’m sure nobody read, took forever.

4.      I was told there were 4,000 people. I heard that it was 3,000, maybe 3,200 at best. This wasn’t really a Picnic in any sense but the marketing. It was just a very nice concert at Billy Bob’s.

5.      Why was it not a Picnic? It’s July 5^th and I’m not sunburned. I’m not sore. I didn’t wake up exhausted. My feet don’t ache, my back doesn’t hurt. Hell, I think I had a seat in the shade for every outdoor set until Billy Joe Shaver took the stage late in the afternoon.

6.      If Lukas Nelson is going to keep whipping his head around like that, he needs to grow his hair longer or cut it short. Right now he looks like he’s trying to shake off an angry varmint that is attacking his head. The phrase epileptic muppet did occur to me. Also, I guess I’m supposed to be impressed that he can play his guitar with his teeth, but the only thing that goes through my head is “Jesus, that’s just asking for an emergency trip to the dentist.”

7.      Paul English walked right in front of me. Twice. Going from backstage to the T-shirt vendor. If you’ve read enough about Willie Nelson, you’ve read about what a badass Paul English was. After rain threatened to collapse the roof of the stage back in ’75 (or ’76, I don’t recall off the top of my head), Paul pulled out his pistol and shot a couple holes in it to allow for a little drainage. Even when I interviewed Willie in 1995, Paul was still a scary presence. Now, after a stroke, he appears every bit as old as he is. I wish him the best.

8.      In case you were wondering: $4 for a longneck inside, $6 for a 16-ounce can outside. And Willie’s merchandise folks were selling CDs for $25 a piece. Can you believe that shit? Who is going to buy a CD for $25?

9.      The folks at Billy Bob’s Texas were really cool to me. I got to sit at a table in an office to curse at my molasses-shit laptop and file reports. I constantly expected to get harangued by some security guard about “who are you? You can’t be here,” but I eventually came to recognize that my media pass was actually pretty valuable.

10.   Will there be a 40^th Picnic? If Willie lives that long, it looks like it. Should there be a 40^th Picnic? Yes, but it should be the last. Where should it be? It should be at Zilker Park. Am I going? Yes.

The boy can recognize Willie and Waylon, by voice and by sight. He knows all the words to “Pancho and Lefty” and sings “Whiskey River” by request. He knows armadillos and cowboys, farms and barns, old pickup trucks and “Go Spurs Go.”

As a 5-year-old, Buddy makes a pretty damn good Texan. But there’s always something overlooked.

I found it in the corner convenience store, while I was buying a bag of ice and a beer, Buddy in tow.

I’m approaching the register when he sidles up suspiciously close to me and says “Daddy, what’s that?”

Behind me is a display of children’s cheap pop guns and cheaper coonskin hats. I’m not sure why. The junction of Manchaca and Slaughter in far South Austin ain’t much of a tourist trap, unless you’re on a world tour of most annoying intersections.

Buddy doesn’t have much interest in guns yet. This is by design. Plenty of time for that. But the coonskin hats have his full attention.

“Why son, that’s a coonskin hat,” I say. “Do you want one?”

I couldn’t buy one, of course. His enormous noggin would require me to special-order an adult-size hat. But I can tell by the look in his eyes that I can get away with the question. “Do you want one?”

“No.”

He puts his hand in mine.

“Does it bite?”

I’m laughing now, trying to pay for the ice and beer without having a full-on comic breakdown. It’s a legitimate question. To me the coonskin hat is Davy Crockett, the Alamo, Fess Parker, old books and childhood memories. To the boy, the rack of fur and tails is easily just so many varmints, huddled together, and full of unknown intent.

“No, son, it doesn’t bite.” I’m really having a good time with this now. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”

“No.” He’s extra sure.

The cashier is laughing now.

“Why son, what would Davy Crockett think?” I’m playing to the audience.

“Can we go home?” Buddy is a pro at the diversionary question.

I’m laughing so hard the cashier is starting to look at me strangely. Buddy finally steps out from beneath the counter – in the direction of the door.

“Aw, he’s so cute,” she says. Her own diversionary statement, it seems, against this barrel of monkeys I have become.

We get back in the car.

“Son, we’re going to have to go to the Alamo.”

“OK.”

“And learn about Davy Crockett.”

“Right.”

“And get a coonskin hat.”

“No.”

We’ll get there. I’ll try not to traumatize him on the way.

After our arrival at Guadalupe Mountains State Park, I threw on my pack (snapped this self-portrait) and threw myself on the trail. I did not apply any sunscreen which I had purchased for the trip and I did not stretch my old muscles, not even my particularly cranky calves.

It is also from the bridge that you can finally see the true summit and that the people on the Internet are right on this one. It looks hard and looks are not deceiving.
I recall looking at my watch at some point and thinking that I should easily finish my ascent within 3 hours of starting. But it took 3.5 hours.

But I made it. Somehow I hauled my 250-pound carcass to the peak. In the picture above, I am the highest man in Texas, with the possible exception of Willie Nelson.

That beer was among the best I ever had. Followed by some of the best beef jerky and one of the finest granola bars I ever had.

The view from the top was pretty good. And it was all downhill from here right? I mean, we should make it down in like 2 hours.

The first mile down offered some rough terrain, and I was a bit stove up after 30 minutes at the top, but I was in good spirits. We hit the bridge relatively quickly and mile 2 went pretty fast as well. By mile 3, however, my legs were getting tired. This is something I did not expect. I'm overweight, but have solid muscle under there. I knew I was in for a long day, aerobically, given my complete lack of preparation, but I expected for my strength to help me endure the long hike.

By the last mile, which featured plenty of loose rock and (for me), knee-high steps down, my leg muscles had pretty much turned to jelly. I was whipped and I could not trust my legs to keep my upright if I were to slip or stumble. I had to slow down much to my chagrin and to Bret's.

I finally stumbled into the parking lot 2.5 hours after I left the peak. The roundtrip was 6.5 hours, on the bottom side of the 6-8 hours that many say the hike will take.