LISTEN: Hayes Carll, “Beaumont” (Acoustic)

Artist: Hayes Carll
Hometown: Woodlands, Texas; currently resides in Nashville, Tennessee
Song: “Beaumont” (Acoustic)
Album: Alone Together Sessions
Release Date: September 4, 2020
Label: Dualtone

In Their Words: “I started out singing on the southeast coast of Texas. Beaumont was just an hour up the road from where I was living. I had a few gigs there. A few friends too. The town just kept finding its way into my work. Its physical proximity to Houston, combined with the cultural differences, made it an interesting origin point for the narrator in this song. He’s in the city but the perspective comes from a simpler place. I’m thinking about all the folks down there right now dealing with yet another hurricane.” — Hayes Carll


Photo credit: David McClister

‘Urban Cowboy’ at 40: How a Mechanical Bull Changed Mickey Gilley’s Life

Mickey Gilley admits he wasn’t keen on the idea of installing a mechanical bull at his namesake honky-tonk on the outskirts of Houston, Texas. Nor is he shy about admitting just how wrong he was. That rodeo training device transformed Gilley’s Club into a cultural force. “The mechanical bull was never meant to be in an entertainment establishment like ours,” says the 84-year-old country star. “I thought it was a mistake, but it turned out to be a blessing. Without the mechanical bull, we never would have gotten that film with John Travolta.”

Every night there was a line for the mechanical bull. Demand was so high they installed a second bull and briefly considered buying the rights to the device in order to market it to honky-tonks around the country. Those would-be cowboys — called Gilleyrats after their favorite gathering spot — would compete to see who could stay on the bucking bull the longest, and that contest became the centerpiece of James Bridges’ 1980 film Urban Cowboy, featuring John Travolta in his follow-up to Saturday Night Fever. Exchanging the New York City discos for this dusty, Lone Star honky-tonk, he stars as Bud Davis, a small-town kid who moves to the big city and becomes a master of the mechanical bull.

The film culminates in a showdown with his nemesis, played by Scott Glenn, over the affections of a scene-stealing Debra Winger. As drama goes, this test of saddle skill is anticlimactic, as there is nothing at stake beyond macho pride. Bud isn’t fighting to escape his life (as his character in Fever did) nor to stay at Gilley’s. He’s just fighting. Though never quite satisfying as drama, Urban Cowboy is still fascinating 40 years later as a documentary about Gilley’s and the particular culture that grew up around it.

Gilley and his business partner, Sherwood Cryer, opened the place in 1970. At the time Gilley was only a regional star, with his own TV show in Houston and enough name recognition to open a club. (Being cousins with both Jerry Lee Lewis and Jimmy Swaggart didn’t hurt, either.) In 1974 he had a surprise hit with “Room Full of Roses,” which only brought more attention to his honky-tonk. He played there regularly and invited friends to fill in for him when he was on the road. The place grew into something like a theme park, with a dance floor roughly the size of a football field, several bars, tons of games, even a rodeo arena. “This place is bigger than my whole hometown,” Travolta’s character says when he first steps foot in the place.

Urban Cowboy captures the energy of Gilley’s Club in frenetic long takes that put you right at the bar or out on the dance floor. You can almost smell the sawdust and beer. Gilley even performs during a couple of scenes, as does Charlie Daniels, and the shots of couples shuffling across the floor in tight, fluid choreography are among the film’s highlights.

By the time a suspicious fire destroyed Gilley’s in 1990, the place and the film had already left a deep impression in popular culture. It introduced western wear as high fashion: tight jeans and big hats worn by guys who never rode the range (or a bull, for that matter), but still bought into the mythos of the American cowboy. And its soundtrack, featuring Bonnie Raitt, Boz Scaggs, and Kenny Rogers, peaked at No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100 and produced chart-topping country singles such as “Lookin’ for Love” by Johnny Lee, “Could I Have This Dance” by Anne Murray, and “Stand by Me” by Gilley himself.

For our latest Roots on Screen column, we chatted with the club’s namesake about accidentally recording a hit single, flying with Travolta, and assaulting the sausage king.

BGS: How did you get to a point where you could open a massive honky-tonk with your name on it?

Gilley: I grew up in Louisiana and got two famous cousins, Jerry Lee Lewis and Rev. Jimmy Swaggart. Jerry Lee was my hero, because without him I probably wouldn’t have gotten in the music business. He came to Houston in ’57 and I saw how well he was doing. I was working construction making $1.25 an hour and that’s when I threw my hat in the ring. Seventeen years later I cut “Room Full of Roses” by mistake and it turned out to be my first No. 1 song. After that I got to tour with Conway and Loretta and next thing I knew John Travolta came knocking on my door. Everything broke loose.

How does somebody cut a hit single by accident?

I had a little TV show in the Houston market. One night I walked into Gilley’s and the lady who had the jukebox called me over and says, “Today on your TV show you did my favorite song, ‘She Called Me Baby All Night Long.’” It’s a Harlan Howard tune. She told me she’s in the jukebox business and if I would record that song, she’d put it on every one of her jukeboxes. I said, “Ma’am, I ain’t made a record in probably three years. The show is doing well. The club is doing well. I don’t really make records anymore.” She said, “Just make that one song for me.”

Well, as you know, back then they had 45s and you had to have an A side and a B side. I went in to cut “She Called Me Baby All Night Long” and for the flip side, I picked “Room Full of Roses.” It’s an old George Morgan song from the late ‘40s or early ‘50s. Lorrie Morgan’s father. I started the arpeggio on the piano and got maybe 30 seconds into it and then stopped. My bass guitar player looked over and said, “What’d you quit for?” I told him it sounded too much like Jerry Lee. And he says, “Who cares? Nobody’s going to hear it. It’s a B side!” So I recorded it. Didn’t think anything about it.

I took the record around to radio stations where we were buying time to advertise the club — “Gilley’s! 4500 Spencer Highway! Pasadena, Texas!” — and I asked if they would play the record when they did the spot on the club. I remember Bruce Nelson at WKNR asked me which side I wanted him to play. I said, “Either side you want. Doesn’t matter to me.” He looked at both sides and said, “I think I like that flower song.” He played it and it shot up the charts. Playboy Records picked it up and took it national for me in 1974.

What was a typical night like at Gilley’s during its heyday?

After the film Urban Cowboy came out, it was packed every night. I never seen anything like it in my life. It went on for about three and a half years. It was totally jam-packed, seven nights a week. People wanted to be a part of what it was all about. They just came out to have a good time. We had a lot of things in the club you could do, too. We had the two mechanical bulls, plus we had quite a few pool tables spread out through the club. Pinball. Punching bags… you know, things of that nature that people would get a kick out of.

How many stages did you have?

We had just the one big stage for music. Of course, my business partner built a rodeo arena back in ’85 or ’86 and hitched it onto the club, because he wanted to stay ahead of Billy Bob’s down in Fort Worth. The concerts we had in there worked out pretty good, because we had Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, George Jones, George Strait. People like that do real good in a rodeo arena, but other than that, it was just a big building that we didn’t need.

How often were you playing the regular stage?

I worked the club up until 1985. But I got into a squabble with him about the way the club was running and what was going on, and we got in a lawsuit. I got the club closed down, I got my name off of it, and later it was set on fire and burned. It was arson, but I don’t know who did it, you know? It went up in flames and no more Gilley’s in Pasadena, Texas. But we have a Gilley’s in Treasure Island in Vegas. We have two in Oklahoma and one in Dallas.

What do you remember about filming at Gilley’s?

The main thing I remember was that we had to do it during the day, daylight hours, because we operated the club at night as the regular nightclub. They closed all the doors and tried to make it as dark as they could. I remember the director hollering, “More smoke! More smoke!” to make it look more like a night at the club. They’d start early in the morning and go all day, shooting the parts they had to have. I never had been in a film of that caliber before, so it was different for me. But it was fun.

Was the Urban Cowboy Band something you put together especially for the film?

We had a band there that was playing the club, but I took them on the road with me and renamed them the Urban Cowboy Band when the film came out. Paramount Pictures told me it was OK to use it, so that’s what we did. We were awarded a Grammy for the song “Orange Blossom Special,” which I played piano on. But there were some great songs in the film. “Hello Texas” was written by a Texas guy by the name of Brian Collins and sung by Jimmy Buffett. That’s a great song. We also had Charlie Daniels doing “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” in the film.

Your version of “Stand by Me” was a big hit as well.

It was originally recorded by Ben E. King and written by Leiber and Stoller. The song was brought in by the producer, who was wanting to do what he called a “grudge dance” in the film. They picked “Stand by Me” and asked me to do the song. I was a little reluctant but the arrangement they put on it made it a different song than the Ben E. King version. When we got the song recorded, people were raving about it, and it turned out to be a hit. Now I close my shows with it.

What was it like having someone like John Travolta in your club every day? What was he like to work with?

Well, the one thing that John and I had in common was we both loved aviation. At the time, he was working on his pilot’s license, and I got to fly with him. I was so excited about the fact that I was getting to fly with the star of Urban Cowboy. He had just come off of Saturday Night Fever and Grease, so I’m in awe. I’m just an old country boy that’s had quite a few No. 1 songs, but I never had the popularity John Travolta had. He was working on his pilot’s license at the time, so I went up with him a few times. He went on to fly the big jets, which I’m sure is exciting for him. I never got that far in my career. I got to fly some jets, but they were like the LearJet and the Citation — nothing like the 747 he was flying.

How did the success of that movie and the soundtrack change your career?

It changed my life, because the record company put me with a different producer and he started picking songs like “You Don’t Know Me,” “That’s All That Matters to Me,” “Headache Tomorrow (Heartache Tonight),” and “Put Your Dreams Away.” They were all hits for me and opened more doors for me, as far as casino dates in Reno, Vegas, and Atlantic City. I wasn’t just known as a honky-tonk piano player anymore. I was known as a country performer and it gave me a little more clout. I got to play for two presidents. They gave me a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, invited me to come to Hollywood and do some acting roles, and I did The Fall Guy, Fantasy Island, The Dukes of Hazzard, and Murder, She Wrote. I had a scene in Murder, She Wrote where I grab Jimmy Dean, the sausage king! I grab him by the collar and shake him. Sometimes I show that clip in my show and say, “Look at that! I’m trying to shake the sausage out of Jimmy Dean!”

You’re still playing a lot of those songs from Urban Cowboy on tour, right?

Johnny Lee and I have done well by doing the music from that soundtrack and we called it the Urban Cowboy Reunion Tour. I wish we could have gotten more people involved, maybe Charlie Daniels or Bonnie Raitt. But we did pretty good just the two of us. I remember playing a casino down in Louisiana, and at the end of the show I looked at Johnny and said, “Do you realize those people out there dancing wasn’t even born when we did the film?” I think they come out here to see if we’re still alive!


Photo credit: Courtesy of 117 Entertainment

WATCH: Market Junction, “Nebraska”

Artist: Market Junction
Hometown: Houston, Texas
Song: “Nebraska”
Album: Burning Bridges
Release Date: Aug. 7, 2020

In Their Words: “What we are most afraid of is that this dream of making a living in music and simultaneously being the fathers and husbands we know we need to be is impossible. This song is a foreshadowing of that fear. Sometimes you have to speak your fears out loud to relieve the tension in your own chest. ‘Nebraska,’ at least in this song, is less about a geographical location but more of a metaphor for whatever place you find yourself lost in.” — Matt Parrish, Market Junction


Photo credit: Jason Allison

LISTEN: Libby Koch, “How Long”

Artist: Libby Koch
Hometown: Houston, Texas
Song: “How Long”
Album: Redemption 10: Live at Blue Rock
Release Date: October 18, 2019
Label: Berkalin Records

In Their Words: “This record definitely incorporates spiritual themes into love songs, and ‘How Long’ is a great example of that. I structured this song around the text of Psalm 40, with lines of each verse and the chorus tracking the Psalm: ‘I waited patiently for the Lord, and he turned to me and heard my cry. He brought me up out of a slimy pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and gave me a firm place to stand.’ This piece of scripture has been put into song and hymn many times, and I hope this song is a worthy addition to that tradition. When I originally cut this song 10 years ago, it was a more somber, stripped-down track… for the live anniversary cut, Patterson Barrett and I decided to pick up the tempo and give the song a bluegrassy feel, which I just love. It’s one of my favorite tracks on this live album.” — Libby Koch


Photo credit: Valerie Fremin

LISTEN: Jordi Baizan, “Between the Sun and the Moon”

Artist: Jordi Baizan
Hometown: Houston, Texas
Song: “Between the Sun and the Moon”
Album: Free and Fine
Release Date: June 28, 2019
Label: Berkalin Records

In Their Words: “‘Between the Sun and the Moon’ is a song about love at first sight that weaves in my fascination with serendipity and synchronicity. I was inspired to write it when I was out in the Central Texas countryside towards the end of a beautiful spring day. The sun was setting in the western sky just as the moon was rising. If it was not for that memorable moment, the song would not be written today. Here are two lovers who meet, dance, and are forever marked by their romantic encounter between the sun and the moon. Is their story one of luck or is there a greater significance?” — Jordi Baizan


Photo credit: Valerie Fremin

LISTEN: Matt Harlan, “K&W”

Artist: Matt Harlan
Hometown: Houston, Texas
Song: “K&W” (featuring Kelley Mickwee)
Album: Best Beasts
Release Date: July 12, 2019
Label: Eight 30 Records

In Their Words: “‘K&W’ is about two addict truck drivers in a relationship. One’s a drinker and one’s into heavier stuff. Whatever your poison, it can be easy to settle into self-destructive behavior when you’re traveling all the time and missing home and each other. Theirs is a modern day Romeo and Juliet tale. Boy meets girl and falls in love, but it’s their jobs and habits keeping them apart instead of their families. He assumes the worst about her before she can truly break his heart herself and ends it all.” — Matt Harlan


Photo credit: Brian T. Atkinson

BGS 5+5: Scott Mulvahill

Artist: Scott Mulvahill
Hometown: Friendswood, Texas (near Houston)
Latest album: Himalayas
Personal nicknames (or rejected band names): I played one show as “Scott Hill” towards the end of college. I was self-conscious about my rather different last name, but after that I just decided to embrace it. If Jake Gyllenhaal can do it…

What’s your favorite memory from being on stage?

A few years ago, I played a show in Nashville where I gathered a bunch of friends to cover all of Paul Simon’s Graceland album, which is one of my desert island records. It was as fun as it sounds!! But we had a moment of true magic when the power went out in the building. Everyone in the room gathered in and gave us light from their cell phones, and we sang the song “Homeless” acoustically — just my upright and about 10 singers, no PA [system]. It was so powerful, and a moment of chaos was turned into something beautiful. We actually captured it all on video and it’s on YouTube. After we finished the song, the power miraculously came back on and we finished the show. That was such a great moment that I recorded that arrangement of that song and included it on my album.

What’s the toughest time you ever had writing a song?

I just finished a new one that I re-wrote about five times. Eventually I had verses in a decent form, and I ended up writing the chorus with my brilliant friend Ben Shive. At that point it was good, but still not quite there, so I took it into a co-write with the great Beth Nielsen Chapman, and we edited it line by line and she made it so much stronger. So that was a long process, but worth it because I think the end result is pretty special. I’m excited to record it.

What rituals do you have, either in the studio or before a show?

I don’t believe in pre-show rituals, besides a very simple warm-up of singing or playing just about anything. I’ll sing a few notes, noodle on bass, mostly just relax. If I had some elaborate ritual that I depended on, I think that would be a mental crutch more than a help. I’ll hear singers talk about certain warm-up routines, or how dairy will throw you off, how you must drink honey, and stuff like that. I want to get my technique and experience to a level where I’m not worried about things like milk ruining my show. Was it really the milk?

If you had to write a mission statement for your career, what would it be?

To always get down to the truth, to find the edge of my abilities, and try to spend as much time there as possible. A song can’t be too vulnerable or too personal in my opinion. The more personal and vulnerable, the more distinct and powerful it’s likely to be. People are looking to artists to be brave in their music, to speak truths from their own angle, and that’s my goal.

How often do you hide behind a character in a song or use “you” when it’s actually “me”?

At times I’ve done this without knowing it; I’ve written songs that feel powerful, and only half-way through writing it do I realize that it’s about me and my real-life events. I almost never purposefully write characters, and I wish I could… it’s a different approach that I just don’t know how to do convincingly yet. So my songs to date are almost all autobiographical. And that doesn’t prevent them from being relatable for people. For almost every song I sing, I have a person in mind that I conjure while I sing the song, and that helps me re-enter the emotional space of when the song was written. For songs that are about real events, I want them to feel as real as possible for the audience.


Photo credit: David Dobson

Lee Ann Womack: Keeping it Real

Lee Ann Womack had to get out of Nashville to make what she calls a real country music record. Specifically, she had to get about 800 miles away. For her eighth — and maybe her best — album, The Lonely, the Lonesome & the Gone, Womack trekked down to Houston, Texas, and set up camp at the historic SugarHill Studio, which has hosted famed sessions by some of her musical heroes: Lightnin’ Hopkins, the Sir Douglas Quintet, George Jones, and many others. Nashville has plenty of similarly legendary rooms, of course, but Womack needed to get away from the grinding gears of the country music machine — what she derides as “McRecords.”

“It’s like a factory,” she says. “What was great about being down there in Texas is that you’re in a studio where people go to work everyday and you have all kinds of music being recorded there. Nobody’s going in thinking, ‘We’ve got to lay down a three-minute uptempo love song for radio.’ They’re not thinking about how we’re going to make the most money out of three minutes of music. All they’re thinking about is going in and making great music.”

Womack is one of the few artists who can drop a phrase like “real country music” into conversation without sounding defensive, dismissive, or derisive — in other words, without buying into received notions of authenticity. Her definition of “real” is deeply personal and based on the country music that was popular 40 or 50 or even 60 years ago, but Lonely proves that even old tunes and old sounds can speak to this modern moment. Rather than restrictive, the term becomes freeing: These new songs range from the stately countrypolitan of “Hollywood” to the gritty blues of “All the Trouble,” from the beautiful reimagining of the 1959 Lefty Frizzell “Long Black Veil” to the remarkable insights of the title track, a country song about country songs.

Recording in Houston actually brought her closer to some of her Nashville heroes. Womack grew up in a small town called Jacksonville, Texas, about three hours due north of Houston. Her father was a country radio DJ, a profession that provided his daughter with a deep grounding in the music’s history. As a child, she loved Bob Wills & His Texas Playboys. “I thought he was funny. The music was upbeat and bouncy, which any kid would like, and then you’ve got this guy talking all over the tracks: [Imitating Wills’ falsetto] ‘Shoot low, sheriff! I think he’s riding a Shetland!’” She might have been laughing at the bandleader’s antics, but she was subconsciously absorbing the complex horns and fiddles. “It becomes part of the fabric of your musical DNA.”

As she grew up, Womack raided her parents’ record collection, which was full of albums by Ray Price, George Jones, Porter Waggoner, Dolly Parton, and, of course, Willie Nelson. “Twin fiddles and steel guitar and story songs — these were the things that I thought were country music, and I thought my idea of country music was everybody’s idea of country music.” Ironically, being in Nashville only distanced Womack from her first loves. “Growing up in East Texas, I was full of dreams and hope. Then I moved to Nashville and, after 20 years, you get kind of jaded. Things change,” she says. “Every time I go back home, I have a spark of that feeling I had growing up. I wanted that again. I haven’t made a record in that frame of mind in so long. I just wanted to be surrounded again by the things that shaped me growing up.”

All of those old sounds inform the new record, which was produced by her husband, Frank Liddell, and finds Womack moving even further away from the country mainstream. Disregarding the need for radio airplay and signing with ATO Records [home to the Drive-By Truckers and Hurray for the Riff Raff] suggests she is cementing her place within the Americana market, adopting a rootsier sound for a very different kind of audience. As she recounts her career, however, Womack insists she has always gravitated toward this kind of music, even when she was just starting out. “When I walked into the offices of Decca Records to audition, I walked in with just an upright bass, myself, and an acoustic guitar. We played as a trio, right there in the office,” she recounts. “And that’s exactly who I was. My first record had a song on it called ‘Never Again, Again,’ and that was stone-cold country. Even in 1997, I felt like I needed to remind people of what country music really was.”

And yet, within the country sphere and without, she is best known for 2000’s smash single, “I Hope You Dance,” which achieved the crossover success so many Nashville artists covet. Recorded with Sons of the Desert, it’s a slick and sentimental pop-country anthem whose uplifting lyrics could double as a graduation speech or a Hallmark card: “I hope you still feel small, when you stand beside the ocean. Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens.”

To her credit, Womack doesn’t ignore or disregard her biggest hit, no matter that it is something of an outlier in her catalog. She still performs it at almost every concert, still sings it like it’s a brand-new song, still invests those lyrics with sincerity and immense generosity, even as she strips it down to its core. “Those lyrics still stand up with just an acoustic guitar,” she says. “I might have cut a couple of lightweight pieces along the way, but I tried to cut the best songs I could find. And now when I go out and play with fewer musicians in a more stripped-down setting, those songs hold up because they were great songs to begin with. I guess a lot of shit got put on them to make them more commercial.”

That is perhaps one of Womack’s most undervalued talents: She is a sensitive and intuitive song collector with a discerning ear for complex sentiments, sturdy melodies, and relatable characters. On her last album, 2014’s The Way I’m Livin’, she covered the Texas singer/songwriter Hayes Carll and managed to outdo Neil Young on her tender version of “Out on a Weekend.” Lonely includes a handful of old-school covers, but the standouts are those penned by young scribes like Brent Cobb, Adam Wright, and Jay Knowles.

During the sessions in Houston, there were discussions about the title track, which includes the line, “[Hank Williams] never wrote about watching a Camry pulling out of a crowded apartment parking lot.” According to Wright, who co-wrote the tune, “Some people were like, ‘Camry isn’t very cool. Is there another car we can use?’ But Lee Ann said, ‘No, it’s a Camry. Those are the lyrics and that’s what it is.’ And that’s the point, after all. It’s not a Jaguar. It’s not a cool car. It’s not romantic.” As she sings it, that is one of the most arresting lines in a song this year — country or otherwise — and she delivers it with a gentle despair and even a little resignation, as though measuring the romance of an old country song and the reality of everyday life. “The care she takes with these songs left a big impression on me,” says Wright.

For Womack, country music is real when it’s about real people — not just the musicians who write and sing the songs, but the listeners who play those tunes over and over again, who hear their own dreams and hopes echoed back to them. “I have this theme about myself and about others,” says Womack. “I don’t know how else to describe it, except to say that I am drawn to losers. I hate to call anybody a loser, but I throw myself in that pile.”

By “losers,” she means people facing down challenges bigger than they are, and that accounts for just about everybody on earth. “That’s why I’m drawn to songs like ‘All the Trouble’ and ‘I Hope You Dance.’ They’re about challenges, about hard moments in life,” she muses. “There was a time when country music spoke more to those types of people. Now it’s speaking to a different group of people. That’s fine, but I want to speak to the challenges of life. The lonely, the lonesome, and the gone? Those are my people.”


Lede illustration by Cat Ferraz.

A Minute in Houston with Robert Ellis

Welcome to "A Minute In …" — a BGS feature that turns our favorite artists into hometown reporters. In our latest column, Houston's Robert Ellis takes us on a tour of his favorite haunts for tasty queso, heavy pours, and incredible art.

I have heard a lot of people say a lot of bad things about Houston. Mostly, it's from friends who are in bands and spent one night there five years ago while on tour. When you are running around and playing a new city every day, there just isn't a lot of time. Most of what you know of a city is directly related to what places are near the venue or the hotel. Maybe, if you get lucky, you can Yelp a good coffee shop before leaving in the morning and it won't be too far out of the way. 

Houston is huge and sprawling. People visit once and, because they aren't in the right part of town, they remember the city by what the area around their airport hotel was like. This is not a complete picture. I want to try and help. If you happen to pop into Houston for a day, here are some things I would recommend doing. 


Photo credit: drewtarvin via Foter.com / CC BY

Eat at El Tiempo. This is my absolute favorite restaurant on the planet. Order the beef fajitas and a margarita. Queso, too, if you have time to take a nap. I prefer the Washington location, but you really can't go wrong. 

Bars. Warren's Inn and La Carafe downtown are great hangs, across the street from one another. Both are very old. Warren's Inn has heavy pours and a good jukebox. 

Photo courtesy of Captain Foxheart's

Captain Foxheart's Bad News Bar & Spirit Lodge is a place to get a really great cocktail, as well as tons of different kinds of fancy or hard to find liquor. Let the bartenders just make you something they think is good. Be careful: I've gotten very sloppy on these drinks accidentally. Double Trouble also has a great scene and Tacos a Go-Go has some great tacos right across the street. 

Photo courtesy of Mai's

Go dancing at Barbarella or Arlos, once you are good and liquified. Dance all night. Make friends. Try and find a pool at someone's house to go swimming in or end up at Mai's for more food. Get the salt-toasted tofu. They are open pretty late and it's quite a scene when the bars close. 

Wake up hungover and go to Catalina Coffee. The taco truck outside has really good tacos. Down the road is Laredo Taqueria, as well, or bahn mi at Les Givral's. If you go there, get a fried egg on whatever you order. 


Photo credit: dr vaxon via Foter.com / CC BY

Visit the Menil Collection and Rothko Chapel before you leave town. I used to live right behind this place. The park outside of the museum is where some members of my band and I first met playing guitars in the park. It's a free, private collection full of some of my favorite stuff in the world. Mark Rothko also built an incredible meditation room adjacent to the museum with some of his big black canvasses. If you have time, take some drugs (or not) and walk around the whole place. Make sure not to miss the Cy Twombly building and the Dan Flavin light installation on Richmond.

This is just one path of many you could take in a city as large as H-town. There are lots of great places I didn't mention, so please come back … and let me know when you do. 


Lede photo courtesy of the artist