By Chris Lane
By Jeff Balke
By Aaron Reiss
By Angelica Leicht
By Dianna Wray
By Aaron Reiss
By Camilo Smith
By Craig Malisow
You are correct, Mark. It is not only mean, but shows a complete lack of class. The whole idea of the "benefit" was to contribute to a fund for Townes's kids, and it was successful in that regard, thank you. Benefit concerts mean the performers aren't paid for their efforts, and the idea of the audience benefiting is certainly secondary to the raison d'etre, not to mention that many of the performers in this case were old friends of Townes's who had not been on stage in many years and were admittedly rusty. But they were still caring enough to go for it! Everyone involved should be commended for their efforts instead of being snipped at. I would personally like to commend Writers in the Round and the many performers and folks who donated their time, efforts and energy without compensation to show that some in Houston actually cared!
Karl A. Caillouet
No Mercy for Poor Ezra
This is in response to the letter(s) written to you from the one and only mega-dude, Ezra Charles, in your June 26 issue ["Ezra's (Annual) Lament" and "Ezra's Second Thoughts"].
There's one more thing this poor man can add to his endless talents that nobody else can claim: the ability to toot his own horn. That letter read like a madman at midnight after consuming one hundred cups of java (or whatever) in the height of a manic phase, howling like a dog full of false grandiosity. Goes to show you can't be born with class, and, in Ezra's case, real talent.
And then he really topped it off with the second letter ... what a dude. But who's been talking to this guy? Has he lost touch with reality? I mean, here is this small-time musician claiming that 19 different people in Houston liked 19 different songs. Are we to be impressed here?
I can only hope that poor Ezra gasped in horror when, after pushing the "send" button on his e-mail to send you that shameful letter, he realized what an asshole he had made of himself in the eyes of anyone who even knew who in the hell he was. Ezra, my man, the day I see your name in the top 100 singles in America (or even the top 100,000) is the day I may overlook your pathetic belief in your own sense of wonder. Right now, you're a semi-okay frog in a very small pond.