The nation's oldest Death Row inmate probably won't ever be executed. But he sure loves to write letters.
South Florida's lawless exotic rental car industry keeps rolling.
If you thought Seattle couldn't fetishize coffee any more, you haven't been to a "cupping" yet.
In certain Houston circles, the words "Lexington Street" are spoken in the hushed, reverent tones reserved for other bohemian enclaves like San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury or Chicago's Wicker Park. For several years in the early to mid-'90s, the leafy avenue in Lower Montrose (near the 59 spur) was home to a cadre of adventurous artists and musicians including members of Sprawl and Charalambides, whose "free noise" jams tipped the first domino toward Houston's eventual status as a focal point of abstract, impressionistic music. Leading the charge were Sprawl trombonist David Dove and Paul Winstanley, a New Zealand expat who funded his experiments with bass guitar and synthesizers in a reggae band and as a soundman. Dove and Winstanley (whom Dove now calls his mentor) eventually broke away from the Charalambides folks and recorded 1995's rough-hewn A before Winstanley headed back to New Zealand the next year. He hasn't been back until now, and Sunday's show with Dove's Nameless Sound Ensemble — expect plenty of low-end improvisation, bizarre electronic squall and maybe a piece or two from A — marks the end of Winstanley's all-too-brief homecoming residency; after the show, he and Dove embark on a national tour.