Best Of :: Arts & Entertainment
Houston's band names are in a rut. Great swaths of them fail to inspire anything at all. Not a smile, not a chuckle, not an appreciative nod -- nada. Instead, all too many bands try to be clever by spelling, capitalizing and punctuating oddly (Soular Slide, dr:op:fr:am+e, 30footFALL). Among our favorites, however, are the history-laden Jimmy Raycraft & The Roaring Calhouns and the euphonious The Fatal Flying Guilloteens. Nods go out to Jug O' Lightnin' and Pure Rubbish for evoking their respective spooky Southern and gutter-punk sounds with resorting to the literal. Which brings us to this year's winner: Lucky Boyd & The Toll Booth Violators, country rockers from down Galveston way. There's something in the mock menace of the name that really makes us smile.
Stages set the pace for the entire theatrical season with its boisterous production of Jane Martin's Anton in Show Business. After that, artistic director Rob Bundy never looked back. Some of the best productions included the strange and disturbing comedy about a group of suits from corporate America in Laura Hembree's Car Pool. The holiday season brought the requisite musical; this year Bundy produced the understated and beautifully ironic Company, by Stephen Sondheim. Old Wicked Songs, by Jon Maran, focused on anti-Semitism and the power of music to heal; it was perhaps the most moving production of the year. Ex-Oiler Bo Eason pulled in full houses for his smart if sentimental script, Runt of the Litter, about the gory guts of professional football. And of course Stages couldn't complete a season without one totally off-the-wall script, which bounced across the stage in the shape of Betty's Summer Vacation, an absolutely bizarre tale of serial killers, mommy-hatred and raincoat-clad flashers. We can only hope that next season will be as provocative.
Giselle is one of very few stories that is best told in the language of ballet. It's based on the legend of the Wilis, the ghosts of young maidens who were jilted by men and died before they could marry. These mysterious creatures haunt the shadowy forests at night, looking for young men whom they will dance to death in their vengeance. In last season's production of the classic, dancers of the corps de Houston Ballet hopped across the stage slowly, their faces shrouded in white tulle, their legs all aloft in perfect arabesques. They were icy and ethereal, robotic and romantic. It was enough to give you the willies.
The Tejano scene in Houston is as unpredictable as the Gulf Coast weather. One day a club is hot; the next day it's shuttered and silent. Hallabaloo's is the exception. Set in a gritty southeast neighborhood, the club has kept the Tejano fires burning in Houston for nearly ten years. Wednesday night is live Tejano night. Top acts like Bobby Pulido, Los Chamacos and Joe Lopez set couples twirling with their festive sounds. Tuck in your shirt and head inside to a world of starched jeans and heartfelt gritos emanating from under white Stetsons.