Whatever

Drenched In Blog: Death Comes Ripping

Hey Mr. Death, do you have a quota to meet this year? The higher-ups been sweating you? Seriously dude, is there some sort of really cool show in the afterlife that you are trying to book? Because you have been taking all the cool people lately, especially here in Houston. In the past month or so, we have lost Poor Dumb Bastards guitarist Hunter Ward, Jimmy “T-99” Nelson, Marvin Zindler – come on now, how was he not rock and roll? – and Uncle John Turner.

I didn’t plan on being in Austin this weekend. But seeing as I got “divorced” on Thursday night (yeah, the “Hilary Duff” girl from my Wack article), I packed up the blog-mobile Saturday and headed to Sixth Street to see our Fatal Flying Guillotines tear up Emo’s. As I regained consciousness somewhere in a gutter Sunday, I heard that Port Neches native Lee Hazlewood had passed away that very “velvet” morning. I immediately found a record store to get me some majestic and ornate Lee for the drive home. I didn’t know he wrote “Houston,” which Dean Martin later recorded. I recommend his entire catalog, even swan song Cake or Death.

As I pulled out onto that winding stretch of Highway 71, I realized that even with the hurt and gloom you may bring, Mr. Death, you always somehow bring a ray of sunshine to those left behind to rebuild. Now, if you could just lay low for awhile, we’d all appreciate it. Go kill some mosquitoes or something. – Craig Hlavaty

Here’s Dino....

KEEP THE HOUSTON PRESS FREE... Since we started the Houston Press, it has been defined as the free, independent voice of Houston, and we'd like to keep it that way. With local media under siege, it's more important than ever for us to rally support behind funding our local journalism. You can help by participating in our "I Support" program, allowing us to keep offering readers access to our incisive coverage of local news, food and culture with no paywalls.
The Houston Press is a nationally award-winning, 33-year-old publication ruled by endless curiosity, a certain amount of irreverence, the desire to get to the truth and to point out the absurd as well as the glorious.
Contact: Houston Press