(Cliff Divers of La Quebrada, Acapulco Mexico. My heros)

I was 11 years old, it was the Spring. Houston, TX, 1990. I was playing ball under my dad as the coach. Our team.. the Wildcats. My dad gave a moving speech before the game….Jimmy Simon spat into the wind mid speech and the wind carried the mucus onto my dad’s shirt. My dad and I got up early that morning, chalked the first and third base lines before the sun was up. It was the championship game.

We played 6 innings of baseball and we were up against the unbeaten Leopards. Fuckin’ Brian Patterson , pitcher for the Leopards, was the only kid in the league pitching over 50 mph. Brian was a year older than all of us but no one asked for a birth certificate. We were down 2-1 going into the top of the 6th. I doubled with two on and we took the lead 3-2. I took the mound for the bottom of the 6th. 3 outs, no runs, Wildcats win. Let’s call this a home run for my dad…or me….or maybe even my mom.

I strike out the first batter…We’re two outs away.

MEANWHILE…. it was middle school for me. I was just learning guitar, writing songs. My good friends were not so good anymore. Michael and Wade ended up going to jail years later for selling guns. I was just beaten up by my buddy, Ross Wilkinson. I went to the hospital for stitches under my eye after being concussed and punched in the face. My dad was starting to wear leather jackets on the weekend and my mom almost burnt the whole house down ‘baking’ breakfast while we slept. It was all bizarre.

(Photo by my mom of me, 6th grade. My first guitar)

My pops, a prolific photographer and professor at Rice University, had been stuck for 9 years on his latest book; a sprawling and ambitious work based on traditional fiestas in rural areas of Mexico. Spoiler….The book took 18 years to complete and it would be one of his worst received after it was finally released.

We spent the Summers and the breaks traveling by car, puking on the roadsides, discovering hidden beaches and fulfilling this messy concept and transition in his career. I loved these trips. I’d fill out Columbia House Subscriptions in the van, draw my favorite baseball player Roberto Clemente, sleep on the floor between the bench and the front seats, chase parakeets at the hotels, and one time was attacked by a group of monkeys in the courtyard of a Veracruz restaurant . In Mexico City, they had a live lion in the hotel lobby of our favorite place to stay. We watched the cliff divers of La Quebrada plummet into the narrow cove of Acalpulco Bay from the El Mirador hotel patio (full story coming on this. see photo above).

(Photo by Geoff Winningham- Los Valedores de la Sierra )

BACK TO THE GAME….. I strike out the second batter, the last in their line up. We’ve got two outs now. We are just one out away from winning it all….. the minor league championship that only a few of us will remember, but feels so important to me, my dad, and my mom, who helped draft our team. One out to go and I have the top of the order coming up. Brian Patterson is batting fourth. If we get the first, second, or third guy out I won’t need to pitch to him.

MEANWHILE….. my mom’s been a pretty loyal accomplice to my dad’s journey. When my dad was almost killed by a street hamburger in Matehuala, my mom was there for him. He was sent to a hospital in Mexico City and Janette took care of my brother and I…a chain smoking, weak, low tolerance for kids receptionist, somewhere in one of the Colleges at Rice. My mom happily accompanied my dad on all of his journeys. A prerequisite for my dad and all of his wives—you are also married to the road. Whether it was Texas High School Football, vernacular architecture of the South, or Mexico, exploration by car was essential. My mom did it all happily. She even took some pretty damn good photos along the way.

(Photo by Geoff Winningham, from Friday Night at the Colliseum)

Their relationship was teetering. I could feel it. I remember being called into my dad’s office one night with my mom to settle an argument between the two of them that felt fatal. My dad didn’t want loyalty or praise. He wanted friction….he wanted pain and inspiration. My mom was already him, his kids, his adventures, his sidekick and partner. It was more than she could have ever wanted. Already.

BACK TO THE GAME…..I walked the next batter, putting one on first. But we were still just one out away. I thought, let them hit it, my infield is great, we’ll make a play and be done. The second batter hit a ground ball to our shortstop, Will Phillips, the best short stop in the league. He could either flip it to second for a forced out or throw it to first for the win. Instead, the ball went between his legs……twice. Two easy ground balls and two errors in a row that Will had never made. The bases were now loaded and Brian Patterson was at bat. Two Outs.

On his second pitch Brian hit an easy fly ball to center field. This was a routine catch for Michael Sickman, our best outfielder. The ball was coming right to him. But the anxiety of the moment, the pressure of the play, and the classic impulse to run forward overtook his usual patient temperament. The ball flew over his head and the Leopards went on to a perfect season. Both Michael Sickman and I did not attend the end of the season party after the loss. Somehow, Will Phillips did. Will’s family were born again Christians. Everything was in their God’s hands. Amen.

RECENTLY….It wasn’t until many years later I hit my first home run, out at the Longtime near Austin, TX. 46 years old. Its really never too late for a home run. I had pinched a nerve in my back that day. Coach Bo kept telling me to rest but we only had 9. It would leave a large hole in center field. We were down in the game until my bomb, we ended up winning by 4 or 5. Gonna give my home run ball to my dad or my mom….I really can’t decide. Probably need to hit two. Or three at least.

I’ll let the beautiful images from mostly Mia Al-Taher do most of the storytelling below….

(Photo Courtesy of Jordan Scott- (left to right) Steve Wertheimer (Owner of the Continental), Britt, and Me

“…..but to be held by an artist at the crucial moment of expression - to be awed, second by second, at the way a song or a piece of music unfolds to be held at the edge of tears by the drama of it all, and to be, as an audience member, an essential participant in the drama itself.” — Nick Cave

I would like to praise Continental Club and C-Boys owner Steve Wertheimer for immediately supporting the night, offering his club, and calling James McMurtry to get him involved. Also, special props to Britt for being the first performer to say yes. Inspiration is infectious.

(Photo Credit- Mia Al-Taher)

This is what is what was like all night. Truth be told, many were learning for the first time about Junkyard and most were there to see these Austin legends play a few songs in a 200 capacity venue. Five performers- Britt Daniel of Spoon, Patty Griffin, Adrian Quesada’s Trio Asesino, James McMurtry, and Mike Harmeier of Silverada….

You could hear an eye twitch during Patty’s performance, the room was so mesmerized and lost. A demanding and unforgiving emotional force, you could not help but be at a loss of self, time, preoccupation. Few performers can just silence rooms. Another legend, her guitar player, David Pulkingham, accompanied her (One of Tony Visconti’s favorite guitar players of all time). What a dream they wove for us with their version of Moon River.

(Photo Credit- Mia Al-Taher)

Britt brought a boom box with him and played beats from his cd player. We padded out the bottom so it wouldn’t skip during the show. Youngest Britt is still inside, protected. The last time he played over pre-recorded beats being some time in the 90's. Metal Detekor was my highlight. I gave him a book of my dad’s photography as a gift, remembering the Transference album cover of an untitled William Eggleston photo. He declined a bottle of Still Whiskey (“I just stick to beer really”), with his Lone Star breath.

(Photo Credit- Mia Al-Taher)

Adrian debuted his new project, his Trio Asesino. I found out that evening they were putting the finishing touches on a new record coming out this year. You could tell. The trio was LOCKED in. JoshySoul stole the show on the Leslie, completely masterful. Reminded me of the days of the Empanada Parlour where Adrian’s band Grupo Fantasma got their start.

(Photo Credit- Mia Al-Taher)

There’s not a single person involved in this event that is more than one person removed from a friend of mine….it’s how it all came together so quickly, so fluidly. Mike Harmeier’s set was seasoned, raw….the man lives half of his life on the road with his incredible live band, Silverada. You might also know Mike from his days with Mike and the Moonpies. Mike stares right through you, drills you with his frenetic pace and intensity.

(Photo Credit- Mia Al-Taher)

James McMurtry went first…even before he said he’d play the show, I knew I would be calling my sister to introduce him on stage. Lisa loves James and his poetry more than anyone I know in Austin. He played her 50th birthday party at New World Deli off the Drag. You have to just sip between songs, maintain focus, to keep up with his winding and brutal stories. Where many of his father’s characters in the Last Picture Show or Lonesome Dove are brief in their words, James is anything but…… It’s what some might describe as a ‘considered improvisation’ of singing … where the expressions of cadence, narrative arc, and speaking in tongues all intertwine….

(Photo by Me- My Sister Lisa and her hero James McMurtry)

In November, about a month before the show, Junkyard’s small board made a list of about 7 performers to ask to play this show. Steve Wertheimer, owner of the Continental, was the first to say yes and offer his legendary club. Around the same time, without flinching, Britt also said yes. Inside of just 2, maybe 3 days, everyone was in, and this fundraising/concert effort was born. 4 weeks later it was all happening in real time. A mysterious check for $10k was put in my hand at some point, and by the next day we had raised $40k for Junkyard’s mission. Dare to make something happen…..and sometimes it does.

After starting Junkyard in 2024, this is exactly what I imagined, but I never would have imagined this exact night. But I am not surprised. Like songs, we start with an electricity toward some flicker of a lyric, a rhythm, one cord, or just picking up your instrument at the right time. You chase and chase, until the song reveals itself and the words find their purpose. It was never what you thought it was going to be, no matter what you thought you heard in your head.

Poster Art by Jaime Zuversa-

Quick message before the longer story… After the insane amount of growth we’ve experienced as a city, we cannot afford to lose the people that make our culture so vibrant. We cannot neglect the value of owning a home, establishing worth in that process, and building on it. Industry was born out of this concern. What’s happened since that birth of Industry in my life has been all consuming. I’ve given everything to it and expanded on it in many ways. I’ll let this unfold over time on Substack if you want to keep this up with me. I hope you do.

(Me and a group of UT architects on a tour at SOMA. Social responsibility, housing affordability, civic duty and managing a real world back drop that is unforgiving).

Story..

I came to Austin to play music and I was able to do that…….but that was a long time ago. It was 2005……my rent was $300. My apartment was 250 sq ft. I made a bunkbed that could house a couch underneath and I had a roommate to make my life easy. I could work two jobs and make ends meet. I worked as a music teacher and carpenter by day and a bartender at the San Jose Hotel at night. I wrote bits and pieces of songs in my downtime while my best friend at the time, and roommate, signed to a major label. Possibility was everywhere.

(my first band, the glass family, 2005. Review by the Austin Chronicle)

Things changed quickly as my relationship with Leyla progressed. Like most turning points, it happened without full intentionality. All of the sudden my apartment based life was looking around for a home and a place to anchor.

In 2007 I bought a home with my partner in the University Hills neighborhood for $140k. Elmo was the owner. He made me learn all of the names of the plants and trees on the property. His parents had lived in the home….mom had a pink bathroom and dad had a blue bathroom. Elmo could never bring himself to changing those colors. He reminded me that the nandina’s that lined the driveway were his mother’s favorite plants and she would spend time on the weekends pruning them proudly. He wanted to make sure I would never take them down.

(Nandinas behind my son and I heading out on our first camping trip)

After four or five tours of the property, and a beer or two on the lawn chair out front, Elmo agreed to sell the home in the middle of his remodel to us so we could afford it. $140k and he drafted the contract himself. It was important that we had his blessing and that his family home was going to the right people. It was a warm, emotional exchange.

I continued the remodel after the sale. I installed all of the bamboo and cork flooring in the home myself, sometimes with a little help, but often on my own in the evenings and every weekend. During the staining process, there was only one safe place to sleep….Leyla and slept in the closet lined with blankets and sleeping bags. I proposed to my wife in the back yard. Leyla worked in the neighborhood as a 4th grade bilingual teacher. Our first two children were born in the house, one in our bedroom and the other in a shallow pool near the kitchen. Patty Sprinkles was our midwife. Our son Moustapha would breakdance to Justin Bieber and we would host friends and parties often. I never got around to the remodel of the garage.

(friends and fam …Saturday night)

I never looked Elmo up, but he’s like a symbol for Austin…he wore exotic bolos and hats and had a gray Willie Nelson like ponytail. He chose his words and friends carefully. He was loyal and merciful. He was poetic and mystical. He was careful and attentive. I think he played a role in the Armadillo World Headquarters scene, but that is not verified.

As Industry wraps up our Industry SOMA project, I want to be like Elmo. I know every inch of it, I’ve administered so many decisions, and starting now, I have the privilege to make the same kind of warm exchange as Elmo made to our family.

Part 1 —

In March of 2024 I conceived of Junkyard….it was not some intentional idea I was trying to land. I was over 4 years removed from my last performance as a musician, just before the pandemic. My band had mostly moved out of Austin, and to the best of my understanding, my label had folded. Many ideas had come and gone in my mind, many iterations of how I would reconnect with a city that raised me as a songwriter.

In 2020, my dear friend and producer, Sam Cohen, and I had finished a record. I was not brave enough to release during the pandemic. I felt strongly that releasing it at that time meant loosing something I deeply loved. I held on. What was once a steady stream of music and performance in my life got lost in both my personal life and other paths in the world of affordable housing in Austin. The pandemic housed all of this stagnation. Here’s an alternative take of one of the tracks from this lost record.

In March of last year I woke up at 3am, we were in Mexico. Somehow the threads and shreds of thought and deep reflection began to gather under the name Junkyard. I was touching it and holding it in my hand, but I was still trying to understand what I was excited about. I ended up writing about it for hours, attempting to tell myself what I had found.

I knew one thing acutely…somehow all of my worlds of music, carpentry, design, and my commitment to affordability in Austin had merged. Somehow they were all talking at once and when I distilled the ideas to their highest potential, each world would speak directly to the other world.

So… I started this Non Profit, somehow cobbled together a small board and took this first project of converting city buses into free music spaces Austin musicians could access and put it out into the world.

Above Rendering/Visual Courtesy of ISA Architecture

On March 1, 2025, last Saturday, roughly 500 people gathered to support Junkyard at our first public event, Welcome to the Junkyard. Something had been released. I had made a connection that was more than me or just the record I never released.