Austin, Texas healed my soul after one of the worst periods of my life and helped me to remember who I really am after so many people, one in particular, worked to tear it apart. I’ve said many times to anyone who seemed to maybe want to hear it that Austin, Texas is my spiritual home – well, at least the 1990s version. The live music that seemed to be everywhere, all the time, the local public radio station with its incredible music shows, the food, the vibe… it’s the most at home I’ve felt anywhere other than when I’m traveling. Moving there in 1996 was one of the best decisions of my life, though it took about a year for me to come out of the cloud of depression and indignity I was in.
And Toni Price, who I didn’t know, just saw perform so many times – and all those other Austin musicians and people touring through who I didn’t know, but who I went to see over and over – played such a huge role in that healing and that feeling of home.
Tuesday nights at the Continental Club in Austin were something I experienced more than a few times. I’d go alone, buy my beer and just stand there, listen to the magic, then go home, feeling better. It was a constant I needed in my life, something to rely on, something to count on. This and all the other shows I saw in Austin – I wish I had appreciated it all so much more in the moments. I just thought that kind of thing would always be, would always exist – surely great live music is something you can find anywhere, regularly, right?
Nope.
Toni Price died this week. Here’s the official announcement. Here’s the Austin Chronicle profile. And here’s her fantastic cover of Cats and Dogs. by Gwil Owen.
And I know people die. Things change. Things evolve. I’m old. It’s not just that I don’t look like I used to, it’s that so much of my body is letting me down. And when you tell a doctor that your knees don’t work anymore, they just shrug and tell you to take Advil.
But it’s getting to me.
On top of all this, every day now it feels like nothing but bad news. Horrible news. Internationally, nationally, personally, absolutely dire stuff happening, like I’ve never experienced. I’m so exhausted. If I’m not crying, I’m mad.
I don’t want a little good news. I want a massive celebratory event that makes my heart sing. I want something earth-shattering and glorious to happen.
And I don’t even know what that would be.
I can still travel, thank goodness. I can still ride my motorcycle. I still find joy in my piano and my guitar and my beloved dulcimer that my husband made me. And I still have him. And my dog. I hope I didn’t just make an inventory for the Fates, or the incoming administration, to target.
But I sure would love to go stand in a group of people and hear some great music and all love it together.
This last photo is me in the back of a store on Congress Avenue, in case you are wondering, for the first ever Twangfest in Austin, a non-SXSW show during the SXSW festival. And a whole lot of P2 members. This was back in the days when the Internet was good and brought people like this altogether.
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