Smith Music Group's "Live at Billy Bob's Texas" series immortalizes the raw energy of performances at the world-renowned honky-tonk. This initiative, born from a desire to preserve musical history, has created a significant catalog of live country recordings, featuring both emerging and legendary artists on the iconic stage. It's a testament to the club's enduring magic and a treasure trove for country music enthusiasts.
Investing in local flora promises a substantial boost to tourism revenue and civic pride. By embracing its inherent beauty, Jacksonville can forge a unique path to economic development, setting itself apart within Florida's competitive environment. Leveraging these natural strengths paves the way for a brighter future.
From its humble beginnings, Billy Bob's Texas emerged as the epicenter of a burgeoning regional music scene that captured national attention. This iconic honky-tonk fostered the growth of "Texas country," a unique blend of folk, country, and rock and a haven for devoted fans.
Tom Petty bristled at being called "Southern rock," a label at odds with his California dream. From his journey from Mudcrutch to his complex Southern Accents era. I think there’s evidence that suggests Petty's most authentic self always carried the humid air of Florida.
Billy Bob's Texas boasts a surprising history of electrifying rock, blues, and big band performances. From Ted Nugent's blistering riffs to ZZ Top's bluesy rock, the club embraces diverse genres. This article originally appeared in the book Billy Bob’s: a Texas Legend in 2011.
Feeling adrift? Explore a simple yet profound idea: the "rhythm of friendship." Discover how this consistent beat of connection can pull you from life's valleys, offering a new perspective on male loneliness and the enduring power of showing up for the friends who matter most.
Congresswoman Kay Granger discusses her career, from teaching to representing Texas' 12th District. She reflects on local growth, health care's future, and even cutting horses. This article first appeared in the October 2009 issue of Parker County Today.
Having lived in both Florida and Texas, I've noticed surprising similarities beneath their distinct landscapes and cultures. From Florida's sunny coasts to Texas' stark horizons, a shared American spirit unites fiercely individual characters shaped by history and destiny.
Jacksonville boasts a rich, understated musical history with artists like Ray Charles and Lynyrd Skynyrd. Strategically branding this asset, including a downtown music corridor and promotion, offers substantial economic potential and fosters civic pride.
Fort Worth doesn’t have much of a national profile. It is the FW in DFW and has always taken a backseat to Dallas – its more urbane sibling located just 30 miles east. I almost called Dallas more sophisticated, but doing that would not be true.
In its first full month of operation, total liquor sales topped $600,000, and, for nearly all of 1981, the club hosted three, four and occasionally five top musical acts every week. "It was as if nothing could go wrong," said one of Billy Bob's most loyal customers, the late Richard Fox. "Everyone wanted to be a cowboy, and the club really sold itself."
A childhood diagnosis of pectus excavatum was just the first chapter. Years later, a broken surgical strut plunged me into a battle with anxiety and a deeper understanding of my body's fragility. This isn't just a medical story; it's about the unexpected scars, the weight of otherness, and the enduring quest to define "normal" when your own story takes a sharp, unforeseen turn.
From the humid airwaves of Florida, where country twanged and talk radio crackled with local scandal, to the transformative static of a Texas college station, the radio etched its rhythm onto my youth. This is a memoir in sound, a testament to the fleeting magic of voices and music carried on the air, a soundtrack to a life lived alongside the dial.
That "Fortunate Son" video gets me every time – just everyday Americans doing their thing. This piece isn't about '60s nostalgia or protest anthems, but about the defiant spirit woven into the fabric of American music, from Creedence to Chuck Berry and beyond. Our truest identity lies not in politics, but in the rhythms and raw truths echoing from our garages, porches, and souls.
Much has been made of the “Disneyfication” of America, and there is much to be said and discussed about this. Dreaming your dreams is not easy. Things aren’t always getting exponentially better. There is an element to Disney that is, well, oversimplified and rosy. Quite frankly, there’s a lot of bullshit to it. But there’s no reason to throw the baby out with the bathwater.
Just over half a mile connects two Parker County churches, but for Pauline Thomas, it's a weekly journey of musical devotion. Every Sunday around 10:45 a.m., after her own Sunday school at New Hope Baptist, she travels to Prince Memorial CME. There, she shares her gift, playing piano and leading the choir. This article first appeared in the July 2009 issue of Parker County Today.
Among this dire setting my friend Philip and I decided to start a band, mostly because we enjoyed listening to music and buying records and we wanted to do something creative and fun. We eventually recruited Philip’s co-worker and friend, Pauly, to play drums. Philip played bass. I played guitar and sang. Later we added a keyboard player, Ryan.
I look back now and I think about my two phone calls with Bob Johnston — a man who made Dylan sound his best, and who recorded some of the most timeless American music ever put to tape – and I think about how effortless the conversations were. He was completely charming and likable. This article appeared Aug. 12, 2012, on darrenwhitecreative.com.
Carlin said in an interview he was inspired to write about R.E.M. because of their political significance — what they stood for in the “Don’t Stop” ‘90s — and that’s what he’s done here. He’s written a book about the idea of R.E.M., which, of course, is what R.E.M. has always been selling.
Curtis found a whole new sound in 1954 on East Belknap Street in Fort Worth while visiting an uncle, at a little store called Melody Shop Record Store, run by Lena Mae Ball. The store sold used 78s from jukeboxes in the back of the store for 10 cents. It was there Curtis heard music like he'd never known before. This article first appeared in the June 2009 issue of Parker County Today.
