Rusty Wier, Texas Music, and

Just Exactly Why the Hell This Stuff Matters

Rusty Wier has long been a legend around Texas. He was there back in the day, making that music that changed the world as it spilled out of Austin and took over the world on the strengths and reputations of Waylon and Willie. Although for reasons beyond any rational explanation, other than that we live in a nation of fools, this founding father of the outlaw movement never caught on. Sort of like Jerry Jeff Walker, he never made it really big on the national scene. But boy did he get around. I have friends who can tell Rusty stories from the time when Orlando, FL was a teeming hotbed of progressive country. Of course that was long before the damned Mouse took over and strip malls and tourist traps turned central Florida into a giant traffic jam. I have other friends who will gladly share their stories of how Rusty helped them when they were down, encouraged them when they were scared to get out and play, and otherwise did whatever he could to help any sorry picker with a soul worth pouring out on six strings. But after giving to us all these years, Rusty's gotten himself sick. Duking it out with cancer, and it's tearing his body apart. Hell, the way it's going right now, could be the treatment's worse than the disease. But if there's a silver lining, it's that the musicians in Texas have rallied around this man like the great friend that he is, and they're donating their time and their talents left and right at benefit shows all over the state. Because Rusty, like most independent artists, doesn't exactly have health insurance. And cancer, boys and girls, ain't cheap. So the artists and the fans across Texas are showing the world just exactly what the difference is between that pap coming out of Nashville and music that truly makes an impact on lives. Sunday afternoon in Fort Worth, Tommy Alverson hosted one of those benefit concerts and it turned out to be one I will never, ever forget.

I missed hearing Brian Burns play since I got there late, but I did catch Chris Wall, who seems happier than a pig in mud to be back on a stage after his long absence. In fact, it was during Chris' set that Rusty actually got onstage. From where I stood, it was a difficult thing to watch as Rusty was helped across the floor and up the short
steps to a microphone. Too many memories of that man commanding a room as he walked in, and witnessing him need a steadying hand just to walk was devastating. But when he sat down on that stool behind the mic and somebody put a guitar in his hands, son, it was like the veil came down and the heavens opened. At first Rusty's voice was thin and quiet, but as he and Chris (with Tommy playing guitar) launched into "Trashy Women," you could see the spirit taking over the body and it was clear which remains the strongest. Those boys tore that thing up, and by the end it was pure and simple a Rusty Wier show again. Then they lit into "Hot Spot," and the fire in Rusty's eyes brought tears to James Mills' and mine. Thought we were gonna have a man-hug moment there for a second, but instead my old buddy and I both just turned back to the stage and got lost in the music. I don't know how it happened, don't know how Rusty got that fire in his belly stoked again, but everyone in the Longhorn yesterday afternoon got to witness a pure-dee honky tonk revival. Didn't think it could get any better, but then Brian By-God Burns jumped up there to help out with "Don't It Make You Wanna Dance" and brother, every damn thing was
right with the world.

Not much in this life can truly be called transcendent. Yesterday afternoon, though, was one of the standard-setters for those few things that fall into that category. God bless Rusty Wier. And God bless the music and the spirit that can breathe life into the most frail and tattered of human forms. You won't ever see a show like this one if Kenny Chesney gets sick. We might see a very special NBC presentation of a benefit concert glittering with red carpets and paparazzi if he stubs his toe on some beach, somewhere, but we won't ever see heart and soul for any of country's current pseudo-legends like I saw yesterday in Cowtown. See, Rusty never made anybody rich and famous. But he made everyone he's met better for having met him. Did the same for everyone who's ever heard him play. That's why his music, this music, this vital undying sound coming out of Texas, will never die. Not fade away, indeed. Come back to me in ten years if you remember anything they played on KSCS or KPLX today. Then we'll laugh, pop the top off a cold Lone Star, and sing "Don't It Make You Wanna Dance" at the top of our lungs until the cops show up or the neighbors quit shooting. Whichever comes first. Then we'll pop another one and do it all over again.

Adios til next time,

DP
 
                                                                                           

Written by Dave Pilot, February, 2008 (originally written on Dave's blog on MySpace,  and he graciously permitted me to repost it on MissLana.com.  For more blogs by Dave Pilot, see http://www.myspace.com/davesbarandgrill

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