Saturday, June 25, 2011

Chocolate music video

UPDATE: The HighBall is concocting a very special drink for us that night only... The CHOCOLATE CAKE MARTINI - Godiva chocolate liqueur, Frangelico, White Cream de Cocoa, Vanilla Vodka, Cream. Ummm, yes please.

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I've been working with Andrew Shapter and a wonderful group of conspirators to bring you a music video for the song "Chocolate" off the new Broken Gold album. It's inspired by Pedro Almodovar's films and is waaaaayyyyy different than anything I've done before. I hope you'll come out to the premiere party July 29th 10pm at The HighBall in Austin. We're planning a really fun night.



If you are so inclined, here's how you can help!

Like it on Do512
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Thanks so much. See you there!

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Call yourself an Austin musician

In recognition of Michael Corcoran's retirement from The Austin American-Statesman yesterday, I am re-posting something he wrote back in 2008. Austin and it's various art scenes are changing fast, but a lot of this still definitely applies.

DON'T CALL YOURSELF AN AUSTIN MUSICIAN UNTIL YOU'VE...
By Michael Corcoran
AUSTIN AMERICAN-STATESMAN
Monday, January 28, 2008

At the end of the year, I decided to not rank the nationally acclaimed "Shepherd's Dog" by Iron and Wine as an Austin album. I&W's Sam Beam might live in the area, but he's not truly an Austin musician. Neither is Kina Grannis, the "Crash the Super Bowl" finalist, who moved here after graduating from USC in May. Bill Callahan, who used to call himself Smog, is no more an Austin musician than Bob Mould was in the '90s. It takes more than a ZIP code that starts with 787 to truly be considered a hometown musician. Use this guideline to tell the difference between a musician who lives in Austin and an Austin musician:

Sorry, but you're not an Austin musician until ...

... you've played at either Emo's, the Hole in the Wall or the Continental Club.

... you've been rejected by SXSW.

... you've opened for Guy Forsyth.

... you've been ticketed for double-parking on Sixth Street while unloading your gear.

... you know your order without looking at the menu of the Tamale House No. 3.

... you know who Paul Minor is. (Bonus points if you know exactly what it is that he does.)

... David Cotton won't return your calls.

... you've looked forward to playing out at the airport because at least that gig pays.

... you are a 94-year-old blues legend. (Pinetop Perkins exemption.)

... you've snuck a case of beer out the back door after a gig.

... you've had your name misspelled on the Red Eyed Fly marquee.

... you've worked double shifts at Thundercloud to save money for studio time, put your heart and soul into every track, proudly mailed your first CD, your baby, to critics, then watched Jim Caligiuri give it half a star in the Chronicle.