Blogs
Fri Jul 25, 10:02 AM
Fri Jul 25, 8:58 AM
Fri Jul 25, 8:08 AM
Fri Jul 25, 4:04 AM
Fri Jul 25, 6:17 AM
Thu Jul 24, 9:10 AM
Fri Jul 25, 9:36 AM
Thu Jul 24, 10:36 AM
Recent Articles
Recent Articles by Chris Gray
No related articles found
National Features >
City Pages
Minnesota's Tim Pawlenty grooms himself for vice-presidential consideration--by being a jerk.
By Jonathan Kaminsky
Miami New Times
Our reporter sets out in search of a naked lunch.
By Janine Zeitlin
Broward-Palm Beach New Times
Before swinging a bat in a lesbian softball league, pick a side: gay or straight?
By Amy Guthrie
Village Voice
At JFK, Erhan Yildirim clears corpses for takeoff.
By Elizabeth Dwoskin
Roky Erickson and the Explosives: Halloween: Live 1979-1981
Published on March 27, 2008
Roky Erickson's recent rising to the occasion of Austin City Limits — first festival, then TV show — and this month's Austin Music Awards isn't the Texas psych icon's first comeback. His initial encounter with cross-generational influence, and the impossible pressure that accompanies being routinely labeled "seminal," came nearly 30 years ago. Back then, Texas bands were assimilating what they heard on Sex Pistols and Damned imports with Erickson's primordially unsettling, shockingly tender howl. The man himself was well enough to tool around the Texas touring circuit with trio the Explosives for a couple of years, even making a couple of West Coast trips. Recorded live in Houston, Austin, Dallas, L.A. and San Francisco, Halloween's meaty, almost Sabbath-like instrumental attack (take a bow, guitarist Cam King) bolsters Erickson's haunted, EC Comics-like tales of zombies and aliens; songs like "Two Headed Dog" and "Don't Shake Me Lucifer" set the musical limits for this new bastard hybrid — namely, that there weren't any beyond those of the human mind. As illuminated by an eight-minute "Stand for the Fire Demon" (recorded at Houston's long-gone the Island), those were daunting enough for Erickson, not to mention his legion of followers. He's since become the patron saint of lovable eccentrics and '60s survivors in the Texas music pantheon, but Halloween captures Erickson when he was more feral than regal. Not a bad way to remember ol' Roky at all.