For senior Lindsey Whittington, it's a dog's life.It starts at 6:30 a.m., when Whittington's roommate, TCU alumna Natalie Madden, starts getting ready for work.
Madden makes her way to the kitchen, all the while her 1-year-old Dachshund, Tucker, nips at her heels.
In Whittington's room, Tulip, her 2-year-old Maltese, hears the commotion outside the door and begins to whimper, hoping to be let out.
A few rooms down, Natalie's twin sister and fellow TCU alumna, also named Lindsey, is awake too.
Ten minutes into English punkers Art Brut's set, I remembered why I voluntarily gave up my Spring Break to cover the South by Southwest music conference."Look at us! We formed a band!" declared Art Brut frontman Eddie Argos to a crowd huddled inside a tent in the Emo's parking lot .
In the midst of all the big names, it's easy to forget SXSW is really about uncovering that hidden gem of a band that played at the same time everyone else was fawning over the Arctic Monkeys or realizing their 16-year-old dream of seeing former-Smith Morrissey live.
It's a sad day for baseball fans.As I read Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams' article in Sports Illustrated Wednesday, which accuses mega-slugger Barry Bonds of rampant steroid use, I was reminded of the words Paul Simon wrote almost 40 years ago:
"Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio? A nation turns its lonely eyes to you."
What makes it such a sad day is not that baseball has forfeited another hero, it's that the game itself has lost what was left of its innocence.
When John Townes Van Zandt walked into the theater at the Museum of Modern Art Friday, all eyes were magnetically drawn to the lanky man on the stage, nearly indistinguishable in appearance from his legendary father.Van Zandt's father, Fort Worth-born songwriter Townes Van Zandt, is the subject of director Margaret Brown's new documentary "Be Here To Love Me: A Film About Townes Van Zandt."
The film follows Van Zandt from his well-to-do birth in south Fort Worth, through his long recording career, and finally to his death of heart failure in 1997.
While most country legends are either dead or recording with Rick Rubin, Bobby Bare has returned with a collection of songs that's easily better than anything else out of Nashville this year.Bare first grabbed the spotlight with tunes like the Grammy-winning "Detroit City," and in 1973, with a collection of tunes penned by Playboy cartoonist-turned-children's author, Shel Silverstein, called "Bobby Bare Sings Lullabies, Legends, and Lies." A maverick in the early '60s Nashville scene, Bare sang quirky songs with snappy countrypolitan arrangements, making him something of a bohemian Eddy Arn
Quite simply, Hem's latest release, "No Word From Tom" is a wonderfully satisfying record."Tom" may be just a collection of rarities, covers and live tracks, but from beginning to end it plays as pleasing as a studio album.
Opening with lead vocalist Sally Ellyson's haunting acapella take on "All the Pretty Horses," "Tom" leads directly into "Rainy Night in Georgia," a track made famous by Brooke Benton. Hem's take is much more subdued, as if it's trying hard not to drown out the sound of the rain on the window, but it works brilliantly.
I can't stand Oprah Winfrey.Now, mind you, this is a very risky thing to say, as Oprah commands a fully deployable battalion of soccer moms who have a lot more pent-up rage lurking beneath those smug sunglasses and turtleneck sweaters than anyone can even begin to imagine.
The reason why I can't stand Oprah has nothing to do with her popular talk show, or the heartwarming human-interest episodes or her "favorite things" (maybe a little). No, my problem with Oprah is based on her mass brainwashing of the American people.
Much like her "This American Life" counterpart, David Sedaris, writer Sarah Vowell excels at morphing the inane and important into one tight, compelling story. In her latest book, "Assassination Vacation," recently released in paperback, Vowell takes the minutia and makes a masterful tale.The book follows Vowell's personal pilgrimage to the sites of three presidential assassinations: those of Abraham Lincoln, James Garfield and William McKinley. More than just writing short reflections on the sites themselves, Vowell digs into them, takes detours and explores the details of the events.
"Wall of Light," the latest exhibit from artist Sean Scully, mixes color and emotion deftly onto one palette. "The paintings are a competition between the familiar and the subjective," Scully said at a sneak preview of the exhibit.
Completed between 1997 and 2005, the works represent emotions surrounding natural occurrences, ranging from "Wall of Light Beach," (2001) to "Wall of Light Red Night" (2003).
Rather than paint a direct landscape, Scully chose to capture the feeling of the landscape by using colors to convey emotion.