LJT & Texas Music
(excerpt..)

Motor homes, camper trailers, tents, trucks, buses, cars, vendor booths, flags, grandpas, grandmas, grandkids, teenagers, cowboys, bikers, frat-rats, co-eds, doctors, lawyers, professors, campfires, chili, beans, Bar-B-Q and music...music...music all thrown together in a boiling Texacana burgoo. Everything from pearly white "never seen the sun" necks to sun-scorched, tank-topped, "my mama calls me ‘Sonny’ but you can call me ‘Bubba’" brew-blooded rednecks. Nawww.....this is not a modern day Grapes of Wrath reunion; it’s Larry Joe Taylor’s Texas Music Festival and Chili Cook-off. Eight thousand people, 25 acts and 28 hours of music thrown together in a three-day happening down in the Bosque bottoms at Meridian, Texas.

What is this "Texas Music"??? Is it country?...well, kinda, how about rock...a little, blues...yeah, some of that, and some folk too. Oh, and I nearly forgot, a little calypso and reggae and some that you’ll just have to call coastal. Written by Texans, about Texas places, Texas people, Texas happenings, Texas thinking, Texas food, Texas hospitality, Texas pride, Texas history and anything else Texas. Does this happen anywhere else? Nope...just in Texas. You won’t find it in Texas Stadium, the Astrodome, the Alamo Dome or the major indoor arenas with all the fireworks, special effects and all the glitz. You will find it in the better beer joints, the worst beer joints, hamburger joints, dance halls, river bottoms, on flatbed trailers, around campfires and in someone’s living room...and you will always find it live.

There seems to be a camaraderie and a family atmosphere among the Texas musicians that exist both on and off stage. If you go to a Texas music show, you are likely to see several artists on stage at the same time. There doesn’t seem to be a pecking order or a problem with who’s opening the show and who’s closing. They sing and record each other’s songs, and often collaborate on the writing of songs. Probably the one thing that endears them to their fans the most is how they relate to their fans and their accessibility. It is not unusual to see the artists walking through the audience visiting with fans. The man who has been most instrumental in promoting the whole Texas music scene during the 90’s is the man from Huckabay, Texas, Larry Joe Taylor.  (to read entire article click here)

                                                                                      (Paul Koonsman, Tarleton Alumni J-TAC, Summer 2000)

Americana Texas

Along a curve of the Bosque River, a sudden cold streak turned
early-morning dew into a layer of ice too thin to survive the first rays
of the sun. The sun was a blessing because it warmed the chill and was a
hell of a lot more welcome than the raucous caw of an alarm clock.

Nearby Meridian (population 1,452) is the county seat of this
hilly farming and ranching land temporarily made famous by Steven Fromholz’s
bleak “Texas Trilogy” song cycle more than 20 years ago. More people die
of old age here than are born here every year; there are still more
marriages than divorces. Tawakoni, Tonkawa, and Waco natives roamed
 the area until the English and Norwegians arrived in the 1850s.

As the sun rose on the cold morning, souls began to stir again.
Slowly. After a night of. Mostly gentle. Acoustic music. And shared
experiences. With like-minded strangers. And with old friends. Who have
common. Interests.

It was, while the sun continued to reach toward high noon,
another bloody mary morning for several thousand campers at the 11th annual
Larry Joe Taylor Texas Music Festival & Chili Cook-Off. 

The three days and nights of music the third weekend of every April are a 
tribal gathering to celebrate the living mythology of the state’s music: phoenixes risen
from the ashes, including Billy Joe Shaver and Ray Wylie Hubbard; emerging
stars including Pat Green, Reckless Kelly, and Charlie Robison; neophytes
beginning to make names for themselves, including Ed Burleson, Bret
Graham, Brent Mitchell, and Max Stalling; and scene veterans like Tommy
Alverson, Clay Blaker, Rusty Wier, and Fromholz.

More than 25 headliners and supporting musicians mounted the low
stage to share their stories in the often raw, edgy Texas tradition that
blends so many influences. The musicians ranged in age from 16 to surely
60, although the ones at either end of that scale hesitated to
acknowledge the reality.

Off the stage, in the recently mowed campgrounds, most of the
several thousand acolytes were baby boomers who’ve made the
near-inevitable compromises with the world of commerce, but who still 
care -- often deeply about the music. Slow-burning campfires add to the 
warmth. Dripping, barbecuing meat adds to the appetite.

Tents, like comfortable wombs to return to from time to time, are so light 
that campers must tie them to the ground. They pop up like spring flowers 
next to clumsy, modern mobile homes (the scourge of two-lane blacktops). 
Hours before the first act takes the stage each day, the acolytes thrive in a
sea of Texas flags, making music and talking about music, trading tales and tunes.

Here and there, impromptu groups gather in small, communal
circles to listen to (sometimes talented) amateurs play and sing Guy Clark 
songs or Townes Van Zandt songs. 

Or other favorites. Or even an original song from time to time. Guitars 
are everywhere. An old, beat-up upright bass named Blondie becomes 
a celebrity, but may not survive another sunrise without some serious repairs.
Fiddles add joyous harmonies. 

Dogs may bark, but only occasionally. 

Even the commercial sponsors -- the radio stations that earn our
respect for playing this kind of music -- keep a welcome low profile.

Gentle folks ignore the occasional anachronist who flies the
Confederate battle flag or dresses in camouflage. This music is
inclusive, not exclusive, and we know that anachronisms eventually fade away.

If the blues are the ultimate musical existentialism (understandably so), 
this kind of Texas country music -- born in the folk traditions from the old 
countries, nurtured by the frontier existence and honky-tonk ways -- is 
often nostalgic. But it is also, more often, despite its darkest examples, 
romantic music that lovingly caresses the quest, which means it is a music of hope.

Examples from three musicians who were there (two in spirit):
Clark sings of “Homegrown Tomatoes” and “Watermelon Dreams” and 
“Like a Coat from the Cold;” Van Zandt, with his well-documented weaknesses 
and his tormented side, also gave us “To Live is to Fly,” the “Shrimp Song,” 
and countless versions of “Old Shep;” Hubbard (who now belongs in this songwriting
elite) mixes nostalgia (the obligatory encore) with the quest, and his stories
that are still funny no matter how many times we hear them.

We gotta love it. 

We gotta thank host Larry Joe Taylor and his wife, Sherry, who combine the artist’s sensibility with enough business acumen to pull this Camelot thing off every year.

Days later, campfire smoke lingers on clothes like the songs and
the experience linger in the memory.
                                        Tom Geddie (Buddy Magazine, May 1999 Issue)