The Man

When it comes to music, Al and I have some differences.  She says Metallica, I say…Guy Clark.  She says Snoop, I say…ok, I’ll go with Snoop; maybe this analogy is falling apart.  Anyway, one thing we can all agree on is The Man…

Bruce Robison.  Quite possibly the finest songwriter out there today.  If you haven’t seen Bruce, you owe it to yourself to do so.  And if at all possible, see him at The Cactus.

Imagine a superstar showing up in your living room, now imagine it about half the size, and that’s the Cactus.  We grabbed the table closest to the stage. I reached across to get a drink and accidentally elbowed Bruce’s steel guitar player.

One of the highlights of the night was when Bruce forgot some of the lyrics.  I was oblivious and singing along to every song.  He looks over at me and mumbles, “keep it going.”  He caught up after a line or two and never missed a beat.

The big prize…the set list for the night.  One of the coolest things about Bruce is that he’s made a fortune as a songwriter and has a reputation of hanging out around Austin and not touring a bunch.  Exhibit A – the back of Bruce’s set list.  A little homework.

All in all a great evening with great friends.

And no, I have no idea what the moron on the left is doing.  A recent fugitive, or embarrassed because he can’t pull off pink as well as I can.

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