Flanfire

What a looonnnngg weekend it has been (through Monday night)!

It may be remembered that the host of Flanfire danced until the wee hours on Friday night. Well, on Saturday, it was shop, shop, shop in the morning (in time to get presents in the mail), and then the big event of the day - the Antone Leikam birthday party. Eric and Michelle's boy turned 2 - and his parents threw a party and bought him off with cake and presents rather than two-year-old peers. Okay - there were several BABIES and the five-year-old singing sensation Jake Richard, but it was mostly grandparents, parents, and friends of parents who are also devotees of Tone the Titan. One thoughtful oldster bought him a percussion kit, complete with snare and sticks, marimbas, a tambourine, a flute, and who knows what else, and Tone starts keeping time to the music with his sticks, then playing some serious padiddles (again, in time) on the snare. We're talking serious rhythm - and this dude is just two.

[For those who do not know, Antone's uncle is a drummer, his mom is a singer and famous local DJ, and his dad is an equally famous DJ, songwriter, guitar slinger, and all-round good guy. But the little guy can really rock!]

Afterwards, the Nan-Flan and I tooled out to Lakeway to sit and sip, watch football, and garner tidbits of wisdom from the old Gospeldude hisself - Greg A. Then we went home and collapsed into bed after a stimulating game of Scrabble.

Bed was sooooooo good that I lay in mine nearly all day Sunday. Part of the time it was watching the Saddam capture news, part watching the NFL. But I did crawl out of bed in time to toddle down to the fabulous Miller-Crockett House Bed and Breakfast for one of the hottest shows in town - the Dress Up to Get Down hoedown, hosted by Leeann Atherton and featuring the music of Slim Richey and the Dream Band and Ben White and the Oltorfs (featuring none other than Cardinal Lane herself!). There was also an hors d'oeuvres contest (which means there was super snack food!) - and tours of the century-plus-old mansion built on what was once a spinach plantation, we were told. Popeye would have loved the place! Did I mention that we danced and danced and danced to the sounds of this fabulous band, whose members looked a lot like Jackson, Sunny, Tony V., and Leeann herself (with David Highfill - I hope I got his name right - on drums.

This was an early outdoor event - which meant that some had time to take their beloveds out for a late dinner. As the wonderful NanFlan was at home playing with the newest grandchild and our lovely Melo-Dee, I hastened back to the hacienda to provide any needed assistance (which was plentiful). But long into the night did I recall the joys of watching Charlie Robison's favorite dobro and pedal steel player (wearing a tux, mind you) dancing with his lovely and talented wife, of dancing with Charlotte V and her pal Bonnie, and various other pleasures.

But all of those memories faded into the distance on Monday night. After a very busy day of various errands, the wonderful Nan-Flan and I hobbited on down to the Third Monday house concert - which takes place in a very cool two-story apartment that is positively on Fourth Street. My man Jackson - who recently was featured in a column by John Kelso - was playing a solo gig, singing some of his hundreds of songs for a small but select audience. [Well, we were there! And so were the V's.]

Those who have only seen Jackson [Michael John, that is] play in one of his rock bands, or with Leeann, or anywhere loud] may not realize just how good a songwriter he is. His recent CD, Changes, only has a few of the songs he did tonight - including Mercy Street, L.A., and the title song. Tonight's set included titles like, True Love Never Fails, Loaded Dice, Living Proof, One of Those Sometimes, and Virginia's Blues. But perhaps the best line of all is in a wonderful song about loving someone for a lifetime:

My heart is with you as your blond turns to gray

There is depth in Jackson's songs that is rare even in this town. Heard through the instrument of his ratchety voice, Jackson's songs reflect his own walk (well, he does not even own a car) through life and the struggles to learn life's lessons in ways not so hard. He can be funny, singing about the music business, and he certainly is a walking jukebox of R&B and rock and roll oldies but goodies, but he is at his best chronicling real life in carefully written prose that becomes poetry as the notes roll off his guitar into your hearts.

One can find out more about Jackson at www.aberknows.com

One more thing -- while I was at the house concert, Tony V told me that the glorious Steve Ulrich is in town - for a few days before heading back to Guatemala for his son Quinn's big wedding. Steve, known best for songs like Salamanderman and Swedes from Minnesota, will have a lot of stories to tell. I have to find him and get some of those stories before he heads back south.