Most Popular
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The Hard Lie
How former Ticket host Greg Williams destroyed the most dynamic duo in Dallas talk radio through drugs, deceit and disaffection
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American Girls
Crossing between American and Egyptian cultures, he Said girls made one deadly misstep: They fell in love
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The Dirt Doctor
How radio show host Howard Garrett pushed Dallas to the center of the organic gardening movement through passion, principle and molasses
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Bless Us, Oh Lard
Damn fajitas and health-conscious eaters. They're killing traditional Tex-Mex.
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Our 20th Music Awards
1988-2008: Two Decades of DOMA
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Clubbed Over
Big changes are in store for Club Dada thanks to new ownership and a re-energized booking philosophy
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Big Willie Style
Willie Nelson doesn't have to continue performing—which makes his insistence to keep doing so all the more remarkable
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Bringing Sachse Back
21-year-old Dondria Nicole's on the verge of a major-label push as we prepare for the Observer's 20th Music Awards issue
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Blood, Sweat & Tears
The Red Blood Club's doors are closing—and Dallas' hardcore scene is all but dying with it
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Good Radio?
Indie rock finds a new home in Dallas' cluttered corporate radio landscape
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Jay Reatard
Blood Visions (In the Red)
Published on January 11, 2007
Remember the first time you heard the Pixies' classic "Where Is My Mind?" It condensed the euphoria of cutting anchor and sailing into the abyss into a four-minute pop song. Now Jay Reatard (that Memphis garage punker from the Lost Sounds, the Retards, Angry Angles and probably a dozen other bands that played every 20-watt-bulb-and-a-couple-power-strips basement party on the circuit) has set out on a solo excursion to compact that asylum jubilance even further. On Blood Visions, Reatard leaves plenty of carnage in his wake—lyrics about dead pals, faces turning blue, inner voices with killer instincts, buried romance—yet he's so flip and quick with the riffs that you can't help but chant along with a Cheshire grin. Blood Visions has all the social conscience of a giggling psychopath, and that irreverent manner sharpens the hooks in every track (including a cover of the Adverts' "We Who Wait"). This record is easily one of my picks for garage punk sprint of the year; Reatard is brief, brash and anything but boring as he flirts with pop, British accents and a bit of post-punk abrasion. Murder can be fun, indeed.