Avaya Auditorium, 201 E. 24th.
"...Because Honeyman-Scott had never actually produced any sessions outside of his work with the Pretenders, he hired famed Neil Young producer Eliot Mazer to co-produce the Doster album. Midway through the recording, Honeyman-Scott was called back to London to work on what would much later become the Pretender's Learning To Crawl, and two days later he was found dead of an apparent drug overdose...."
"...Crawl past the restrictions of a super-low-budget production from quasi-pros, and this is a real surprise. Of these three recent creations, it's arguably the one that would give Murnau most pleasure...."
"...With a black bow on top, no less. No one's ever going to accuse Gibbons and Geoff Barrow of going overboard; all three Portishead releases have been triumphs of eerie trip-hop minimalism, filled with creepy-crawl loops and enough post-teenage angst to make Morrisey look like Richard Simmons..."
"...The payoff comes in a song like "Swallows of San Juan," a latter-day "Surf's Up." The surfers "crawl up on the shore, roll in the mud and the clay," and behind them the surf is "breaking bigger and harder than anyone's ever seen." It's a song about going back, except you can't. You can't stop trying either...."
"...The Jesus on the crucifix stares wide-eyed and baffled at the behavior of humanity. Ants crawl in his eye sockets..."
"... "We have to convert the production room from a normal production room to the Local Live production room," says Amy Kingsley, who coordinates the show's broadcast each week. "We have to crawl up, get the snake [the bundle of wires connecting the production room to the office] out of the ceiling, and plug everything in..."
"...Grrrrr Growl Grimace. We hope that enlightening events like the ones hosted by YWCA and Out Youth preach to more than just the choir and that a few of these curious specimens crawl out from under their rock before the week is over and we get back to ass-kicking..."
"...Dick's Flow My Tears the Policeman Said, anti-hero Jason Taverner finds an H-bomb the size of a tick implanted just under his skin and a microtransmitting device slipped into his shirt cuff to track movements and deter his escape. Similarly, I have this recurring dream: I scratch and dig at the back of my hand until giant ants crawl out of my skin..."
"...WG: Yeah, I'm gonna crawl into the basement and work on my new novel. The new book is set in the world of Virtual Light..."
"...Hence Guantanamo Baywatch, a feral trio that plays blown-out surf-punk with the tremolo riptide of Dick Dale and the Cramps' B-movie sleaze. 2012 debut Chest Crawl is an instant party LP, but Surf N Turf, a recent split EP with Natural Child, proves the band's equally capable of bleary-eyed ballads..."
"...Not to sound like a brown-noser, but when it comes to keeping in the know, the Chronicle is still the favorite for any local live music lover to go and find out what's going on and where. Yes, in this regard, the "old-fashioned" rag keeps pace with more tech savvy folks who may be pulling up the same info on their tech toys on- the-go (possibly pulling up the Chron listings?) And isn't it curious that almost any time of the day or night, if you flip over to ME Television, the crawl will be club listings -- culled from the Austin Chronicle?..."
"...It was a beautiful thing, watching people turn out in droves to watch all these great local bands, but it's worth pointing out that their shows rarely cost more than five bucks anyway. Now, if you'll excuse "TCB," he's going to crawl under a rock for a very, very, very long nap..."
"...An Austin boy can't deal with this weather. If this keeps up, I'm gonna find Louie Anderson, split him open with my light saber, and crawl inside to keep toasty..."
"...Perhaps we'll never know just how bad the fictional Spinal Tap record critics referred to as Shit Sandwich was, but it probably resembled emancipation -- a 3-CD coming out that sadly packages a limp and unlistenable middle disc between two bread-and-butter "Prince" sets. Ultimately, the question becomes how much to weigh "prolific" against "filler," and yet, the little man's range is, as always, the story here as he spends discs one and three effortlessly gliding through punny funk, retro-swing, and Funkadelic insanity. Together, it's a two-disc representation of everything you'd expect, and more -- like the Afro-Cuban breakdown of "Damned If I Do" and well-twisted covers of Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me" and Joan Osborne's "One of Us." And what's so awful about disc two? Try 10 futuristic pseudo-ballads that crawl rather than slink, and pathetically grope rather than perpetually groove..."