Like many who have lived through its incarnations and mutations, I have a complicated relationship with mid-century modernism. One on end is a spare purity that makes me feel as if I've wandered, terribly miscast, into some Antonioni film. On the other is what the visions of Frank Lloyd Wright, Eero Saarinen, and the Eameses had transformed (some might say devolved) into by the 1970s – tract caves darkened by endless paneling, stain-resistant shag, and mustard linoleum, with the occasional kitschy bright spot (lava lamps and rocket-shaped sugar bowls) – and led eventually, one supposes, to IKEA. In the middle is the bliss: the elision of the indoor/outdoor divide, the light and the beautiful wood, the clean lines and glass and cool, soothing terrazzo floors. How is it possible not to feel ambivalent? Add in the economic ironies – a style that at least in part was developed in response to the post-WWII housing boom and an attempt to produce pleasurable, affordable homes for the masses (see, most notably, the Case Study Houses) is by now primarily available only to upper-income brackets – and one can whip oneself into quite the Marxian dither. And yet: It's a style that makes one want to transcend pragmatic worldliness ... so airy ... so peaceful ... so very, very pretty ... The Heritage Society of Austin (motto: "This isn't your grandmother's heritage society") understands this roller coaster of excitement and anxiety, and on May 17, their Atomic Austin: Mid-Century Modern Heritage Homes Tour delved boldly into the contradictions and eccentricities, not to mention the considerable charms, of Austin mid-century. The supporting literature was substantive; the docents were decked as Fifties housewives (apron fetish alert); and the focus was highly local, with an emphasis on the "low-slung, mid-century blend of a machine-age aesthetic and Hill Country style," as Sydney Rubin (also one of the homeowners) put it in the crib notes, by such ATX architectural notables as Charles Granger, Arthur Fehr, and A.D. Stenger.

On May 29, Vermont became the second state to legalize industrial hemp farming when Republican Gov. Jim Douglas allowed H.267 to become law without his signature. The bill creates a regulatory scheme similar to that enacted in North Dakota, the first state to reauthorize agricultural production of the non-narcotic cousin of marijuana. Under the new law, farmers must be licensed by Vermont's Secretary of Agriculture, Food and Markets; hemp must be grown from seeds provided by the ag secretary, on land the secretary has approved for hemp production. And farmers must agree to submit to random inspection by the ag department and/or state police.

While the eyes of the politerati are set on next week's primary states for settling the Democratic presidential nomination, there's a statistical possibility (read "long-shot") that the whole shooting match could come down to the Texas Democratic Party Convention next weekend. Howso? Well, according to CNN's latest estimates, Obama still needs 42 delegates to clinch the nomination. Out of next Tuesday's primary states, Montana only has 16 pledged delegates and South Dakota 15, while non-state Puerto Rico (living in the political equivalent of 'good enough to date, not good enough to marry') which goes to the polls Sunday only has 55. Texas, however, has 67 pledged delegates (and four supers) yet to be locked down: they'll be apportioned on the day of the convention, following the preferences of delegates when they sign in. Depending on how the remaining primaries break, and whichever way the party's rules committee settles the whole Florida and Michigan (aka the "party rules are for other people" states), and which super-delegate wants to be the one that puts the candidate over the top, that could mean it gets settled next weekend at the Austin Convention Center. And in this campaign season, stranger things have happened.

The Round Rock Express welcome the New Orleans Zephyrs to Round Rock for four starting this weekend and they've got several promotions to take advantage of. The biggee is Saturday night. They'll be handing out 3,000 classic Colt .45s hats. This would be a favorite design of mine even if I weren't a die-hard Astros fan. The Colt .45s entered the National League in 1962 as Houston's expansion franchise and changed their name to the Astros in 1965 to coincide with the opening of the Astrodome. Gates open at 5:30pm. On Sunday it's HEB Kids Day where kids can get their faces painted, run the bases after the game (12 and under), and receive Express Batting Practice Jerseys as well (12 and under). First pitch is at 7:05pm and the game will be broadcast live on Fox Sports Net Southwest.

Fans of the Scoot Inn's Second Sunday Sock Hop take note. Event organizer Gabe Vaughn and partner-in-boogie Mike Hooker celebrate the grand opening of their new vinyl haven, Breakaway Records (1704 E. 5th St. #105), on Sunday beginning at 11am. The Eastside outlet, located directly beside Cafe Mundi, caters to fans of 1950s and 60s pop, girl groups, soul, and garage rock. The day-long extravaganza will feature both Vaughn and Hooker behind the wheels of steel, along with the Waxploitation! DJs and Heart & Soul Soundsystem. Plus, free beer while it lasts. Check out next week's Off the Record column for more.

MTV announced its "Hottest MCs in the Game 2008" last week. It’s always an especially sad occasion when this list comes out, considering MTV used to be on the cutting edge of the hip-hop scene with Yo! MTV Raps, which ran from 1988 to 1995. But now MTV’s on a completely different tip, and their take on hip-hop doesn’t carry the same weight. I wouldn’t be so disgruntled if Andre 3000 was a bit higher on the list, Lil’ Wayne had actually released an album, or Lupe Fiasco hadn’t botched Q-Tip’s “Electric Relaxation” verse at this year’s Hip-Hop Honors. The main problem is that MTV sees popularity and commercial presence as talent, so a guy like 50 Cent, whose 2007 release, Curtis, shows he has lost all lyrical capabilities, is considered “hot” because he’s got two video games, a Vitamin Water (which tastes like Dimetapp), a clothing line, and plans to release a line of female sex toys. Maybe MTV should stray from the beaten path a bit and use their presence to pay attention to those actually making waves: D.C.’s Wale, Atmosphere’s Slug, Clipse, and Black Thought. And please, please, please get Rick Ross off this radar.

Shearwater isn’t a rock band. Not in the conventional sense. What appeared onstage at the Parish last night was more like a chamber orchestra that used a virtual bathtub of non-rock instruments. I might be missing one or two, but that included a harp, hammered dulcimer, string section, oboe, xylophone, trumpet, and couple of different keyboards. This was all in service of recreating Rook (Matador), their new disc, which is already being hailed by the press as one of the albums of the decade. Songwriter and vocalist Jonathan Meiburg’s vision is melancholy, filled with overwhelming textures and shifting rhythms. A fascination with nature, birds in particular, gives his lyrics a murky depth, yet his melodies and uplifting tenor act as counterweight that draws the listener imperceptibly closer. Live, Rook was like shifting sands, from startlingly quiet to psychedelic sheets of feedback. MVP of the evening was Thor Harris, who's listed as a percussionist, but adds much more by beating, tapping, or rubbing anything nearby, including that hypnotic dulcimer. The illuminated tranquility of “I Was a Cloud” and “The Hunter’s Star,” a near-Beatlesesque lullaby, stood apart among Rook’s sumptuous calm and unrefined roar. After a short break, Shearwater returned as a fivepiece and played a 35-minute set of some older material, including songs from their much-loved Palo Santo. It was of a piece with what preceded it, but definitely showed that with Rook, Meiburg and friends have greatly exceeded any expectations of what they're capable of, while also re-imagining what a rock band can be.

In the new music model, as major labels get more and more desperate and "indie" means more "cool" and less "underground," album sales have given way to other ways of making money for the artists. It's not a case of Napsterism or file-sharing. Musicians have become more open to the idea of everyone hearing their music, as opposed to everyone paying for their music. No longer are people fooling themselves into believing in making millions of dollars off of multiplatinum records – unless they graduated from American Idol, natch.

The future of substance for musicians is in licensing. There is still money to be made off of touring, but with $130/barrel oil, those show dollars don't go as far as they used to. These days, it's difficult to turn on the TV and not hear the latest hype coming out of the speakers.

Big news (and bad for the Clinton crowd): Texas Democratic Party chair Boyd Richie and his wife Betty Richie, both superdelegates, have officially endorsed Sen. Barack Obama. But why is this latest paired announcement so important? Because, with a week to go before the state convention, the party head honcho has made a definite statement, and tied the two presidential candidates in declared Texas superdelegates (14-14, with 4 hold-outs.) While he talked about his "great respect for Senator Clinton and her Texas supporters," Boyd reiterated what many other observers have said: that Obama has a better grass-roots campaign that can be turned into the essential get-out-the-vote operation, and that benefits other Democrats running in November. Which is something the Clintons might have a difficult time arguing against. After all, having a Clinton in the White House didn't have such a great down-ballot effect in the Congressional elections in 1994. Or 1996. Or 1998. So, the question now is whether the Clinton campaign and its proxies will accuse the Richies of being traitors or of driving away the Hispanic vote. See below the jump for Boyd's full statement.