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Curtis McMurtry MUSICIAN
This son of an Americana music legend didn't exactly find music right away—it found him.
I
used to want to study cheetahs for a living. They could run at 70 mph and had spots and were about the coolest thing in the world to a seven-year-old. Then my father bought me a guitar for my birthday instead of a cheetah. Naturally, I was disappointed, but I had just enough sense to say, “Thanks, dad,” and ignore the guitar completely for a number of years. Note: a large box that turned out to contain a guitar could probably have contained a cheetah if it was curled up and okay with being put in a box. I liked music. It was nice enough. My father and I sang songs every night before I went to bed, and this tradition continued until my teens. By age six I had written a few songs myself, most of which were blues numbers concerning Godzilla and King Kong’s destruction of Tokyo and Hollywood, respectively. However, with the acquisition of my second guitar (my father was persistent), my perspective on music and the city I grew up in changed irrevocably. I discovered, slowly, that I might be in love with music, and that because music had always been around, I hadn’t really noticed it. I had taken it for granted, like the pretty best friend in some romantic comedy where the lead guy spends most of the film chasing after a shallow but more exotic girl. However, P h oto g r a p h y by m o l ly w i n t er s
I was ready to remedy this mistake and take on the necessary commitment. By the time I was in sixth grade, I had stopped considering that I could be involved in anything except the music industry. My science and math grades suffered accordingly. In middle school, I began to realize that living in Austin and being my father’s son both had some perks. For instance, the awesome guys at South Austin Music trusted me to buy a guitar I couldn’t afford, and pay them back with my allowance over the course of a year. Also, I was able to hang around some of my favorite musicians and not feel like I was bothering them too much (I probably was though). Alejandro Escovedo would tell me about running track in high school—“The 800 is a man’s race”— and Danny Barnes let me play his banjo so I could see if I wanted to get one just like it. I used to babysit Matt the Electrician’s kids, and I tried not to let him know how much I loved his music so that he wouldn’t be too creeped-out to let me watch his kids. Austin saturates you with music. There aren’t too many genres of music you can’t go out and see some night of the week. Eddie Collins plays bluegrass at Artz Rib House, The Brew play salsa at the Oasis, and the Elephant Room and the Continental Club Gallery have Jazz almost every night of the
week. Not to mention the abundance of Texas swing, alt-country, Americana, metal, indie pop and blues. Austin gave me a taste of most every kind of music, and a taste for most every kind of music. Growing up in Austin, it felt like even people who didn’t play music (all three of them) loved it more than anything else. Austinites talk about music the way people that know engines talk about cars: like it’s something familiar but perpetually interesting, and possibly the most important thing in life. Additionally, finding people my own age to play music with has never been difficult. Austin breeds phenomenal musicians, as well as children with excellent taste. It was fairly easy to find another kid who liked John Hiatt and start a band in his basement and begin writing John Hiatt-ish songs. There are so many great music venues in Austin that finding a place to play has never been too hard either. Most club owners are happy to have new bands playing at their establishments, which has not always been my experience elsewhere (I go to school in New York now...). Austin is a brilliant place. I couldn’t be more proud to be from Austin, and the city’s influence will be in my ears forever. Of course, I do still think about cheetahs from time to time. tribeza.com
march 2011
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