Issuu

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG HORNMAG#2 #2 Fall Fall2026 2026

S O P H I A

P A R I S I

F A V O R I T E

O P E N S

U P

T O

H E R

T R A N S F O R M E R

www.hornmag.com All photos shot on Fujifilm QuickSnap Flash 400 disposable cameras.

IG: IG:@HORNMAGTX @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

IG: @soph_collects

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

IG: @soph_collects

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

IG: @feralloathing

All photos shot on Fujifilm QuickSnap Flash 400 disposable cameras, except those by Ryan P. Bilawsky.

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

Erin Millington and the Humanity of House

Finding Connection:

THE COM COMPLAINT PLAINT that many lodge about Austin’s venerable South by Southwest festival has been widespread for years now: generally, that the present-day “South by” is too corporate and calculated. But during the 2026 edition last March, longtime Austin DJ Erin Millington helped house music fans recapture that feeling of old. At east Austin’s Revelry Kitchen and Bar, Millington and her partner, renowned turntablist Buck Rodgers, threw three dance parties in one day under the heading of their lifestyle brand, B&E Artistry. Starting at noon with a Deep House Brunch – a local version of a series originated in Los Angeles by fellow DJ Scotty Boy – each party carried a different musical vibe. Other widely revered spinners participated, including Statik Selektah – who has produced with rap luminaries such as Nas and the late Mac Miller – and Andrew Hypes, best known as DJ for Justin Timberlake. The final party was supposed to end at midnight, but by popular demand, it continued until 2 a.m. “People kept saying that felt like oldschool South by, and that [it] felt really organic,” Millington says. “Artists in Austin were popping up throughout the day, and they would ask to get onstage. A lot of it was really unscripted and unrehearsed, and just a jam session with all these [artists].”

@therealjtdonaldson

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

@romney_abernathy @mr.burnside

@djbuckrogers

@feralloathing

@romney_abernathy

really was really it was of it lot of A lot A and unscripted and unscripted and unrehearsed, and unrehearsed, session just a jam session

A lot of it unscripte unrehears just a jam

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

PHOTO BY RYAN P. BILAWSKY

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

PHOTO BY RYAN P. BILAWSKY

“Organic” might not be a word outsiders to house music associate with the electronic-driven genre. But it’s an attribute that Millington – previously known around Austin as DJ Blend*e – places a great deal of importance on. A native of Minneapolis, she grew up steeped in the lore of Prince and first fell in love with dance music in the 1990s during all-ages shows at First Avenue, the historic Minneapolis nightclub where the Purple One famously held court during the previous decade. “It was like early ’90s, so I found ravers, and we would go to the warehouse parties. I just kind of found my people there,” she says. “It was a very different time. … We had to really work to find where the music was, and these sounds – you just had to dig for them.” Millington moved to Austin in 2005 and built a reputation as Blend*e, spinning in clubs around the city and eventually holding down a seven-year residency at the nowclosed Sixth Street club Lanai Rooftop Lounge. These days, she’s seeking to pro-

It was a very It wa was s very y a ver different t eren ent diff different fer dif time e … We time …tim had d to ha k rk wor ly wo real really work lly We hadrea d to fin find re the whe where ere wh to really ic was was mus music sic mu work to find where the music was @djsliver1

@feralloathing

@djbuckrogers

duce more of her own music and grow the footprint of B&E Artistry, which bills itself as a brand that creates, curates and supports art “that intersects style, music, and underground culture.” She and Rodgers applied for music grants from the City of Austin, hoping those funds will allow them to book bigger artists and provide other support for their ongoing Deep House Brunch series. “I don’t force myself out there,” she said. “I think I like things to kind of happen organically, and then I am choosy at this point who I play for, and what venue I play at, and those sorts of things.” Her taste for the organic extends to her view of the current advancement of AI in music, which she believes can be a valuable tool for artists but “will never be a replacement for what human connection is all about.” Returning to the influence of Prince, she invokes his oft-cited 1999 quote – “It’s cool to get on the computer, but don’t let the computer get on you” – from his acceptance speech at the Yahoo! Internet Life Online Music Awards. “And I think that was sound advice,” Millington said, “for the future he knew was coming.” HH

IG: @feralloathing

PHOTO BY RYAN P. BILAWSKY

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

I’m in the middle of London , ands and thousands of miles f r o m lse in the only countr y I’ve eve r r e not on vacation. This is where we l

S All photos shot on Fujifilm QuickSnap Flash 400 disposable cameras.

S S

ometimes, it just hits you. It’s often when you’re either walking somewhere for more than 20 minutes, or on the train, because – after 12 years in Austin, where you were largely car-dependent – those are now your everyday modes of transport. Maybe it happens when you’re strolling past a brick pub, with its own coat of arms hanging over your head and an “Est.” year well before the 20th century. Or maybe when you pass through an outdoor grocery/clothing market in a predominantly South Asian neighborhood unlike any enclave you’ve seen anywhere in Texas. Four-plus months after my wife and I moved across the Atlantic, those have

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

been some of the potential lightning-bolt “whoa” moments. You think about where you were, and where you are now – indefinitely – and what hits you is some variation of the following: I’m in the middle of London, out on an island thousands and thousands of miles from Austin – or anywhere else in the only country I’ve ever really known. And we’re not on vacation. This is where we live now.

I’m in the m sands and thou else in the only not on vacation

It washes over you hard in large part because London and Austin could barely be more different, really. For starters, London pulses with a completely different energy than Austin. Modern-world liveliness and throwback quaintness, which might exist incongruously in many other cities, work in harmony here (Europe is good at that). While Austin undergoes a frustrating pushand-pull between its history/character and the dubious “progress” represented by development and gentrification, here in London, gorgeous, aged stone and brick persist.

to to Texas Texas out o

London London:

n an island thoum Austin – or anywhere eally known. And we’re Daysofof TheEarly Early Days live now. The a New Life a New Life by Joey Berlin

IG: @joeyberlondon

middle of London, out on a n i s l usands of miles from Austin – o r y counsatnrI’dmsyainndIthth’eouvmeiddleeofveLrondonr,eouat lonlyan isklannd thoouwsands of miles from Austin – n . A or a n el yw se h in er n. Thinsot onisvathecaonwtionlyh.coTuehnisrtryiseI’wvehwereveerewerelilavelliyvkenownn. Aonwd w.e’ree now. www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

Texas to

The demographic diversity is stag gering – far beyond Austin, and far beyond any metropolis I’ve seen with the possible exception of New York.

Texas to London

London: Lon

Architectural gentrification is much less common. Of course, inescapable chains and brands, both native and foreign, aren’t exactly sparse – for example, I’ve been surprised how much of a foothold KFC, of all things, has here. But the general old-soul-friendly vibe appears respected and unthreatened. The demographic diversity is staggering – far beyond Austin, and far beyond any metropolis I’ve seen with the possible exception of New York. If you walk through a busy area like Oxford Street or Soho, you might overhear three or more languages within a few blocks. A byproduct of that diversity, seemingly, is that being an American, and having an American accent, don’t make you the novelty to locals that you might have otherwise assumed. Londoners hear it all, so I’ve been asked “Are you American?” or “Where are you from?” probably less than 10 times. If they do ask you where you came from, and you tell them “Texas” or even add Austin in there for specificity, there’s probably at least a 50-50 shot they’ll ask you about cowboys. For their part, many of the words and expressions that Americans associate with Brits are indeed in use by all ages and in full force. If you think referring to liking something as “fancying” it sounds like it has to be antiquated by now, wrong: young people routinely say that along with everyone else. “Rubbish” is indeed the preferred term for trash, whether of the literal variety or, say, a pub goer’s assessment of a weakly delivered corner kick by the English national team during a World

u o , n o d n o L f o e l d d i m e h t n i m ’ I A m o r f s e l i m f o s d n a s u nds and tho l a e r r e v e e v ’ I y r t n u o c y l e in the on v i l e w e r e h w s i s i h T . n o i t on vacat

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

Cup match. Speaking of which, I could easily write a separate essay on how deeply you sense football’s foothold in this country, and the disappointment hanging over it after England lost in the Cup semifinals. You’ll feel the obsession with “association football,” aka soccer, immediately – and while it’s not the only sport, it stands alone on the level of passion it generates. That’s different. A more surprising difference: Here in this city of nearly 10 million, bars generally close at 11 p.m., or midnight on weekends. The rarity of air conditioning – “aircon,” as it’s called more often than “AC” – combined with buildings that are designed to capture heat, has made the hottest London summer in ages, on its worst days, nearly on par with an Austin summer. Some things here are similar to Texas’ capital and to the States, of course. The global political issues and divides of the day are inescapable, whether on TV news, advert signage or graffiti of all skill levels. (It didn’t take long to witness my first prime minister resignation as a UK resident, which this country has become famous for over the past decade.) As in Austin or anyplace with its share of young energy, twenty-somethings who’ve had too much to drink by 9 p.m.

ndon:

u o h t d n a l ut on an is e r e h w y n a r Austin – o e r ’ e w d n A . lly known ve now.

carry the potential to be loud, insufferable dicks in public, to the point that their own group of friends kicks them out of the coffee shop. These are the sort of cross-Atlantic truths that keep you spiritually connected to your native land. What really stands out about a relocation this dramatic is its distortion of time and presence, and that’s what I’m navigating right now. An old, disputed metaphor goes that your brain works like a computer. If that’s true, then the change overwrote many of my neurological files; weirdly, my emotional proximity to Austin is either close or distant, depending on the day. Texas is both a distant memory and a fresh one – some days, four months feels about right, and other days, it seems like I was just watching live music in the Red River Cultural District three weeks ago. The reorientation continues. HH

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

DARKNESS, MYSTERY & MYTH

S ’ E K A H S E N I T S O FR D L R O W ANALOG

BACKGROUND PHOTO BY MICHAEL TARABAY

BY JOEY BERLIN PHOTOS BY FROSTINE SHAKE

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

IG: @frostineshake

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

“Lurking in the dark,” as she puts it – that’s often where the Austin photographer named Frostine Shake likes to work. She kept the moniker from her 17-year career as a burlesque dancer, which she had to give up a few years ago after tearing up her knee. From there, she shifted her energy into photography – another passion that she had long integrated into her showgirl life by selling prints at her performances. Frostine does her professional shooting on film, including some Polaroids. Her work is Analog City, and the starring elements of that work – like neon signs, muscle cars and smoky noir – recall decades-ago days when film was the default. Those days when pulpy yarns in detective magazines and cheap paperbacks told their stories with hepcat-influenced prose a lot like what you’re reading right now. Often shooting in Austin in the dead of late night, Brownsville-raised Frostine captures images of the capital with a strong literal and spiritual connection to the worlds she’s inhabited. Her dad’s a retired touring musician who impersonated early rock stars onstage like Elvis and Buddy Holly, and he’s also a classic-auto aficionado who used to be a speed merchant in local drag racing competitions. No surprise, then, that Frostine is a fan of gearhead favorites like the 1967 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 – along with classic Cadillac and Camaro SS models – and loves shooting car meets.

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

“I FEEL THAT IF YOU KNOW THAT ABOUT ME, YOU’LL SEE HINTS OF MY PAST SHOWGIRL LIFE IN MY WORK” “There was always a muscle car in the garage,” she says. “I grew up around automotive culture, whether that be through my family or through the burlesque scene, where I was booked alongside classic car shows. So it’s always been a part of my life.” Frostine also draws much of her photographic inspiration from classic cinema – the likes of auteurs David Lynch (in particular “Lost Highway” and “Blue Velvet”) and Dario Argento (the original “Suspiria” is one of her favorites). Dream sequences in films – their ability to “reveal hidden desires, longing and tension, and foreshadow” – drive what comes out of her camera. And her burlesque chapter exerts its share of influence as well. “I feel that if you know that about me, you’ll see hints of my past showgirl life in my work,” she says. “You’ll see the bright colors, the high heels, the vintage cars – these themes of glamour, mystery, dark bars and just classic imagery. … Even going to the car meets, in a way it is kind of putting on a show. You are in some type of theater. These wonderful people are showing off all the hard work and all the absolute beauty it is to see the cars that they worked on.” Examples of her entries in the analog arts can be found at frostineshake.com. HH IG: @frostineshake

PHOTO BY PEDRO VIDOVIC

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

IG: @rskanse

I love my job.

d a lot, and I never thought I’d That’s not a word I throw aroun here I am: 54-years-old and smitten

years younger than me, and the huge rotisserie ovens and pits made the whole back of the restaurant feel like the hottest pocket of hell in Texas. I left each shift — including more than a few brutal open-to-closers — feeling physically and spiritually broken. I kept reminding myself that it was only a short-term gig, something to make ends meet until I got my mojo back and something better opened up, but after three and a half years I felt so far removed from my past life that I’d pretty much abandoned all hope. “I heard you used to be writer at Rolling Stone or something,” one of the managers would taunt me as I swept up fatty brisket trimmings and mopped the walk-in freezer. “When are you gonna write a book about me?” And then, a few minutes before the end of my shift on Oct. 5, 2021, a single text message tossed me a lifeline. “What

use it in that context, but, there it is and with a gig I’m proud of, that treats me good, and that I look forward to — even with the 90-minutes-each-way commute. Ok, full disclosure: I only have to do that commute two days a week, on Fridays and Saturdays. The rest of the week I work from home, on my own schedule, which some days means hours on end at the computer (many of ... those hours being of the “wee morning” variety) and other days maybe off, d weeken holiday major two? I should also note that I get just about every are they paying you there? When do you get out of work? Call me!” . including more than half of December and the whole first week of January The message was from Terri Hendrix, an award-winning Salaried. Mind, I’m not pulling in six figures, let alone building toward a cushy Texas singer-songwriter and one of my oldest and dearest retirement, but it pays my mortgage and bills, and also keeps my too-many cats friends, both in “the business” and real life. I’d been a fan of fed with just enough left over to keep me fatter than I should be, too, without hers ever since the release of her first album back in 1996, and having to nervously check my bank balance on the daily. she in turn had always been a staunch believer in me, from my Best of all, though, I love my job because it’s fun. Maybe not all the time, move to New York that same year to my prodigal return five because that would obnoxious — but easily 80-to-90 percent of the time. And years later, through my long stints at both Texas magazines as even when it’s not, I still genuinely like the people I get to work with and, and even through my lost BBQ era of utter despair. best as I can tell, they all seem to like and value me. All in all, being the talent “The Bugle Boy is looking for a booker,” she told me when booker (and doorman) for a non-profit, 80-seat music venue housed in an old I called her from the parking WWII Army barracks — specifically, lot. “I pitched you to Lane. the Bugle Boy in La Grange, aka “the You need to connect with best little listening room in Texas” — her. You would be perfect just fits me. for this! Are you interested?” I landed the gig five years ago, at a I’d only been to the Bugle time when my morale was at an allBoy two or three times betime low. After 25 years as a music fore (for Terri shows, actuwriter, including a salad-days stint in ally), but I loved the room. the late-90s working at Rolling Stone So did a lot of my other in New York City followed by a return favorite Texas songwriters, to my native Texas to edit two different most of whom I’d interregional magazines, Texas Music Magviewed and/or covered for azine and Lone Star Music Magazine, years back in my glory days: The Bugle Boy in La Grange, Texas. The building used to be a WWII Army for a decade each, the seemingly nevJoe Ely, Ray Wylie Hubbarracks at Camp Swift Infantry Base in Bastrop, Texas. er-ending cycle of deadline after deadbard, Eliza Gilkyson, Slaid line had left me running on creative Cleaves, Kelly Willis, James empty. I still loved music, especially a McMurtry, etc. I’d even writlot the singer-songwriter/Americana-leaning fare I focused on professionally ten a spotlight on the venue itself — and interviewed Lane for most of my career, but the long feature stories and artist profiles I had Gosnay, its co-founder and director — for Texas Music back I always considered my strong suit started getting harder and harder to write. in 2007, only a couple of years after its opening. If ever there took immense pride in never phoning anything in, but the writer’s block got was a music venue that would indeed be perfect for me to worse and worse until I felt like a tube of toothpaste squeezed, flattened, and book, it was the Bugle Boy. Problem was, I had never worked rolled-up down to the last sad death glop. By early 2018, when the publisher of on that side of the music business. But Terri was convinced I t Lone Star Music — a good dude, I have to say — informed me that he couldn’ could figure it out, and Lane apparently had faith in me, too: justify continuing to bankroll the publication (which by then had transitioned She hired me over the phone the next morning. to online only), part of me was relieved. I still thought of myself as a writer, but Before the end of the month I’d clocked out of my last figured a little time doing anything else would ease me out of my burnout. To stay shift at the restaurant and made my first trek (as an official in practice, I might dabble in a little freelance work and maybe even get back part of the Bugle Boy team) from San Marcos out to La to working on my long-stalled attempt at a novel. But after a few months of Grange for a training session with Lane on the ins and outs t tightening the belt while realizing the burnout was not going to just burnou of offers and contracts, filling out grant requests, and what no-writ e, part-tim first the any time soon, in desperation I grabbed hold of to approve and what to redline on artist riders. (For the most ing-required job I could find — at a BBQ joint. part, the singer-songwriters and even most of the bands we I went into it with a positive enough attitude. I knew one of the co-own- book are a reasonable lot, and we do try to lay out a respecters, love good BBQ, like to cook, and figured at the very least I’d learn some able array of snacks and beverages, but asks that might fly at valuable meat-smoking skills. Or maybe I’d work behind the bar, like I had festivals or even some theaters don’t make the cut on a modI a lifetime ago in North Wales for six months right after college. In reality, est non-profit budget). sauce. and , cabbage smoked was relegated to kitchen duty, making beans, rice, And washing trays and pots. Almost all of my co-workers were college kids 30 IG: @HORNMAGTX

www.hornmag.com

Because Bugle Boy shows are usually booked three to six months out, I had a bit of runway to get fully acclimated before taking full control of the “artist procurement” throttle. It also helped that, beyond the dates already booked well into the following spring, there was a list of “book annually” Bugle mainstays, many with a proven track-record of being able to sell out the room. A lot of them were Texas songwriting icons of the last 30-40 years who could easily be selling out much bigger venues (think Gruene Hall or the Paramount Theatre) on a Friday or Saturday night. But they still find time to play our little listening room

in a town most (in)famous for a long-closed whorehouse (and a ZZ Top song and Dolly Parton movie about said whorehouse) because they just like playing at the Bugle Boy. The small, mostly volunteer staff treats ‘em like family,

the sound engineers know what they’re doing without being obnoxious about it, and nobody talks during the performances — even during newer songs they haven’t heard before. On average, we book two or three of those artists a month, though we usually heavy load them during peak non-profit fundraising season (late fall into December) and January/February (to open the new year with a bang after the long holiday break). But that still leaves a lot of other weekends to fill — admittedly, not as many as venues open more than two nights a week, but still just plenty, thank you very much. But at the same time, because we never have opening acts (you’re welcome!), only hosting 90 shows a year does not leave much room for trial and error. Despite being small, the Bugle Boy is not a venue for “baby acts” fresh from the open-mic circuit. We are very much a “destination” kinda venue, relying heavily on fans (including many of our VIP donors) willing to drive an hour or longer in from Austin or Houston because they like the experience of attending concerts at the Bugle Boy just as much as the artist themselves like playing the room. But getting even some of our most reliable regulars out for acts they’re less familiar with can be a challenge. I’m still learning the hard way that some artists with substantial critical clout and strong regional or national followings — sometimes even with Letterman, Conan or Tonight Show appearances and bonafide hits to their credit — have a hard time getting more than 20 people in the door. Now, I feel fortunate that in my first five years here, I’ve garnered some pretty nice reviews of my own for bringing a lot of quality new acts to our stage, including some that are now de-facto members of the aforementioned “book annually” club. And more often than not I am given a generous amount of leeway to book artists I believe are worthy of a shot; by this point, I’ve earned enough respect for my artist curation chops that I’m pretty much allowed to trust my instincts. But that said, I can’t pretend that filling seats does’t matter. We pay every act a minimum guarantee “vs” at least 75% of ticket sales, so nobody ever goes home with nothing, but if ticket sales don’t “beat” the guarantee, the venue takes a loss. Having a bigger show on the same weekend helps cushion that blow, but the reality is, even on a relatively decent night (say, sold to half capacity), we barely break even. Too many of those nights makes it awfully hard to keep a music venue open in a not especially gangbusters economy, even a non-profit one. When Lane opened the Bugle Boy in early 2005, it was originally a coffee shop first, songwriter venue sometimes second. The balance shifted more toward venue as the concerts started attracting more of a crowd, but the business was never exactly profitable and the writing was on the wall until two regulars — David Vogel and Don Jones — pitched the idea of turning it into a non-profit. Paperwork was filed,

a volunteer board of directors was formed, and in 2008 the 501(c)(3) Bugle Boy Foundation was up and running, allowing for donations and grants to help sustain not just the namesake listening room, but also a robust calendar of community outreach programs, ranging from nursing home and hospice concerts to recording sessions for veterans and — in partnership with Terri Hendrix and her non-profit, Own Your Own universe — “SongBuddies” songwriting workshops for adults of all ages with special needs. I actually don’t have anything to do any of the outreach stuff: That’s primarily the purview of the Bugle Boss, Heather Allbright. Heather started volunteering at the venue in 2010 and later took on volunteer coordinator and operations manager duties before being promoted to executive director upon Lane’s retirement not long after my hiring. I will always be grateful to Lane for bringing me into the fold in the first place, but when I say I love my job, a big part of that is because of getting to work with Heather. We’re actually the only two full-time employees here (though Heather, being a La Grange local, is the only one who offices at the venue during the week, while I work mostly from home in San Marcos except for show nights.) The rest of the staff is all part time, including building manager Joni Westall, and two rotating sound engineers, Ryan Lee and Colin Guerra. Plus an invaluable support crew of show-night volunteers, anchored by the particularly indispensable Joanna Castillo, who drives in from Austin for nearly every show to monitor the livestream chatroom, sell artist merch, and field all manner of IT support issues. Joanna famously attends and helps with merch at so many shows all over the greater Austin area that artists have anointed her “The Patron Saint of Live Music.” I’d need a dozen of me to catch as many shows as Joanna does every night in Austin and still be able to drive all the way out to La Grange on the weekends. And if Ryan and Colin were ever both unavailable to work a show, I’d probably feel more anxiety trying to figure out our soundboard than I would being thrust into a cockpit and tasked with safely landing a passenger plane without an instruction manual. And I have no doubt that even my busiest days working at home — reviewing contracts, chasing artists on my booking bucket list, sorting through piles of requests from others who may or may not be Bugle-ready, writing social media and email blasts to promote shows, designing posters, pulling songs from our webcast archives to upload to YouTube, and managing the occasional stress bomb of a week-of-show cancellation — are nothing compared to Heather’s daily to-do-list, juggling grant deadlines, board meetings, maintenance emergencies, and everything else involved in keeping not just the venue but the whole Bugle Boy Foundation in perfect tune. But still I wake up every day proud to just be a part of this operation, working with people who treat me like family, and once again getting to interact with brilliant songwriters on the

I am am given given a genero erous us am gen amou ount nt ooff le eway ttoo bbook leew ook aart rtiist stss I be lieve aare believe re w orth thy y o f a wor of

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

regular — the part of writing about music for a living that I missed the most.

“Wait, is this Richard Skanse, the writer?” Alejandro Escovedo asked me over the phone when he called to advance his first-ever show at the listening room back in 2023 (a sell out, obviously). I had interviewed him many times in the past, including for a Lone Star Music cover story, but it had been a few years. “I saw the contact was a Richard, but I did’t make the connection until just now. How you been, man?” Never better, Al! But you can call me Richard, the Bugle Boy. HH IG: @rskanse

All photos shot on Fujifilm QuickSnap Flash 400 disposable cameras.

sh ot shot

The Bugle Boy Life: Clockwise from top left: Volunteer Marian Taylor; sound engineer Ryan Lee; A peek inside the green room — Kinky was here!; the writer, who loves working here but does not smile in photos; executive director Heather Allbright, aka the Bugle Boss; the writer’s cat-infested home office in San Marcos; Austin alt-country band Sour Bridges with fans after the show; Austin’s Sister Golden Hair (the Band); A friendly reminder by the front door that the Bugle Boy is a LISTENING ROOM and we MEAN IT!

IG: @HORNMAGTX

Big Bend has always existed in a category of its own. This vast, 1,252 square miles of a place is too remote to be convenient, too magnificent to be ignored and too wild to be tamed by anything, including the ambitions of the federal government to build a wall through its pristine wilderness. In a rare show of bipartisanship, a coalition of activists, ranchers, sheriffs and Texas lawmakers banded together to protest the ill-concieved construction project. According to reports by Texas Monthly, the situation has been marked by constantly shifting plans and poor communication from government sources — mostly through changing colors on a “Smart Wall Map” on the Customs and Border Protection agency’s website — as contractors set up staging areas and heavy machinery barreled forward. The broader Big Bend border-security plan encompasses steel walls, vehicle barriers, patrol roads and surveillance technology across five separate contract segments spanning 175 miles of remote borderland — much of it to be seized from private landowners. The Department of Homeland Security has waived environmental laws to move faster. Worth noting is that the region sees fewer than 2 percent of border crossings statewide. Into this landscape — literally and figuratively — steps James Neil Trammell. A musician, songwriter, and — perhaps ironically — fencing contractor who lives and works in the Big Bend region, Trammell has been watching the machines gather from both ends of his particular stretch of border. What follows is not a policy brief or a protest pamphlet, it’s the testimony of a man who loves a place so completely that he reached for poetry when prose ran out. Read on. — Intro by Melanie Warner-Spencer

3434 HORNMAG HORNMAG #2#2Fall Fall 2026 2026

MWS IG: @penfemme NJT IG: @txmuzkfan

www.hornmag.com

IG:IG: @HORNMAGTX @HORNMAGTX 3535

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

Of the Rio Grande

To the bubbling hem

Elegantly flowing down

greys, browns, & tans

Her crimsons, greens,

On her high desert style

All the while I’d plump

Can’t quite fill my fancy

In other parts of Texas

The drapery of the dresses

I think of her often

of sunset.

At the last five minutes

her cheeks

that splashes crest

It’s the rouge light

More often than not

In the moonlight

Maybe her silhouette

Back to her

My mind invariably drifts

song [unclear: /and?] dance

And my nights with

With musical sounds

Through my days are filled

I think of her often

THE BIG BEND

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

I think of her often The wispy grey hues That peek from atop Her regal brow. The tears that fall During monsoon season Collecting in her valleys Gathering and gushing Through her veins, Reinvigorating the lives that depend on her tears As her tears drift Down to the Rio Grande river below I think of her often Reflecting in the starlight moonshine All her jagged and jagged features Dancing with the shadows of the cliffs My soul sworn to defend her at first light Knowing a lifetime isn’t enough to to explore her in her entirety

THE COTTONWOODS The giant earth moving machines Lay in wait at both ends Of our particular section of border We’ve seen their horrors Both upstream and down The reckless disdain With which they treat the earth Killing the cottonwoods Killing the cottonwoods The giant earth moving machines Rumbling in the early light Their appetite’s forever (insatiated) They flatten the mountains They fill in the arroyos They scrape and gouge They kill & kill & kill Killing the cottonwoods Killing the cottonwoods 38

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

BORDER WALL PRAYER The hour is late, oh so late The machines are at the gate Two, Four, Six, Eight Coming to commiserate Our numbers are growing Some successes are showing We trudge ahead while not knowing In whose favor the fight is going However, the call’s been heeded People are with us, more are needed We critique, criticize, the gov’t derided We stand with conviction, each new challenge greeted There are many facets to this battle Hippies on bikes, cowboys in saddles Lobbyists, artists, Mexican cattle Protests echo, canyon walls rattle In prayer, we ask to heal the pain Sight for the blind, Humility for the vain Protect our stand… Steady our souls, shut down the cranes And Lord, if you can’t send fire this time, please… Keep sending rain!!!

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

The border wall is coming A year ago, I still believed in common sense, but Not anymore… This is a volatile combination of irrational fears and a misinformed public… Protesting may slow their progress, But only through voting can we inflict real change. If you remember 9/11/01, the government shut the border down; all of the jobs that had been “stolen” by illegal immigrants were left unfilled. Fruit went unharvested, left to rot in the fields. Twenty five years later, we are building AI robots to replace the working class, U.S. citizens. But the government is still selling the wall as an answer www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

Now the Border Wall is closing in on Big Bend from both directions. There’s conflicting information from all from government sources. Is it a smart wall? (still requires infrastructure that will damage both the state & national park) Is it vehicle barriers? (the entire region is one big vehicle barrier…) Will the flood lights kill our dark skies? (YES, FUCK YES) (I promised my daughter not to cuss) Will it mess up natural migration patterns? (YES) Will it Stop Illegal Immigration? (NO)

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

Don’t forget the Mexicans know how to tunnel and (gasp) they have airplanes. The real solution is Immigration Reform. Which, at the usual pace of our government, will be fully reformed by the year 3026. THE BIG BEND CANNOT WAIT THAT LONG!!! I hear rumors that the Monkey Wrench Gang may ride again, soon. Personal opinion: If someone walks from beyond the Rio Grande to Interstate 10, then they should get a green card. They’ve put in more effort than those that think they are taking their jobs.

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

Current plans include dynamiting Mariscal Mountain… IN A NATIONAL PARK FOR MORE INFO GO TO NOBIGBENDWALL.ORG

IN CLOSING I want to thank all who have read my ramblings, thus far. This battle is far from over, and we need your help, still. Call your state & national representatives. Sign all of the petitions. Tell your friends. Tell your enemies, too. If you’re local, sign up for the email lists. Stay informed and attend everything that you possibly can. If you agree agree with anything I’ve written, SPEAK UP!!! & SHOW UP!!! Thank you, James Neil Trammell 44

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX

HORNMAG #2 Fall 2026

www.hornmag.com

IG: @HORNMAGTX