Bikers and Cowboys and Girls Without Braziers


Liberals, Snake Women, and Fault Lines

What makes a liberal? Let me count the ways. I just read the five dumbest liberal Tweets of the month, but one stood out. Cher! Now Cher was grown when I was in Jr High. I thought she was dead, but I remembered that was Sonny. I’ve never considered Cher to be a beautiful woman. Every time I saw her I kept thinking of some movie about a woman who transformed into a snake and devoured her mate. I really don’t know where she calls home but I figure it must be California.

Ever wonder how people like Cher keep on keeping on? I mean her career is as dead as fried chicken. Well, they do it by becoming liberals. They get up in the morning and think, “Now, what’s the stupidest thing I can say today?” and standing there are fifteen media outlets waiting with baited breath for every word that ejaculates from her pouting mouth. Must be true . . . CHER said it! And there is competition. I mean there’s some stupid crap coming out of California. Only in California can you have a state where there are no vehicle safety inspections (DUDE, we even have that in TEXAS!) but, they try to pass laws to protect the sand in Death Valley!

Liberals LOVE California. Let me clue you into something. Not ALL Californians are crazy. There’s about a twenty-five mile strip, along the coast, extending from San Francisco down to San Diego where everyone is bat-shyt crazy. Everything else is Texas with better weather. Believe it or not, California is a farming state! Most of the state is stable. I have a theory. I think crazy is inflicted on everyone WEST of the San Andreas fault line. It has something to do with subterranean electro-magnetic forces on the hypo-thalamus. I Lived out there for a while, and I’ll admit, I was getting a little crazy myself.

Anyway, I digress this is where untalented losers like Cher come from. They generate record sales in SoCal, and when the record sales die they go on late night talk shows and spew idiotic drivel. Cher is proof positive that there was at least ONE reason to keep SOME Indians on the reservation!

The Butcher Shop

The Butcher Shop

Sometime in the near future I will be making a move. We have a home in the Salt Lake Area with a studio and office that will just about replace what we lost in Berry Creek. Beautiful views of the mountains, within reach of Vegas and LA, and not so blasted hot! Of course, we will maintain a place here in Texas. I am NOT deserting the Texas movement and will commute to Austin when necessary to rile up the natives.

In Berry Creek we had three very large homes on the same street, the main one built in the style of Graceland. One of the living areas was a sound stage where we filmed videos. Then, there was a studio upstairs in the media room, where we recorded several albums and even audio books. We remixed all this mess in a large office on the first floor, and reviewed the rushes on a deck overlooking the tenth green of an Arnold Palmer golf course. The other two homes on the same street were filled with guests and artists who came by to work with us. Frankly, it took all this to create the web presence needed to generate income. We also sold Real Estate from there. Well, as my close friends all know this environment was not conducive to raising children so the CPS came along and fixed all that and before it was all over I was publishing out of the “Hotel Cartel” in beautiful downtown Killeen, Texas!

But, you know what? When you have put together something like that you tend to be able to do it again. In fact it’s a little like having a garage that you always meant to clean up, and never found the time, and then one day the house burns down. There are two kinds of people in the world. The kind who come home to see the firemen, find a shopping cart and hit the streets, and then there are people like me who say, “That’ll work! Let’s build it bigger and better.” It’s what’s within YOU that makes it, not circumstances, and this ain’t no self help crap, this is the TRUTH!

Fact is I had a hard time seeing the forest for the trees from the Berry Creek Country Club, but sitting in the patio of a crack hotel in Killeen, listening to Bob Dylan gave me a vision. I’d sit there with a bottle of Jim Beam and contemplate. I really couldn’t write much because every time I’d go to sleep the crack heads would steal my computer and sell it for a rock. I bought a gun to shoot ’em, and they stole that TOO! So, I saw very clearly I had two choices. Get on crack, or figure this out. Now, I’m not saying I can put away a lot of Jim Beam, but the month after I switched to beer Jim Beam sold out to the Japanese. And I’d love to tell you I cleaned up, saw the light, and became an inspiration to girl scouts everywhere but that just didn’t happen. I’ve been in music production at the publishing level from Austin to Nashville for over forty years and I threw those rose colored glasses in the trash can years ago!

With the help of folks like Doc Greene, and Tom Hagen I moved into political writing. I didn’t know it, but over the years I’d developed a fairly profound political stance and I was LITERATE, and god knows where THAT came from. My attitude was all the little girly-men running around with their half baked ideas on society were all very fine, but I LIKE a steak and egg breakfast at a country club and i know that those ideas won’t buy it! So, I began to boil complex social issues down to basic components. I became “A Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin!” My brother gave me a lecture a year ago about my having never LIVED in Austin, but I’ve stayed in hotels there so the name stays. I also realized my mother obviously picked up the wrong baby at the hospital so I haven’t spoke to him since. Haven’t spoke to my sister either ’cause she sided with him!

My good buddy, Ted Clevenger, who is a psychologist, worked with me for a couple of years because after all the nonsense I’d been through I was fairly crazy, and after he cured all my homicidal leanings a style began to emerge. When we had to spirit the kids out of Texas because the CPS didn’t like their haircuts we ended up with a very large place up in Utah. Big office, view of the mountains, studio, calm people all around, it was great. I resisted going there because I WAS from the Austin area and I was very enthralled with the Texas Nationalist Movement. Well, frankly folks, sitting on a ten by ten porch with an iPad ain’t gonna make it. In order to generate the volume of material needed to make the Republic of Texas happen one has to write, and one has to write LOTS! You have to generate something great every day with the full knowledge that tomorrow what you wrote today will be fish paper, so you have to do better. If you can’t do that then you’re just a talking dog, do NOT quit your day job!

And, in the long run I’m not really leaving Texas. When we win the Republic of Texas will include what is now Utah AND California. (How’s THAT for ego?) I’m gathering friends and associates from all over Texas and California, not to mention Utah, and I’m going to form a publishing company that I’ll call the “Butcher Shop” in line with my nick name, “Bill the Butcher” which the Texas CPS has so lovingly bestowed upon me, and in the words that I listened to at the Hotel Cartel years ago, “We’ll soon shake your windows, and rattle your walls because times they are a changing!”

PoDunk Texas

PoDunk Texas
by Wilbur

I was raised a Liberal Democrat. We were taught in school that being liberal was a good thing. I accepted Lyndon Johnson’s War on Poverty and the Great Society with glee because Mr Cole, my high school civics teacher told me that was the needed change for the country. Then I graduated high school and moved out into the world. By the time Reagan came along I was shifting to the right. Back in the day nothing came easy in Texas. To use a Texas slang we were “PoDunk!” While cars were rolling off the assembly lines in Detroit and common workers were collecting $8.00 per hour I got a raise working in a pool hall from .50 per hour to .75 per hour and had to learn to shoot pool to buy my baby, Wilbur, milk! On the streets of Killeen I learned there was absolutely no free lunch.

Now, looking back, I’ve made three fortunes. I’m working on a fourth and I’ll get there. Detroit is in ruins and why is that? Detroit is the product of that same liberal thinking Mr Cole instilled in me back in 1969.

In Nashville I learned that if you write a good song the record labels will beat a path to your door. I heard malcontents moaning the blues down at Shoney’s every day, going on about how unfair the system was, and that people of little or no talent got all the breaks because of their connections with Roy Acuff, but another friend, Johnny Carter Cash told me no one could be more connected than he was and he couldn’t write a hit to save his soul! I wrote over 3,000 songs, some I thought were pretty good, and could never get a cut. I didn’t have it. What I did have was a peculiar talent for raunchy country comedy and after a brief discussion with Ray Stevens one day while we were standing in line at a grocery store I became Weird Wilbur. Acuff-Rose put severe restrictions on material streaming out of Music Square so Michael Lee Davis and I formed our own label and sold albums at concession during my shows out on Briley expressway RIGHT across the street from the Grand Ol Opry!

John Brandt had a day job at United Artists and that company rented it’s space from Steve Dreamstreet who slipped us a key and during the night we slipped into the state if the art studios and recorded and mixed “Weird Wilbur Rides Again” which you can find to this day on iTunes!

I came back from Nashville and my wife and I began real estate and stock investments. Before it was all over we owned four houses, three near Austin and one in Killeen where I currently reside.

When I hear someone say, ” I don’t got no chance cause I’m black. I got to get a special deal,” I literally laugh right IN their face. I am white trash that never owned a car before I was 25 years old and even then it burned oil! I went from feeding my family on a $17 meat pack from Well’s Slaughter House to flying back from California and some IRS agent asking for a check for 1.5 million dollars and looking at me like she had good sense!

And yes, I, by that time, was a very conservative Republican. There are people who are content to stand in line and wait for Obama to hand them their daily bread and then there are people like me who drive by the welfare office in a Mercedes on the way to Logan’s Steak House for lunch.

iJackie’ New Soul

Depth of Soul
by Wilbur Witt

In 2010 Jackie put down iJackie, stepped behind the camera and produced a series of videos revealing a depth of soul that even surprised me. Her knowledge of life and song, combined with imagination was surprising. She comprised the videos, sometimes with my help, showing her how to achieve effects known only to her mind. New Soul was showing the continuity of life and family. In each successive scene the people get older and older until the final part where the funeral is displayed, then it goes right back to the beginning to start all over again. This video is very poinant because it was during this time she was actually losing her children to the CPS. She retreated into her spirit and tried to show the feelings she was experiencing during thus traumatic time. The film draws victory from defeat, gain from loss, and hope from despair.

A lot of her work during this time has been unfortunately lost, but as I search I find them here and there. Mostly, she did these alone, but once in a while she’d ask me how to effect a scene. Her work shows the evolution from a 17 year old girl to an accomplished director with a message for the world. Love, family, and mother’s rights. One small voice in the crown.


Chasing The Brass Ring

I don’t have explosive outbursts of temper. I go into a slow burn as my mind considers the event that attracted my attention. So it was with the Sunday morning call I got. Over the last 48 hours, as I analyzed the content of said call I slowly, meticulously began to make decisions. The final choice was to distance myself from my two main antagonists. Over the years I’ve received no support, no advice, nothing from these people but berating, hate, and joy when I would stumble or fall. As with this last time, the very fact that I not only survived, but came out the other side better seemed to anger them.

While I never intrude into their lives it seems my life is a major topic of conversation. I don’t think either one of them has ever read a single article I’ve ever written, and never mind that I have several albums for sale on practically every download service in the world, published by my own label and several others, these two ignore that and ask me about Social Security. I never want to retreat to that! Even a small success in the entertainment industry beats that purgatory. And I know I’m on the right track because I watch my friends such as Ramona Myong, and Crystal Drument working toward the same thing.

My political views have been refined by conversations with my son, Master Chief Wilbur Witt III and the gentlemen at the Cigarbox. My two detractors couldn’t even tell you what political party I affiliate with. One does not need this. I realized years ago that if I wrote “normal” no one would read a word. My style is what it is. I try to be as politically correct as possible while mixing in a distinctive Texas slant. I try to say what a lot of people want to say but just can’t find the words.

I’m moving soon to the Texas coast. I would have preferred SoCal, but I was raised in Texas, and that gives me a proximity to Austin, which is important for a host of reasons. Using my blogs and music I try to direct attention to my books. Selling a book is hard. To be a writer you have to write tons! When the formula works it’s like a jet whose wheels just left the ground. You may labor for years with no real return, and then, in a moment of time, you find that one thing that works just for you. We live in an age of enormous access to media and public review. Back in the day this was controlled by a very small, select group of people. In the music business you quickly understood that writing a good song was hard, recording it was even harder, but distribution was the key. In one of my songs I wrote, “Well they didn’t sell worth a doodly squat, but I learn fast and do you know what, I got a use for a record that just won’t sell. Yeah, I put em in the oven and I turn on the gas, and they’ll shrivel up like a baboon’s ass, then you turn em into ashtrays and sell em to the cheap motels!” Folks, I’ve made a LOT of ashtrays!

People who long for retirement do not understand the creative mind that never rests. I’ve noticed that as I get older I get better. My two naysayers have always measured the value of their lives by the hour. One hour of their life is worth this much, or that much, and in the end they desperately cling to the fragments left by a mundane existence. Now we need people like that. Not everyone can be a writer, but don’t shoot down those of us who will swing at every baseball until we get a home run.

My one supporter is my son, the chief. He has seen me swing at those baseballs, and he’s seen me strike out, but he’s also heard my music in bars all around the world, and if I die without ever achieving a big success he will not be disappointed. This was one of the problems I had in SoCal. Wilbur tried his level best to provide me a perfect life. Only problem was I sat there in the perfect world with things left to do. Wine and cheese are all very fine but whiskey in a studio in Austin is much better.

Wilbur’s ideas mirror mine. He has served honorably in the Navy and will retire in a couple of years. He is not someone who is going to sit in the yard and check his blood pressure. He has received his Real Estate license in California and will leap into the market without a second thought. I don’t think he ever considered that he may retire from the Navy. He was my bass player at twelve years old. I think the Navy tricked him. He prefers California over Texas, but there’s medicine for that. He believes in progression of generations. I have a high school education, but it’s from Texas so that don’t count. Wilbur has a college degree. His daughter will one day be Dr. Kylie Witt! Her daughter, should she have one, will be president!

But I AM Weird Wilbur! I endured Roy Acuff and when he died artists like myself, and Rodney Carrington finally had a venue for our product. I got so sick and tired of corn pone country I wanted to puke! Now, I DO sell a few records. I do sell books, and people do read my blogs. If you’re a writer you understand that this is enough. If you are like my two experts it will pass way over your head.

The Back Porch

by Wilbur Witt

I do t want to be cleche, but I had a wonderful Saturday night. My nephew came over, brought some beer, and all the kids were here, along with my ex, and her husband. My husband in law made the most wonderful Mexican plate, and when we finished eating, my nephew and I broke out a guitar and gave everyone a show. Sean, my nephew, is a virtuoso on the guitar, and gave an excellent performance. I, on the other hand, tend to have a simpler style, but I have written so many songs no one ever notices. At any rate we filled two hours and everyone enjoyed enjoyed the concert. As we played the children danced all over the huge back porch. Children under seven are always fascinated by someone pulling out a huge wooden box and music coming out of it. In spite of all the technological advances over the years the sound of an unamplified Fender guitar retains its magic.

Over forty two plus years I have learned to sing, and I’ve mastered drinking beer and remembering the words to my songs, which is always nice. Combine that with little explanations of why I wrote each song, and the evening had a magic glow about it. The funny thing is that the evening wasn’t planned. We just drifted from, “Let’s get some beer,” to, “Mexican would be nice,” to, “Uncle Billy, do you still have that Fender?” We didn’t know it had been a good evening until it was over! No camera, no amps, no problems.

Life is like that. The best things are always free. The children will remember it forever. I still remember a porch party where my Uncle Charlie made peach ice cream, and us kids had to go get the peaches from a tree! I was five years old, and some of the children at that get together have died of old age! Some people, especially organizations try to create such evenings. You cant! God dispenses evenings like that. I guarantee you that somewhere else in the world a group of people gathered last night and some children will remember eating something that only a grandfather, or uncle could whip up in his own special way. A friend of mine told me once that he was watching his grandchildren for a day and when it came lunch time he found that nothing was thawed to cook. He had a good supply of large cuts of meat, but no “kid” stuff. So, he took out some potatoes, some garlic and an onion, fried it up and told the kids it was his “world famous potatoes!” They were ecstatic!

Tomorrow the news will grind out the stories that piss us all off. Jodi Arias will try to convince her jury she just had a bad hair day, Hillary Clinton will try to convince John McCaine SHE had a bad hair day (who’s the bigger sociopath?) and Obama will try to convince us all that HE’S the president, but for a brief time, on a back porch in Texas, a family so diversified a Hollywood screen writer couldn’t have dreamed it up, got together, and children danced. Happy Mothers Day, everyone!

Thoughts on Getting Old

by Wilbur Witt

Well, I finally bowed to the pressure and got a checkup. I wasn’t really surprised that my blood pressure was high. To be honest I knew I needed medication for my cough which is brought on by allergies, and I’ve had all my life. Of course, the doctor leaped on my cigar. We negotiated, but she’s right. I have limited my cigar to one over morning cigar with coffee, and maybe one in the evening while sitting on the porch, and to be honest that hasn’t affected me adversely. I enjoy my morning smoke, and don’t crave them all day. I now take a little pink pill for my blood pressure, and I feel good about that.

When you’re young you wonder what’s gonna get you in the end. As you round the corner of sixty, and approach seventy you slowly become aware of what your fate will eventually be, and this is not a bad thing. The idea is to have a quality of life that is happy, healthy, and not a burden on your family and friends. It’s nice to be able to just move a box without having to plan the move. However, that having been said, this is the period of realization that one is not twenty-three anymore, and most likely will not see one hundred twenty-three.

The very fact that I am writing this article reflects my basic optimism about life in general. Seems that I never was given an even break in my life, and that’s a good thing. It prepared me for this final stage. I had polio and encephalitis when I was three and a half years old. That’s an eye opener no matter who you are. Then, at eighteen, I was crushed between two cars in a filling station parking lot. Boy! Now THAT dates me. How many of you remember filling stations. For the uninformed there used to be businesses where you went to get gasoline, and that’s all they did. You’d drive up, a guy would ask you what you wanted, they would fill your tank, clean you windshield, check your oil, and take your money, all while you sat comfortably in your car. Well, that’s what I was doing on June 13, 1970 when a woman named Hilda came into my station and ran headlong into the car I was servicing, standing in front of it, getting both legs broken in the process.

All of this made me a winner. And, contributed to my mental problem of believing I could do anything I put my mind to. I not only learned to walk all over again, I climbed telephone poles for thirteen years. When I quit that job and plunged into the music business I couldn’t sell a song to save my life, so I invented Weird Wilbur, wrote adult country and sold THAT! When I couldn’t get a gasoline credit card I worked until I owned not one but three mansions in Berry Creek. When I couldn’t get distribution for my music I worked diligently until I had them on iTunes because I could clearly see the end of the old order and the beginning of something very new and exciting. Publishers sent my books back over and over, but I self published and in time the world saw the birth of things like Amazon, and Barnes and Noble, and my books are now world wide. You can even download them.

When you have a man who does these things you have a man who generally thinks he’s right about just about everything. You tell him he’s getting older and needs to take care of himself and you get, well, resistance. What I needed to understand was that I couldn’t run I second gear all the time anymore with the motor revving at 4000 RPMs . I needed to shift into overdrive, let the motor run slower, and actually produce more product with less effort. In a word I had to throttle back. This is very hard to do. I have to learn this trick.

I don’t want to become lazy. I definitely don’t want to be one of those old farts who uses his age as an excuse to have other people wait on his every beck and call. I will continue to produce. If I can’t be the singer ill be the writer or producer, giving advice about things I’ve learned over the years. I will write better books, selling more, having more money. If the weather in Texas doesn’t suit me I will buy a winter home in California. I will survive.

Everyone gets old. Everyone dies. On every tombstone there is a date, a dash, and another date. The idea of life is to concentrate on the dash, not the dates. In the meantime I’ll be sitting here writing and taking my little pink pill.

Why I Made The Light Shine Video

Why I Made the Light Shine Video
by Wilbur Witt

My nephew sent me a song. He has a band, and they have been developing their sound over the last few months, sending me clips, and to be honest I haven’t heard them turn out anything bad yet! But this song struck me. The young man, Curtis Hooper, was sitting in a garage. In the beginning of the piece there is thunder, and at first I thought it had been mixed in until I remembered that we had just had storms a few days before and I noticed Curtis is sitting in a garage, which was classic!

His voice is riveting, reminiscent of John Fogarty, but not imitating. As he elevates the volume he slides into an old Memphis whiskey sound which punctuates and emphasizes the impact of what he’s saying. And what he’s saying is profound! The song is blended perfectly. It begins simply, like a prayer. From there it crescendos into into a perfect hook, “You can tread on me,” which sets up the title line of the piece. When Sean sent me the song he titled it, “Overcome,” but when I heard the song the very first time I knew the title had to be, “Let The Light Shine (On My Face).” This was the only edit I saw needed, and that came from my years in Austin and Nashville. I thought the title “Overcome” somehow diminished the power of Curtis’ voice when he sang those words.

The song does a perfect round, returning to its core concept once more, not laboring the refrain, but reinforcing it perfectly. The only guitar rift, if you can call it that, is at the very end and Curtis reinforces the theme of the song as it fades out.

When I heard the song I heard all these things. It was a master piece of songwriting. When you’ve heard, and written as many songs as I have you endure most of them, but I couldn’t stop listening to this one. The video that came with it was a simple one. Curtis was sitting in a garage. The mix was fairly good, even though I know it was a demo, I had no complaints.

Jackie didn’t pop into my head at first, I was going to just improve the imaging. I was so overcome by the song i was focused on Curtis, but then, as I worked on it and listened to what the song was really saying, I realized the anguish of the human condition was so there, weaved into the fabric of the lyrics that it was like a subliminal message to the soul. At that point I thought of Jackie’s story, but I didn’t think just placing the old pictures of her with her daughter would do justice to this song. I began to search my photos, and some of them leaped out at me. As Curtis sang, “You can tread on me” the first time, I put in a still frame of Jackie cocking her gun and winking at the camera. The classic defiant seventeen year old girl, ready to take on the world, with a full life ahead of her expressed all the exuberance of youth. With the words, “Let the light shine on my face,” she appears in a dark business suit, heading for court, a court that would intimately destroy her life. The next image is to the line, ” I will win this race,” and she is looking at images on a cell phone, pictures of her children that she would never be allowed to see again. Her smile belies the pain in her eyes, and she is pregnant with the child that would be ripped off her breast at birth.

With the line, “The writing on the wall” is sang we see the image of a twenty one year old woman, aged, and resigned. Curtis returns to the title line, and while he sings, “Let the light shine on my face,” he reinforces the resolve of the singer to overcome adversity, and as he does, iJackie cocks her gun and symbolically fires it at an unfeeling world.

The marriage of song and image is perfect. You don’t even have to know Jackie’s story to realize there’s something very emotional there, emphasized by the soul of the song so beautifully delivered by Curtis. This song gives me the same feeling that I get when I listen to Dylan singing “Times They Are A Changing.” Without going into a rant about the injustice Jackie endured, suffice to say this song, and this video expresses the heartbreak and resolve of all young mothers who miss their babies. Sometimes, in the vastness of the universe, two perfect notes are sung, and two souls merge for a brief moment to give the rest if us a heart rending message. Curtis and Jackie gave us such a moment, and we all should give them our appreciation. Thank you guys.