Dave Alexander stopped by TexasGigs World Headquarters today. I’ve got a real appreciation for Mr. Alexander, a Western Swing flame keeper, ranch man, horse man, rodeo man, cowboy hat man, music theory man, fancy gold belt buckle man.

(The Academy of Western Artists gives out Entertainer Of The Year belt buckles that would make Ric Flair proud. What came first: big ass rodeo-style belt buckles or big ass pro wrestling championship belt buckles? I dare someone to do some kind of graduate thesis on this.)

Alexander was a good friend of Cindy Walker’s and she wrote a song for him not long ago, which I did not know. Alexander said it will be on his next CD, although he will not be singing it.

“It’s about me, I can’t sing a song about me,” he said.



Well, you can. But frankly Mr. Shankly, my stomach is a bit puke-wary of biographical songs myself.

He said one day Cindy Walker just called him out of the blue and said she had written a song about him.

Wow.

Cindy Walker didn't have to pay attention to what was going on in the music world her entire life, yet she did, and it was magnificent she did until her entire life was over.

Alexander had never known her before that phone call, and soon after they became good friends.

He’d go visit her at her home in Mexia.

Last month he was at her funeral.

One reason I'm a fan of Mr. Dave Alexander is because he greatly appreciates the music that came before him. His ties to this historic and important music are real. He's played with Johnny Gimble, he's played with Ray Benson, Willie Nelson, Leon Rausch, Randy Elmore and more. I like that. He compared knowing your music history to knowing your family history or anything else that should be treasured. Anyway, anyone who was once a Texas Playboy is OK by me.

You may or may not have known, but Dave Alexander grew up a trumpet player and studied jazz at UNT. That musical education has helped him, he said, when leading his Western Swing big band, which will be swinging at the Gaylord Texan next month.

My wife Liz and I have been known to frequent the Gaylord Texan frequently, because we live not far away and it’s such a damn spectacle. When family flies in we often will drive over to the Gaylord Texan just for the hell of it, since it’s close to the airport.



Big fan of the Silver Bar there, on which hangs a giant slab of (der duh) silver around the entire length of the bar. I feel like I’m Ernest Hemingway there. Not as a writer, just as the man: I like sitting at the Silver Bar in a big ass hotel, looking at the etched silver slab and drinking a scotch: "Tell me, Robert. Why do you follow Brett around like a poor bloody steer? Don't you know you're not wanted? I know when I'm not wanted. Why don't you know when you're not wanted? You came down to San Sebastian where you weren't wanted, and followed Brett around like a bloody steer. Do you think that's right?"

Man, I don't know what the hell I started writing this post about, but right now I want a good glass of scotch and talk about going down to San Sebastian where Robert was not wanted.