Roberts Family History

LISTEN HERE!
 

Read by my Grandmother Roberts
Recorded by Gil and Anna Wright circa 1955.

Hank Williams 60th & 90th Anniversaries Retrospective

Listen to part 1
Listen to part 2

KTEP "Folk Fury" radio broadcast, 26 January 2013
A celebration of Hank Williams' recorded legacy
Edited by Zoomer Roberts
Hosted by Gregg Carthy and Zoomer Roberts

Woody Guthrie Centennial Retrospective

Listen to part 1
Listen to part 2

KTEP "Folk Fury" radio broadcast, 11 August 2012
A celebration of Woody Guthrie's recorded legacy
Edited by Zoomer Roberts
Hosted by Gregg Carthy and Zoomer Roberts

The Pollen Is Appallin'

There's no appeasin' the reason for sneezin'
The season is seizin' the land and the seas 'n'
The flowers and the trees 'n' the birds and the bees 'n'
When Hades is freezin' I'll rise from my knees 'n'
Embrace the cool breeze in its autumnal teasin'
And die from my wheezin'.

22 March 2009

Gran

My Grandmother Roberts lived in or around Sulphur Springs, Texas for over 70 years. When she was widowed and all her children had moved away, she stayed put. We saw her for a few days every summer, and one year all the kids and grandkids convened at Aunt Gwen's house in Garland to have Christmas with her, but that was it. Every year she sent me a birthday card with a dollar bill and a stick of Wrigley's chewing gum in it.  A move to a house on Aunt Anna's property in Wimberley was short-lived. She returned to Sulphur Springs and stayed there until she died. She rented rickety frame houses -- the kind they used to move on flatbed trailers -- and clung to her stuff: a kitchen safe, a chiffarobe, boxes of ancient telegrams. It smelled old. She had extension cords plugged into the kitchen light bulb socket. She wrote long letters with a fountain pen, wore out a King James Bible, listened to her Zenith table radio, and sat on her front porch and watched the cars, people, and weather go by. She kept a bottle of wine around for medicinal purposes, stashed under the sink behind the Bab-O so the preacher wouldn't see it when he came to call. She stayed there, and she stayed, and she stayed.

She was the only one of my grandparents still living when I was born, so this is all of the grandparent/grandchild experience I've known. I see a lot of her in my own makeup, and that's okay. I came by it honestly.

She died on this date in 1976, six days after her 91st birthday. My brother and I drove to Sulphur Springs to bear the pall. She's still there. She stayed there.

13 June 2011

When my brother Don was about 16, he ought an old Hudson for $50. Daddy gave him "driving lessons," which amounted to Daddy driving the Hudson out to Newman with us two boys in tow, hoisting a few beers at either the Last Roundup or Club 54, and Don driving us back home. Daddy would always give me money for the jukebox, and I always selected "Tennessee Waltz" by Patti Page. I would tell you today that I liked the chords and the duet harmony (which she also sang). But as a child of 8, I only knew it was real pretty.

Patti Page died yesterday at the age of 85. The evening news played a few measures of that old record as part of the story, and I thought of my brother, and my father, and the Hudson, and Newman, and the vast expanse of desert that existed between the city limits and the state line a half-century ago. All of it is gone now, except for that song -- and my memories.

Faced with bankruptcy and prison, George Bailey shoots everybody at the building & loan. Then he goes to his drafty old house and kills Mary and their four children. While mowing down the crowd at Martini's, George is taken out by Bert the cop. Old man Potter pockets the $8000, and everybody in Bedford Falls buys a gun. Clarence is cast into hell. The End.

29 December 2012

Review: Buy 'Hank Williams: Lost Concerts' for the history, not the music

By Zoomer Roberts \ Special to the El Paso Times

Time-Life's new "Hank Williams: The Lost Concerts Limited Collectors Edition" includes material taped at two shows in 1952, plus an earlier radio interview.

As a casual listening experience, the album leaves a lot to be desired. The sound is often distorted, and there are places where the tape apparently broke and pieces went missing when it was spliced back together.

But for those of us who want to know about Hank Williams' life and times, this is an enlightening historical document.

First of all, these aren't concerts. They're shows. Hank goes on stage, does 30 minutes, thanks us kindly, and ambles off to sign autographs. He does two or three shows a day.

We learn that Hank's touring band has been pared down from four men to just two: fiddler Jerry Rivers and steel guitarist Don Helms. Gone are Sammy Pruett and his "boop-bop" guitar and bassist Howard Watts. Hank's rhythm guitar figures more prominently in the mix, and local bass players are pressed into service. (By Hank's own admission, some work out better than others.) Hank, Don and Jerry sing trio on the gospel numbers.

Hank tells tall tales of riding out a flood on the roof of a hotel in Bald Knob, Ark.; informs the audience how to pronounce "jambalaya" and what its ingredients are; hawks songbooks; and explains that he and Luke the Drifter are one and the same person. He tells us that writing songs brings him more joy than anything else in life. He invites us to the Grand Ole Opry (from which he will soon be fired), and suggests that while we're in Nashville we visit his store, Hank Williams' Corral. It used to be Hank & Audrey's Corral, but they're divorced now. He never mentions her. Not once.

The disc ends with a noisy 1951 radio interview in which Hank and an old friend from his Alabama honky-tonk days -- who is now a disc jockey in Wichita -- talk about old times and new records. Hank tells him to come out to the house the next time he's in Nashville, and "we'll open a can of beans."

Herein is a legend made flesh: not a pitiful derelict at death's door, but a functioning, funny, personable performer. A treasure, for those so inclined.

Zoomer Roberts is a longtime El Paso country and folk musician.

The Man That Give Me That Awful Name

When I was 17, I started following a local Bluegrass/Rockabilly ersatz Rat Pack pair of drunks named Hal Smith and Henry Beebe, who called themselves the Shade Tree Boys. They did Bluegrass songs with a Johnny Cash beat, and alcohol-fueled x-rated comedy. They played in joints: the Jade Club, the King’s X, the Gaslight Lounge at Bowlero Lanes. My Spanish teacher, Randy Earl, used to go see them and he’d take me along and claim I was his son, which, had it been true, would have made me legal. Sometimes I would sit in.

They had been through a slew of bass players -- Richard ‘Pinchi Pancho’ Chorne, Herman Glop, Thumby Zee -- and in March of 1969 they had a guy named Vince Moya who had gotten so lackadaisical that he would sit on top of his amp and play bass with one hand and eat a cheeseburger with the other. Hal and Henry got drunk one afternoon and decided to fire Vince. But who would they get? How about the kid? Henry called me and asked if I played bass. Yes, I lied. Did I want the job? Yes again, but I had no equipment. Not to worry -- I could use the equipment Vince had been using, which was on loan from the Harmony Shop, which Henry managed. And so, for the last two months of high school, I was playing four nights a week. In joints.

Hal and Henry couldn’t remember my name, which I found rather insulting. They were toying with the idea of calling me Lightning or Speedy or Flash. One night Hal was introducing the band and when he got to me he said ‘This is our new bass player. His name is…uhhh… (off-mike) What the hell is your name?’ and I said ‘Yogi Zarch.’ ‘This is our new bass player, Yogi Zarts. We call him Zoomer Zarts.’ The audience thought it was a riot. So did Henry.

And that name has stuck! It even got used at our wedding (Do you, Zoomer, take this woman...) and when I was ordained as an elder in the Presbyterian Church. That’s my story.

Zoomer's Bar Years

In 1995, KTEP "Folk Fury" host Gregg Carthy aired a two-hour retrospective of my musical career. I provided him with records and tapes and a running commentary of their origins. It was supposed to be the first in a series of programs showcasing local musicians. To my knowledge, it was also the last. My friend Ken Smith taped the broadcast off the air. A dub of that tape was later transferred to CD. It is presented here in six twenty-minute segments for easy absorption.




Listen to part 1
Listen to part 2
Listen to part 3
Listen to part 4
Listen to part 5
Listen to part 6

"Telford"

Telford went where he was sent
He didn't give a damn
He went to Okinawa
He went to Viet Nam
He got good suckee and good fuckee
From ol' Mama-san
He crossed the sea to Germany
And drove the Autobahn
Until at last he bought the farm
He's deader than a brick
And on his stone we wrote: "I told 
you bastards I was sick!"

completed 21 October 2011
R.I.P. Hank Telford (1938-2011)

KTEP Folk Fury Broadcast ~ 30 October 2010

Zoomer Roberts: vocal & harmonica
Buddy Winston: vocal & guitar
Gregg Carthy is your host

Buddy and I perform Little Darlin' at the Border Legends Jam...














...while my heroes look on.
left to right: Frank Dove, Frank's son, Dalton Powell, Randy Jones.

left to right: Alan Van Velkinburgh, Charlie Thomas, Randy Jones, Dalton Powell, Zoomer Roberts, Buddy Winston.

Holy Cow!

I was surprised the place was so crowded. It was "hail fellow well met" from the parking lot to the bandstand. Old friends, neighbors, classmates and bandmates embraced. The first batch of songs were played on acoustic guitars: The Boxer, If I Were A Carpenter, Reason To Believe... Then electric guitar, pedal steel, keyboards and drums were added to the mix and we went country: Jambalaya, Precious Memories, Silver Wings... A tribute to Danny of Danny's Music Box followed. He was given a plaque in appreciation of his support of local musicians, and we told him to "tell 'em where you got it, babe!" Then, while we played "Knockin' On Heaven's Door, the names of the deceased were read aloud: Bobby Fuller, Jamie Hilliard, Steve Crosno... A group called the Bobby Fuller Faux took center stage and blew the roof off the dump with a rockin' set of Bobby Fuller and Buddy Holly songs. A reunion of original Moon Pie members kept up the pace and volume. When their set ended at 11:00, I started making my way to the door. It was "hail fellow well met" from the bandstand to the parking lot. I wobbled and teetered in the crush of humanity. Mouths moved and I heard nothing, but I came away with a reassuring sense of belonging to the community to which I aspired all those years ago.

Zoomer Roberts
3 October 2008