If the music dies, a vibrant Texas city may wither

Jet by Day is a rock band in its “tweener” phase, big enough to score gigs outside its hometown of Athens, Ga., not big enough to draw much of a crowd.

So two weeks ago, the band stuffed itself into a spartan van and set out for this Texas city to play a show that would last all of 45 minutes. A thousand miles later, the band landed at South by Southwest, a conference that showcases Austin’s storied devotion not just to music but specifically to live music: blues and bluegrass, country and rock, Zydeco and hip-hop.

“We didn’t think twice,” said Tom Naumann, Jet by Day drummer. “It’s still Austin.”

Like a modern Motown, the city is considered a cradle of independent music and has given scores of artists a ticket from garage-band obscurity to legitimacy. But many fear the city’s ability to nurture new music is -- like the economy -- weakening.

These days, the freshest face in the self-declared “live music capital of the world” isn’t that of a young blues prodigy or a music executive with a bead on undiscovered talent. It’s the cop on noise patrol.

Desperate to appease those who moved into Austin’s music district, then complained about the racket, city officials recently approved a noise ordinance. Standing outside clubs, using hand-held devices that resemble Geiger counters, police officers measure decibels and have become, many believe, the chief emblem of a city in serious trouble.

The entire nation is in an economic funk, of course, but in the long run, the soul of most cities will survive. Los Angeles will still bleed Hollywood glitz, even as California confronts a budget deficit of as much as $30 billion. But many believe Austin’s very image -- it’s very “capital of the world” catchphrase -- is falling apart.

Even as it puts on its easygoing bohemian face each morning, the city is spiraling into an economic pit. Rents that doubled in some areas during the dot.com boom never fell back to Earth. Clubs are shutting down at an alarming rate. Venues that have managed to survive have had to slash the fees they pay bands to perform live.

Musicians have always been willing to keep their day jobs, as the saying goes. Now there aren’t any of those either. Weeks ago, one homemaker decided to apply for a job as a $10-an-hour courier. He was shocked, when he arrived at the address listed on a classified ad, to find 200 others competing for the position.

Meanwhile, the city is weathering a maelstrom of internal conflicts. The noise ordinance has pitted musicians against residents, and a looming budget deficit has caused officials to consider cutting off funding of the city’s unique 24-hour local music television network.

“If this keeps up,” said Pat Dixon, 39, an engineer and the chairman of the local Libertarian Party, “the whole thing is just going to dry up and blow away.”

For music lovers, the stakes are large. The city prides itself on its prescient ear for talent and has long been willing to take chances on artists no one else would pay attention to: ‘60s icon Janis Joplin, blues magician Stevie Ray Vaughan, Grammy Award-winner Shawn Colvin.

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‘Just real sad’

But with the economy in the tank, clubs say they can no longer afford to take a chance on an unproven act that doesn’t guarantee a decent showing of audience members. Many fear that the city’s famed musical farm system could collapse.

“It’s sad. Just really sad,” said Patricia “Ash” Corea, 54, who recently shuttered her live music club, the Empanada Parlour, after a noise dispute with a nearby hotel. “What I say might seem jaundiced, but I don’t think it is. It’s the truth. I hate to see this happen.”

The city is home to 1,500 bands, the PBS television show “Austin City Limits” and a community of live-music venues that some industry insiders estimate at more than 140. Twelve years ago, officials discovered that it offered more live venues per capita than other musical hotbeds, including Nashville, Los Angeles and New York. Gleefully, one city official proposed that the city pitch itself as the “live music capital of the universe.” The city decided to tone it down, but not by much. In 1991, it officially became -- at least in its own eyes -- the “live music capital of the world.”

At the same time, high-tech companies discovered its vibrant community -- and its relatively low wages and skilled workforce -- and descended in droves. The population rose more than 40% in the 1990s to over 650,000, largely because of an explosion of new software companies. Many newcomers were flush with wealth, and prices rose, making it the only large Texas city with a cost-of-living index higher than the national average.

When the economy took a dramatic turn, residents began spending less on entertainment -- including cover charges they were willing to pay to see live bands. The city’s economy degenerated into concentric circles and vicious cycles.

Aspiring musicians can’t get gigs and can’t develop into better bands, even while club owners say there aren’t enough talented musicians left who draw large crowds. And while musicians have fewer gigs to play, their pay is dropping rapidly. Struggling clubs have changed the method they use to pay bands, switching from up-front guarantees to giving bands a percentage of cover charges audience members pay.

Many musicians now report earning $10 at many weeknight gigs.

Annoyance over the city’s treatment of a purportedly cherished music scene boiled over when police here gave a ticket to a local legend of sorts. For 14 years, Gerry Van King has been playing bass through a small amplifier outside a club called Jazz -- with the club’s encouragement. Police said Van King did not have a permit to play live music outdoors.

“Goodbye, Austin, live music capital of the world. Hello, Austin Inc.,” one reader wrote in a letter to the editor of the Austin American Statesman.

Compounding a soured relationship between City Hall and the music community, Mayor Gus Garcia, citing the need to protect public health, has proposed an anti-smoking ordinance. The ordinance would ban smoking in restaurants, bars and most music venues, and some fear it will further hurt business.

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Steps to save the industry

Others believe, however, that city leaders are doing the best they can under difficult circumstances. And the city is has embarked on a series of unusual steps to save the industry.

The Austin Music Foundation has launched a “boot camp” to make musicians a more professional group, teaching them everything from marketing to the proper way to file taxes as self-employed artists. Another organization gave three bands $15,000 to record, produce, distribute and market an album with the assistance of 10 local industry mentors.

“Our leaders really believe that if our culture is vibrant, it will stimulate economic growth,” said Wendy Morgan, 33, a city-paid official liaison between the music community and City Hall. “There are some things government just can’t do. They can’t make the rent any cheaper. But they do an awful lot. The economy and the music business, they ebb and they flow. We’re just ebbing right now. It’s tough for everybody.”

Recently on Sixth Street, during the South by Southwest festival and conference, this didn’t look like a city in trouble. As 1,000 bands circulated among dozens of stages, both outdoor and inside, thousands of hipsters with pierced body parts, tattoos and buying power cruised the streets. Many swapped bootleg recordings and tips on hot bands.

At Stubb’s, the clock ticked past midnight, and no one cared -- which is just how they like it here. The crowd winced with collective pleasure as Nashville country rocker Buddy Miller, a baseball cap tamping down his white mane, deftly bent a note on his guitar’s B string.

“I don’t know why everybody says this place is going down the tubes,” said festival-goer Amy Ellis, 28. “Look around.”

Dixon doesn’t see such a rosy picture; he says this city could soon commit what many locals call the ultimate sin: being “like every other city.”

“You will still see some major acts come into town and play the big venues once in a while,” he said. “It’s the indigenous music that will suffer. The smaller clubs, they’ll just disappear.”