by Christopher Hess

Does it seem quieter out there to you?

Maybe not quieter, but definitely different. More subdued. Hesitant, almost, as if the whole town is sort of holding its breath, sure that something is about to happen, knowing that all there is to do is wait.

Me, I've been spending a lot of time at home. Watching a lot of movies, hanging out with my girlfriend and my dogs, getting acclimated to the slower pace that all things inevitably shift into during the summer months in Texas. And it ain't all bad, this slowing up, once you get used to it. The proliferation of time-saving technology and devices has created so much more work for the average shlub that during any day there is no down time. What, read a _book_? OK, but only if I can listen to the news on the radio, return a list of phone calls and eat dinner all at once. One thing at a time is simply not enough to do anymore. But, if you want to keep up, you gotta do it, right?

Not during the summer. Screw it, let 'em get ahead. It's too damn hot outside. So maybe the huge changes that have descended on the face of the Austin music scene with all the gentility of plastic surgery performed with a baseball bat have come at a good time. Though it's premature and uninformed to call the morgue to cart away the gasping body of live pop and rock music, it's getting close to too late to notice that things are changing in a way that a lot of people don't like.

Over the seven-odd years I've spent in Austin, the vast majority of my evening hours (and a good number of the daytime, too) have been spent in music venues, watching bands. I went pretty much everywhere and saw a whole lot of what there was to see at one point or another. It was just what I did -- I couldn't think of a better way to spend my nights than being on the receiving end of someone's version of what rock music was supposed to be about. Time spent trudging through the clubs and the record stores and the music media of Austin opened my eyes to a world whose depth I had not previously imagined and introduced me to people and to music that will stay with me for the rest of my life.

When the Electric Lounge, the small and beautifully divey rock club next to the railroad tracks at 4th and Bowie, closed its doors in the spring of this year, a big chunk of that world disappeared. It was my favorite place. Away from downtown parking nightmares and close enough to stumble home, the Electric Lounge was always the place I wanted bands to play. Likewise for Liberty Lunch -- if a band was too big for the Lounge, the Lunch was next in line. It too had easy parking and was just the other side of the river from the Lounge. Now that's gone as well. It'll be relocated, sure, and hopes are high for the partnership with Stubb's, but it won't be the same old warehouse with the uneven floor and history of sound ringing through the air.

And that's not all. This year, for the first time in many years, there was no jazz festival in June. There was one, the brand new Austin Music Festival put on by the folks at the Mercury, that took place over two days at Antone's and at the Backyard. The lineups were great, but attendance was poor. At the very least, though, the event gained the confidence of some top-notch jazz artists for its vision and effort, and we can look forward to it being bigger and better next year. The other June jazz fest, the one put on by DiverseArts, is happening this month. This whole issue is dedicated to it, so I won't dwell on it here, but suffice it to say that the rosters are impressive, and the shows -- both the evening touring acts and the massive gathering of local talent over the weekend in the park -- have the potential for greatness.

So, it's not that there's no music happening. On the contrary, the music scene in this town keeps chugging along, producing increasingly high-profile pop stars and an underground rock scene that refuses to die despite losing its own Lunch and Lounge in the form of The Blue Flame and Bates Motel, two rat-hole punk clubs that were of utmost importance in giving bands who could not yet get gigs at Emo's or the E-Lounge or Stubb's stage time and a chance to win fans. It all keeps going, regardless of measures taken by city council to stop it or development interests aimed at the new money of the high-tech insurgence. Just look at what's happening to Steamboat now, the venerable rock club on 6th Street -- one of the last ones down there, if anyone's keeping count. They're getting the boot to make way for a more profitable use of the space, which will be severely renovated. They too will relocate, but it's a sign of the changing face of this town.

But, hey, clubs close, bands break up, and entire thriving sub-scenes can disappear without explanation or warning. It happens all the time, and it shouldn't be a shock to anyone who pays attention. Why, then, does this seem like such a big deal? Perhaps because the changes taking place are on such a massive scale that it's altering the look and feel of Austin that are so intrinsic to its appeal -- namely, that this is a city that feels like a small town largely because of its Liberty Lunches and its Steamboats and its sweltering summer music festivals.

When it comes down to it, though, I suppose it's a change happening on a smaller scale -- namely, me. I've hit 30. I enjoy waking up early on a Sunday morning without a hangover, or spending a Friday night having dinner with a few friends without having to rush off to a club to see a band. The turtle's pace of the dog days, at least for now, is suiting me just fine. Besides, the music will still be there when I change my mind.