Song written 1990. Performed above in 2013, Austin.
2005 Austin article on Rick Broussard and his drug use and clean-up:
https://michaelcorcoran.substack.com/p/rick-broussard-shadow-man-jumps-into
2005 Austin article on Rick Broussard and his drug use and clean-up:
https://michaelcorcoran.substack.com/p/rick-broussard-shadow-man-jumps-into
I'd
been a regular at the Monday night Two Hoots shows at the Black Cat
Lounge on 6th Street from about 1989 thru the early '90s. I always went
with my friend Jerry, whom I worked with at the university library. In
'94-'95, I moved to San Francisco to get my Master's, and during the
same time, Jerry got his Master's in Library Science and then moved back
to his hometown of San Antonio. When I moved back to Austin in 1996,
there was no one left for me to hang out with. Aside from Jerry, my
other 5 or so close friends had all gotten married and either moved to
small towns outside of Austin or to Seattle or someplace. My close
writer friend Brian (who shared my birthdate and with whom I'd been
putting out a lit magazine in Austin and attending a regular writers'
group with every 2 weeks for 2 years before I left for SF) got accepted
to the writers' program at Johns Hopkins and moved to Baltimore. I was
completely alone. To this day, I consider 1996 thru 2000 to be my
godforsaken "lost years"---I'd lost every single personal connection and
was desperately, unsuccessfully trying to fill the vacuum.
During this bad period, I tried to re-create the earlier good times I'd had at the Black Cat seeing Rick Broussard and Two Hoots by trying to find Rick's current shows. Usually at the Saxon Pub on S. Lamar. I think he had a regular gig there on Sunday nights. Only this time I didn't have Jerry there as a buffer. So I'd go and sit and drink by myself. Sometimes strange guys would come sit down and I'd chat with them. But I'd always "dump" them if Rick happened to come over to my table.
A few weird incidents: One time I ran into Rick outside the club---we started out chatting amicably, and he literally "bent down to tie the laces of my shoe," which I found incredibly romantic. But then, in the course of chit-chat, I asked him why he'd broken up with his latest girlfriend: "We were in LOVE!" he said angrily, and then left me in the parking lot.
During this bad period, I tried to re-create the earlier good times I'd had at the Black Cat seeing Rick Broussard and Two Hoots by trying to find Rick's current shows. Usually at the Saxon Pub on S. Lamar. I think he had a regular gig there on Sunday nights. Only this time I didn't have Jerry there as a buffer. So I'd go and sit and drink by myself. Sometimes strange guys would come sit down and I'd chat with them. But I'd always "dump" them if Rick happened to come over to my table.
A few weird incidents: One time I ran into Rick outside the club---we started out chatting amicably, and he literally "bent down to tie the laces of my shoe," which I found incredibly romantic. But then, in the course of chit-chat, I asked him why he'd broken up with his latest girlfriend: "We were in LOVE!" he said angrily, and then left me in the parking lot.
Other encounters:
I once sat outside the Saxon Pub mens' room waiting for him to come out. He sneered at me as he exited and walked past me.
Another time, Rick invited me over to a place that he shared with another musician. While we were all hanging out in the living room, Rick disappeared into the bedroom, leaving me to chat with the roommate. At one point, Rick came out and said to me, "Are you going to come in here?" but I shook my head no. (He was known to do heroin, and I was afraid of that.) I kept talking to the roommate for a while, and then went home.
On the night that Princess Diana died (8/31/97), I was making copies of tapes of Rick's appearances on Austin cable TV to give to him per his request. (During a pause in the taping, I found out what had happened and stopped the taping.) During this same period, he once asked me to go driving with him, but then called to cancel.
Another time, Rick invited me over to a place that he shared with another musician. While we were all hanging out in the living room, Rick disappeared into the bedroom, leaving me to chat with the roommate. At one point, Rick came out and said to me, "Are you going to come in here?" but I shook my head no. (He was known to do heroin, and I was afraid of that.) I kept talking to the roommate for a while, and then went home.
On the night that Princess Diana died (8/31/97), I was making copies of tapes of Rick's appearances on Austin cable TV to give to him per his request. (During a pause in the taping, I found out what had happened and stopped the taping.) During this same period, he once asked me to go driving with him, but then called to cancel.
The worst 5 years of my life. Just partially because of Broussard. I couldn't find a regular job, and I was still trying to get over my ex-girlfriend (breakup: 1991) and contacting her, occasionally seeing her with unsatisfactory results. While also trying to hang on to the memory of good
times watching Rick perform at the Black Cat in earlier
years, trailing him around his current shows like a groupie and throwing myself at him, desperate for some, any deep human connection not forthcoming. For some reason, I thought that because I loved his music, that he and I might connect... Nah, just some weird, random stuff.
I've long since gotten over my groupie-dom, and have long gotten used to being alone. I still love his music, though! :) Our few personal encounters were so surface, they're just anecdotal, not deeply hurtful---only indicative of that ugly time period when nothing went right, despite the most sincere of hopes and needs. One disturbed person seeking comfort in another disturbed person, to no avail.
Rick ended up marrying a well-balanced girl who worked at my very publishing company! Cuter, nicer, and with much better vintage clothes.
I've long since gotten over my groupie-dom, and have long gotten used to being alone. I still love his music, though! :) Our few personal encounters were so surface, they're just anecdotal, not deeply hurtful---only indicative of that ugly time period when nothing went right, despite the most sincere of hopes and needs. One disturbed person seeking comfort in another disturbed person, to no avail.
Rick ended up marrying a well-balanced girl who worked at my very publishing company! Cuter, nicer, and with much better vintage clothes.
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