Tex Beaumont: One-Eyed Jacks (Heartbreak)
A Beaumont native who moves in L.A. poetry circles, this singer-songwriter is reminiscent of Townes Van Zandt in the ambitiousness of his lyrics. "Poor Girl's Elvis, Poor Man's Marilyn Monroe" may be a little too self-consciously Americana, but it's bound to be a hit with the "Road Goes On Forever" crowd. Beaumont has an appealingly weather-beaten voice, and his music has enough surge to put it a notch above the usual singer-songwriter fare.

Clint Black: Nothin' But the Taillights (RCA)
Interesting. This is the closest thing to a substantive Clint Black album in about seven years. Oh, sure he still does his fair share of schlock ("That Something In My Life"), and "Still Holding On" is a pretty vapid singalong--but the title track has real meat to it, and "Our Kind Of Love" (where he's joined by Alison Krauss and Union Station) has the kind of country soul he plied often in his early days. Overall, it's a patchy effort, but it suggests that Black can still deliver the real deal when he wants to. So here's hoping he wants to a little more often in the future.

Damnations: Live Set (Damnations)
This mostly-acoustic spinoff of Austin's Prescott Curlywolf runs on equal parts inspiration and gumption. The Damnations are the alternative to alternative-country, going way back for traditional tunes like "Copper Kettle" and forward for a fomp through Lucinda Williams' "Happy Woman Blues." They also write impressively traditional/progressive originals. This CD--pressed in a limited edition for sale off the bandstand--is lean, clean and to the point, and more infectious than most of the other twang bands combined. Credit, especially, sisters Amy Boone and Deborah Kelly, who are good lead singers and great harmony singers.

Jon Dee Graham: Escape From Monster Island (Freedom)
For years the ultimate sideman, in Austin and L.A., Jon Dee on his own sounds like a Tom Waits with roots. His music has the timeless feel and dusty grit of South Texas (he hails from Eagle Pass), while his sentiments have more of a big city edge to them. His vocals are so rough and amateurish they often verge on a bray. But they're haunting, impossible to shake out of your head, too; he sounds like a mature man, singing mature songs. He doesn't rock here as hard as he can, but Escape is about something deeper than rocking out.

Homer Henderson: Live from the City of Hate (Honey)
It crawled out of the garage. The very farthest, darkest corner of the garage. And then it slinked into a bar on the Jacksboro Highway, stayed well past closing time, and decided to take up residence there. Not exactly rock (though he hustles through Roy Orbison's "Go Go Go" like a dog in heat), not exactly country (though "Pyramid of Cans" turns country on its head), not exactly blues (though "Kind of Lonesome" and "I'm the Man Down There" might make Jimmy Reed sweat in his grave), this Dallas native's music is a willfully trashy version of the sound of juke joint Texas, a sound that defies a single genre by embracing them all. And of course a Henderson original like "Lee Harvey Oswald Was a Friend of Mine" does a little defying and embracing of its own. Kinky Friedman wishes he could make this record.

Los Hermanos Farias: Pura Tropa F Energy, Vol. 1 (Hacienda)
These '80s sides are by the band known today as La Tropa F. At the time of these recordings, they were known as Los Hermanos Farias. From the little I'd heard before this, I always thought that the band was pretty ordinary until changing its name and beefing its style up into something a little punchier in the '90s. Though not quite as distinctive as the band's music today, these jaunty sides have a bit of flair in their own right. This music is infectious, has drive and bounce; the harmonies are superb.

Frankie Lee: The Ladies and the Babies (HMG)
This is the reissue of a 1984 LP by a Mart singer whose cousin was Johnny "Guitar" Watson. Lee sang in the soul-blues vein, and was maybe a little too smooth for his own good. He can bring a hard-luck story to life ("It's Cold Out Here"), but most of the time he has a way of merging into the arrangement and almost disappearing.

Thomas Shaw: Born in Texas (Testament)
Here's a blues curiosity. Thomas Shaw was born in Brenham in 1908 and left home in 1926 to play around the state with people like Blind Lemon Jefferson, J.T. "Funny Papa" Smith, Henry Thomas (whose fascinating music predates blues), Blind Willie Johnson and other Lone Star country bluesmen. In 1934, he moved to San Diego, California, with his second wife, and appeared on border radio. But he never recorded until the first version of this album was released in 1972, after Shaw was "discovered" by a San Diego record store owner. His full-throttle vocals are vaguely reminiscent of a more aggressive Henry Thomas, but Shaw's cry is all his own. As a guitarist, he has a harsh, jagged style that is pure Texas (think Lightin' Hopkins). Shaw died in 1977, and this record (the CD adds eight tracks to the original eleven-cut vinyl release) is all that exists of his music.

Stevie Ray Vaughan: Live from Carnegie Hall (Epic)
From the opening lick of the opening track, "Scuttlebuttin'," this is Stevie Ray at his most slam-bang. Vaughan was still largely unknown outside Texas when he played Carnegie Hall on October 4, 1984. The concert thus marked his dive into the upper echelons of rock, and he played his move like a high-roller--bringing along the Roomful of Blues horns, Dr. John, Angela Strehli, and bro Jimmie, and concentrating on material from his blues idols. Hence, in addition to the usuals ("Pride and Joy"), this set includes rough gems like Guitar Slim's "Letter to My Girlfriend." It ain't exactly blues, but it's rough and ready and catches Stevie when he was still a wide-eyed manchild for whom all things seemed possible.

You can email me atjmorth@flash.net. Send promo records and press releases to me at 1813-B Drake Ave., Austin, TX 78704.