The 23-year-old from Georgetown emerges as Texas’s answer to Olivia Rodrigo and—dare we say it?—T-Swift with his sophomore album, ‘Superache.’
The Texas gambler has been winning at poker for seventy years—long enough to become an icon and watch an outlaw’s game become an industry.
Trail of Dead was “the band that trashes everything.” But on its eleventh album, ‘XI: Bleed Here Now,’ it’s finally grown into the classic rock group it always wanted to be.
Wheal became a guru in the city’s self-optimization scene, hobnobbing with the likes of Elon Musk. But will anyone listen to his warnings about the movement that brought him renown?
From ‘Urban Cowboy’ to ‘Northern Exposure’ to ‘No Country for Old Men,’ Texas’s finest character actor isn’t hanging up his spurs just yet.
In his plainspoken, hilariously vivid vernacular, the Texas oilman constantly spun tales about good times and bad.
Nearly sixty years ago, Funk and twelve other women proved that they could be astronauts too. But they never got to walk on the moon.
In the late seventies, Ted Nugent (a.k.a. “the Nuge” or “Uncle Ted”) had the country’s biggest hard-rock touring act—a wild-ass blend of in-your-face energy, obscene language, and a well-placed loincloth. Now he’s the country’s biggest gun rights advocate—and all that’s changed is the loincloth.
All she did was walk into the bar, sit down, and smile. But I knew right away why, even at age fifty, Farrah Fawcett is still an angel.
His life was as short and sweet as his songs, but who was the Lubbock rocker whose influence over popular music will not fade away?
No kid ever had more fun with his favorite toy than Herb Kelleher has in running Southwest Airlines.
The L.A. life of a girl from Burleson (or, You can take Kelly Clarkson out of Texas . . .).
More Lenny Bruce than Jerry Seinfeld, Hicks wins fans by showing them his dark side.
Twenty-five years ago, in the wake of integration, he was the football star at my mostly white high school in Wichita Falls. Not much has gone right for him since.
A cool, brilliantly blue day in early February found me driving north from Austin on a sort of pilgrimage. I was going to see John Graves, the writer and gentleman farmer, now 73 years old, at his place on four hundred acres of rocky blackland prairie near Glen Rose.My visit
Who came first—Indiana Jones of Hollywood or Vendyl Jones of Arlington, the archaeologist who has spent years trying to dig up the fabled Ark of the Covenant?
The head of the Texas Film Commission hustles Hollywood movie-makers into putting more of Texas in the can.
You can take the girl out of East Texas, but you can’t take East Texas out of the girl.
Is she a “saccharine phony”? A closet liberal? A foot soldier—or a rebel—in the culture wars? The truth about Laura Bush is that her ambiguity makes her a model first lady: a blank screen upon which the public can project its own ideas about womanhood.
The moral of Tex Moncrief’s story: Father knew best.
He made his first million before many kids finish college. Less than a decade later, Michael Dell continues to confound conventional wisdom.
As a bitter family feud drags on, Electra Waggoner Biggs if fighting to keep her fortune—and her ranch—intact.
After spending her adolescence largely out of view (except for a few scrapes with restaurant and bar employees), presidential spawn Jenna Bush is emerging as a public person in her own right. But her return to private life can’t come soon enough.
His dreams. His fears. The truth about his love life. A candid chat with Texas’ most misunderstood sports hero.
Yes, yes, new baby and new movie— but what Matthew McConaughey really wants to talk about is the cushion of the flip-flop, the skooching of hoodie sleeves, the proper thickness of koozies, and his coming career as the arbiter of redneck-Buddha chic.
Our most iconic oil and gas man, lately a water marauder and now a celebrated windcatter, has saved himself a couple of times in his eighty glorious years. Who’s to say he can’t save America?
The fastest-growing church in the world. The biggest congregation this side of the Vatican. The highest ratings of any religious broadcaster. One of the best-selling religious books in years. Can Joel Osteen get an “Amen”?
You may never have heard of Ramón Ayala, but to his four generations of fans in South Texas and Mexico, he’s music royalty. He revolutionized norteño, a genre that reigns along the border, and—after more than one hundred albums—is still going strong.
America's notoriously needy readers certainly doand for the robust health of this publishing genre, they have Dallas in general and Phil McGraw's agent in particular to thank.
Never mind that he got kicked out of St. Mark’s and dropped out of UT, or that his line readings seem a little . . . off. Somehow, Owen Wilson is the kind of guy who gets movies made. And he gets $10 million a pop, dude.
Thomas Austin Preston, Jr.—a.k.a. Amarillo Slim—has cut cards with LBJ and hustled all manner of sharpies at pool and Ping-Pong. But at 74, his greatest success continues to be at the poker table, as my $100 and I found out.
Pat Green’s fans—and they are legion—love his songs about the joys of Luckenbach and Lone Star beer. His critics—also legion—think his lyrics are trite. But no matter how you feel about him, there’s no denying that he’s the hottest country music act in Texas. And that he has made the
Bob Phillips' passion for small-town oddities makes Texas Country Reporter as irresistible as a bookshop that doubles as a beauty parlor.
Like it says on her newly acquired bumper sticker, movie mogul Lynda Obst is “Texan By Choice.” But while you can take the girl out of Hollywood …
Dallas’ Sloane Simpson was a society queen who enchanted New York, seduced Mexico City, and turned Acapulco into a jet-set getaway. But when she died last year at age eighty, she was almost completely forgotten.
A year after Kris Kristofferson’s standout role in Lone Star, Hollywood is still marveling over his comeback. He is too. by Gary Cartwright
After playing for years in relative obscurity, 57-year-old Ronnie Dawson is the latest cult hero in the cultish world of rockabilly.
Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Jerry Jeff Walker—and now Junior Brown? The former community college teacher is the latest outlaw to hijack Texas country music, and he may be the greatest.
Crooning for Caddo Lake.
Once he raced cars; now he builds them. Even at 72, it seems, Carroll Shelby can’t slow down.
He invented the boneless breast and made his chicken a household name. But now his critics are out to roast him.
The survivor of a long and torturous journey, George Jones stands alone as the greatest country singer alive.
What’s eating Ann Richards? As her reelection campaign finally gets in high gear, the governor seems to be fighting a case of the mopes.
He’s a budget cutter in an era of consumption, a conservative Democrat in a party gone soft, a good ol’ boy with no polish or flash. So why is everyone buzzing about Texas comptroller John Sharp?
Stardom has caught up with Tommy Lee Jones—finally. But don’t expect him to act like he’s enjoying it.
For years he renounced his Texas ties. Now Larry McMurty is once again calling Archer City home.
With wit and grit, Amarillo-born photographer Mark Seliger persuades reluctant celebrities to show their true selves.
Houston’s favorite bouncer keeps the peace with style and a smile.
Haven’t heard of Geof Kern, Texas’ most famous photographer? You must live here.
Maybe not. But then again, the veteran Texas pol has never taken no for an answer.
