As all of us T-town residents know, Tucson cares. I moved here from Brooklyn four years ago, after nearly a decade of touring the states as a musician. The perpetual travel of my 20s gave me the rather unique experience of getting to know every nook and corner of our country, coast to coast, border to border.

But in looking to live somewhere a bit more in line with my concept of home than the incessant hustle of New York City, I chose Tucson. It was an easy decision. This town hits on all levels. The quality of art and music is astounding. The natural beauty that surrounds us is both stunning and humbling. The culture is rich. And, more than anything, Tucson is home to the most compassionate and supportive musicians  I've ever experienced.
But this story is not about my love for Tucson. It's about a wonderful man, musician, and member of our community named Travis Ray Dent, Travi Ray to us. And, right now, he needs all the support and compassion we can muster.

I met Travis a year ago when Rey Murphy invited us to join a new band he was putting together called Street Blues Family. In the short time I have known Travis, he has become a dear friend, the sort you would do anything for. Travis is a radiant person. He has worked through and risen above some of the most difficult challenges anyone could imagine facing. He overflows with kindness, energy, love, and an excitement to create art and add a depth of richness to our musical community. He plays piano like none other, cascades of effortless melody flow through his hands. The calm, peace, and joy he exudes behind the keys is undeniable to anyone lucky enough to see him play.

Given the compassion of our community, it comes as no surprise that when hard times fall upon a local musician, Tucson represents. Travis has recently been faced with such times. As a result of a head injury and the concussion it caused, he spent a night in the ER at UMC last week. Rey Murphy and the entirety of the Street Blues Family came together to be Travis' advocates, staying at his side 24/7 and making sure the hospital conducted all scans and tests necessary. In a country with a healthcare system as difficult to navigate (and afford) as ours, many without such advocacy and support can fall through the cracks, causing the spiral of debt and hardship we all know too well.
Thankfully, the tests and scans showed that no permanent physical brain damage was caused by the head injury. But Travis' mental and emotional state has been compromised to the point that further medical and psychiatric care is necessary, in-patient treatment in the hope of ensuring his full recovery. Unfortunately, Travis does not currently have medical insurance. We have enrolled him in Obamacare, but the insurance plan will not become effective until Feb. 1. This means that none of the exorbitant medical costs incurred before that date will be covered.

So as his friends and family we took action, and Tucson followed. Within a day of Travis' hospital visit, Tucson musicians, artists, and community members started organizing a benefit and funding campaign to help cover Travis' immediate and eventual medical expenses. The Rialto Theatre Foundation offered their venue 191 Toole to host a benefit show on Saturday, Jan. 21 at 8 p.m. Howe Gelb, Joey Burns and Calexico (via video from overseas), Steff Koeppen, Louise Le Hir and Annie Dolan, myself, and of course the Street Blues Family instantly jumped on board as performers for the event. And, with his trademark blend of wit, lyricism, and empathy, Howe proposed we end the benefit evening with a one-off collaborative performance of everyone involved, aptly named the "Affordable Care Act" ("act" as in a band and everything else the word's otherly meaning and political statement connotes).

Beyond those who can attend, many other artists from the community have donated autographed, collectible vinyl, CDs, tapes, art and anything else they could come up with to sell at the benefit and add their support to the cause. Here are just a few of those who have already donated their work: Sergio Mendoza of Calexico and Orkesta Mendoza, Dimitri Manos of Goldenboots, Carlos Arzate, and Brian Lopez and Gabriel Sullivan of XIXA. I have thrown in a beautiful old Spanish guitar that everyone involved will autograph. We will have this guitar at the benefit, though will probably auction it off internationally for the widest reach possible. And if anyone would like to donate anything else to lend support, please contact me directly at [email protected].

There is also a GoFundMe campaign for Travis' medical expenses here. We'll also be pursuing grants and funds from musicians' health alliances and foundations such as Sweet Relief and Tucson Artist's and Musician's Healthcare Alliance (TAMHA).

Lastly, thanks to the many other community members who have graciously lent their services and talents to this cause: Craig Schumacher of Wavelab Studios, Matt Milner and Duncan Hudson at KXCI, David Slutes of Hotel Congress and TAMHA, Rodger Cloud of Cloud Microphones, Brian
Smith of the Tucson Weekly, Dan Hernandez of 191 Toole, The Folk Shop ... there are too many to list.

Seeing this outpouring of support from our community warms my heart. Tucson truly does care for its artists, and that's why we're all here.

At 191 Toole, 191 Toole Ave., this Saturday, Jan. 21. 8 p.m.. $15-$20. All ages.

Performers:
• Howe Gelb solo acoustic
• A solo acoustic video performance by Joey Burns of Calexico, as well as a message of support from the band via video overseas.
• Street Blues Family
• Steff Koeppen (of Steff and The Articles)
• Joe Novelli (of Orkesta Mendoza, Street Blues Family, The Cloud Walls, Marvin and the Cloud Wall, Nive and the Deer Children, Etc.)
• Louise Le Hir and Annie Dolan
• More to be announced.
• PLUS a one-time collaborative performance to end the evening including all musicians on the bill, aptly entitled "The Affordable Care Act"

In addition, collectible, autographed items donated by other local artists like Orkesta Mendoza, Goldenboots, Carlos Arzate, Brian Lopez and Gabriel Sullivan of XIXA, and others will be available for purchase at the benefit through donation.

Lando Chill's latest video is a sweet and temperate tour of Northern Arizona (Winslow, Flagstaff, and Kaibab National Forest), full of lover's joy (Chill and Laísa Laiia), without any dreaded maudlin overtones. The tune and video each effortlessly balance gentle flow and wide-eyed optimism for a deep appreciation of being alive, and unalone. Kudos to directors Malcolm Critcher and Symeon Platts for capturing the beauty. Also, it's a nice respite from the upcoming presidential inauguration where that old orange-pigmented mook gets his hideous day.  

The first thing you do when you hear the late great Allen Toussant’s take "St. James Infirmary" is at the first imprint of sound consider the amount of times this anonymous standard has been recorded, much less played in a dormant piano bar by a pair of hands that feel its languishing generosity. 

And now, the slow tap dance is moving with a handclap and you’re inside of it: the restrained piano that fingers the keys, then loves them in full honor of both song and instrument, trading space with the acoustic guitar, and bending the strings with such passion where not one note is wasted, nor a single lyric sung, free of his classic horn charts that through the decades made so many seminal albums great. Here on the Bright Mississippi, released well after Katrina, in 2009, the river that gives and takes equally from its people. A land that could only raise an artistry, in all things beautiful and impoverished, this, the majesty of Louisiana, and of Allen Toussaint.

Oye pendejos, homeboy Sergio Mendoza recently received mad props in Rolling Stone's 10 Best Latin Albums of 2016 making the list not once—first for Orkesta Mendoza’s ¡Vamos A Guarachar! a vibrant album that captures a rich array of Latin styles—but twice, for Mexrrissey’s No Manchester, M.I.S.'s Camilo Lara and Sergio Mendoza’s genre-crossing Mariachi imbued tribute to Morrissey. So hipsters, no mamen, wipe the condensation off those Warby Parker’s so as to get a clear view and recognize el mero, mero chingon!

Cole and his commotions pierce your scalp. As you turn on your side, ancient Indian arrowheads. Hot water filling ears, tub, and the one one-room tenement flat steam, a rusting locomotive engine breeze. Battling ice for window space, melting into cracked wood finish, Finished, you imagine, by blonde-on-blonde Scandinavian immigrants. Clear as winter ice. Performing now on your left, just behind the rotting sofa, is the radiator. Spitting, bleating, and dripping as you hover over it like a saint. "What child is this who laid to rest on Mary's lap is sleeping..."

Christmas, 1963: Man, she had tinsel on her brain. Waiting outside in a peacoat for her grandparents to arrive. In a one-horse open sleigh, or was it a Pontiac? Yeah, must'a been a Pontiac 'cause it didn't snow that Christmas. Matter of fact, it hardly ever snowed in Tucson.

Just another morning. The details of your insanity. The soundtrack of a waking city bangs upon your windowpane. A fine mist now covers the room as sweatshirt and panties drop to the chewed-puke green rug. "Whom angels greet with anthems sweet while shepherds watch are keeping ..."

Christmas, 1967: The family room was a switchboard yard. Southern Pacific train set careening down the tracks. The dog his under the bed while the cat made frequent attacks on the orange boxcars. Grandfather sunk in Nostalgia. Reminder of his years spent slaving for the railroads. He almost smiled and would call her by her Christian name. Those were gifts that could never be bought.

A finger, a foot, and finally your entire body disintegrates into rising waters form. Slow, deep breath. Your skin, white as bone, immersed in the flood. Nipples, buttocks, freckles, and pubic mound. Laid to rest in moors and in the briars. Caressing yourself. Still alive at 25. So fluid and warm. Molds, animal fat, and fragrance No. 5. Oceanic sleeping in a ceramic pot. "So bring him incense, gold and myrrh; come rich and poor to own him..."

Christmas, 1969: Rich aromas of baking and falter's pipe tobacco filled the kitchen. Her mother spun Crosby and Como. Grandparents watched kids unravel gifts like spools of thread. BB guns and baseball mitts for her brothers. A huge box marked "North Pole" sat off in the corner. The one with three separate booklets of directions in hieroglyphics. Took five sets of batteries, not included, and seemed to possess a mind of its own. Took a class-four operator's license to start, and could only be used under adult supervision. Which was OK because Dad was the only one who would ever play with it from that day forward. It whirred, sputtered, and then ignited before exploding into a thousand pieces, encasing the entire area in a haze of blue smoke and sea of lights.

You force yourself out of the tub and dry off next to the oven. Cracking paint and peeling last shreds of wallpaper. Ships and lighthouse give way to unforgiving white walls. You shrug, light a cigarette, and dress quickly. Dress warmly and wonder in mom would approve. The salt thrown on the streets has eaten away at your cowboy boots. But you put them on just the same and swear they've shrunk another inch. "The king of kings salvation brings; let loving hearts enthrone him ..."

Christmas, 1971: The odor of candle wax like an unsettled stomach. A statue on the pew. She sat still and alone as stone. Watching imagined snowflakes drift about the beautiful wooden church. Her grandmother blanketed in a huge white quilt. She thought about magic and how at midnight the animals would talk.

You glance in the mirror and slowly a face takes place. Put on water for morning's coffee and another smoke. You lose yourself for a moment in reflections. The midnights spent at the uptown bar and the Seventh Street entry, and finally to last Tuesday, and of the player you took home. So pretty, throw a lock on the door, and descend the dirty staircase leading down and out into another wasted day. "This, this is Christ the king, whom shepherds guard and angels sing.."

Christmas, 1973: Every Christmas day once upon a time. All her relatives gathered at the old house. Women damp with perfume and men with bourbon's breath. Children. Sweet guarantors of one more year's prosperity. Dinner was served complete with each family's endless crusades and picket signs. She called it carving through Cambodia. Secretly, she fed scraps of turkey and pumpkin pie to her dog under the table. After the meal she surprised everyone by sneaking off behind the Christmas tree, quietly sobbing as the light slowly drained from the sky.

"Haste, haste to bring laud, the babe the son of Mary..."

The day slips like a snake onto your shadowed soul. Wind freezing down and the snow tastes of tin. Plodding through top layers of last night's drop. You are surrounded by grey-green buildings where no one seems to live. Veering to the right off Ninth Street, you skid and slide down Hennepin like a bobsled, leaving rails of blacktop exposed. You need someone with a memory. Manholes exhale brown sweat steam, creating layers of colored bulbs blinking and flashing through the mist. A drag queen in red leotards brushes up against you, wishing you a Merry Christmas. The area is run down and you think to yourself that Santa Claus better have a machine gun.

A police car is stopped in the middle of the street outside the pool hall. You shake your hips and pretend not to notice their leering smiles and beady blue eyes. It's starting to snow again as you continue south towards the bridge. Face red and chapped, you peer through eyes that take in each leafless branch bent with snow. An empty car lot is covered with pure, clean, glistening white powder. You pass shops and topless bars where sound pours into the streets from God's ghetto blaster... "Have a Kung-Fu Christmas." The horizon fills with steeples and smokestacks, while the ornaments of nature charge each moment and provide crisp silence. Crowds sway and fall away into snowbanks which hold the face of this earth with frozen discipline. The river is breathing smoke, and you hardly notice an Indian glaciated on a stoop, lips pursed to a bottle of wine. You fight to light up a last wet cig-arette. A different kind of poverty. The wind knifes along the bridge as you step onto it. Beneath you runs the great Mississippi, brown and flowing with chunks of ice and sludge, deep and tranquil... You should have called your parents to let them know their daughter won't be home for Christmas, but you feel so disconnected. All around you the twilight ignites and the entire world is rimmed with frost...

If you’re seeking an artistically inspired way to end 2016, look no further than Decadence on New Year's Eve and the night before. Featuring all electronic artists spanning a wide array of genres and styles, Decadence goes down at the Rawhide Western Town and Event Center in Chandler, AZ.
A lineup star is Porter Robinson, a very young dude who has reimagined his sound and created an album that delivers a truly inexplicable experience. I saw Porter twice recently and both sets were extremely memorable, and not merely re-hashes of other artists' sounds.

A common EDM criticism is it isn’t poetic enough to allow individual interpretations; where as with, rock and folk songs many people relate to the lyrics on their own terms and thus have a relationship with the music only they can fully understand. Robinson creates in his live sets, and in the music itself, a kind of personal experience for each of his listeners; he manages to hit on emotional levels. Unlike most DJs, his music takes you on a journey visually and melodically, if you pay attention. Robinson is inspired by modern Japanese culture and blends tweaked anime vocal samples and beautiful animation. The effect is like a psychic rollercoaster that hits soaring peaks of joy and plummets to lows of sadness.

For those who dig the more typical, communal experience of the EDM scene, Marshmello is also playing a set. A spin-off of Deadmau5 (who is also headlining), Marshmello sports an LED marshmallow helmet and wears all white. His music has a lot of sugary synths and “mellow” rhythms that bring out the little kid in you. The hip-hop inspired beats are easy to dance to and he welcomes all to just let loose and join his "mellogang.” His messages of family, community and acceptance spread wide over his listeners as we dance together in circles and freely hug one another.

Just as Daft Punk and Deadmau5 once did, Marshmello conceals his identity and tries hard to keep it a secret in order to embody his messianic-y message that we are all Marshmello. He’s also suggesting anyone can be successful at something they love. One of his newest tracks, "Alone,” tells the story of how lonely he felt when he first left his hometown, and everyone he knew, to head out on tour. Marshmello eventually realized he wasn’t alone because he had all of his family with him. His family, of course, is us. See?

In a world where status and wealth divide us, Decadence strives to bring us together for a night of celebration, creative visuals and dance. It seeks to kick off 2017 in a joyous way. Friday and Saturday, Dec. 30-31 at the Rawhide Event Center, 5700 W North Loop Rd., Chandler, Ariz. 5 p.m. each day. 18+. For more info, go to decadencearizona.com.

Producer and programmer Eremsy considers what he does as "Cliché SoundCloud rap type stuff. Not too serious." You can see Eremsy preform on Dec. 18 at R Bar and can listen to his music on SoundCloud.

What was the first concert you attended?
It was Wiz Khalifa at the AVA Amphitheater. I had lawn tickets and it was me and my cousin and we were decked out in Jordan gear, so this guy walks up to us just because we were wearing Jordan gear and he was like, "Do you guys want to sit closer?" so he offered us seats in VIP. It was pretty awesome.

What was the first album you owned?
It was Webbie's Savage Life. When I was young, I would always be watching MTV at my grandmas house and I'd see his videos. I had my dad buy it for me at Best Buy because I was too young to buy it.

What are you listening to these days?
A lot of SoundCloud, a lot of Max B lately. Yeah, a lot of SoundCloud producers and rappers.

What artist, genre or musical trend does everyone seem to love, but you just don't get?
Country. Still till this day I don't understand.

What musical act, current or defunct, would you most like to see perform live?
Honestly Tupac and like Ramón Ayala, honestly.

What is your favorite guilty pleasure?
I don't know what genre I would put it under, but its this guy named Madeon and its kinda EDM-ish—like dubstep sounding. I listen to it on my own time, never in front of people because people perceive me as just listening to gangsta rap and stuff.

What song would you like to have played at your funeral?
Probably "Never Had a Friend Like Me" by Tupac. Its a good one.

What artist changed your life and how?
I would say Kid Cudi. He was pretty much all I listened to in middle school, all his early stuff. His first mixtape [A Kid Named Cudi], Man on the Moon and stuff like that.

Figurative gun to your head, what is your favorite album of all time?
Kid A by Radiohead. That's my favorite album of all time, I would say. I can always go back to it and hear new things on it. It never gets old. 

Nobody weaves working peoples’ stories into song with as much empathy and care as Don “Doop” Duprie, a fireman from the industrial town of River Rouge, Mich. “The Corridor,” the title track off his 2016 album, is both an elegy for the eponymous neighborhood in central Detroit where the song takes place (a place whose gritty beauty and alcoholic splendor has been supplanted by the construction of a new Red Wings arena), as well as a character study with tragic dimensions. 

Narrated from the point of view of a sex worker navigating the South Cass Corridor, the song offers a novelistic portrait of lives on the edge of disaster, while also affirming the necessity of community during threadbare times. Listening to this track is like taking a master class in American songwriting. To vividly evoke setting, character, and social context in the space of a three-minute song is no small feat. Doop achieves this effortlessly time and again. “The Corridor” is an enviably well-wrought song by one of America’s truly essential voices.


For more Cal Freeman on the wholly underrated Don Duprie, go to the Museum of Americana here.

Tucson rapper and producer Sui Blue considers himself a listener more then anything. "That's pretty much what it come down to, pretty much," says Blue. You can see Blue perform Dec. 18 at R Bar and listen to his music on SoundCloud.

What was the first concert you attended?
As a kid, I used to go to garage shows. Like hardcore band and stuff like that, but I guess the first major show was Metallica in 2008. I'm pretty sure it was KFMA Day and I was in high school.

What was the first album you owned?
Cam'ron's Purple Haze. Seriously, I still have it at my house. I listen to it every other day. Its still fuckin' gold man, its so good and I was so fortunate to get my hands on that because I had no idea who Dipset was. I grew up on like Bone Thugs-n-Harmony so when I got that CD I was like, "What the hell is this?"

What are you listening to these days?
I listen to everything. Amy Winehouse, Young Thug, George Strait, John Mayer. I really listen to everything aside from like Mexican music just because I don't understand it, I don't speak Spanish. I've been on that new Isaiah Rashad, its pretty tight.

What artist, genre or musical trend does everyone seem to love, but you just don't get?
Dude, I can't mess with [Lil] Yachety. I get it, get your money and stuff, but I don't get it. It's downhill for me, honestly. It doesn't have any substance.

What musical act, current or defunct, would you most like to see perform live?
Amy Winehouse for sure. Also I've never seen Brand New, but I know when I see them, or if I see them, I'm going to cry.

What is your favorite guilty pleasure?
Adele—and I shouldn't even feel guilty man, she's great. And you know what, Tegan and Sara, too, dude. I love Tegan and Sara. Its funny, people go through my iTunes on my laptop and see Tegan and Sara and they'll look at me and say "Are you serious?" which kinda sucks but whatever.

What song would you like to have played at your funeral?
Damn. I don't know. I try not to think about that stuff. Probably—damn that's a tough one—Max B "Blow me a Dub."

What artist changed your life and how?
Kid Cudi. Kid Cudi for sure. When Man on the Moon II drop I was going through a serious thing and that album definitely saved me. Kid Cudi till this day makes incredible music.

Figurative gun to your head, what is your favorite album of all time?
This is a tough one, man. I wanna say—fuck, I can't pick one—Amy Winehouse's Back to Black.  Definitely.

Producer and sound provider DJQ's mission is to enlighten people with the sounds of the barrio. From bring the revolutionary sounds of the 70s to his music, to playing G-FUNK to set the ambiance at a party, Q will always bring the music him and his people have been and continue to listen to.

What was the first concert you attended?
The Sonora Santanera, bro. Cumbia straight up. They were old man, old old. The women was still shacking her rump on stage too. That was in Boise, Idaho with my parents. It was a Cinco de Mayo celebration.

What was the first album you owned?
The first hip hop album I owned was The Sound of Revenge by Chamillionaire. But the first album in general was this disco compilation that my dad had and he gave it to me. It had Curtis Mayfield, Donna Summer—just old disco hits.

What are you listening to these days?
My cassette adapter broke, so I made myself mix cds of all my favorite hip hop jams. There two mix CDs, on them is like Gang Starr, Pete Rock & CL Smooth, the homie MIKE CHEKC local talent, Combine Vibes also homies in town. But for whatever reason man, there are 19 tracks on both of them, I always get stuck listening to the one Big Pun song I have. "Twinz, Deep Cover" I thinks its called. The one where he's like "In the middle of Little Italy, little did we know dilly do diddly."

What artist, genre or musical trend does everyone seem to love, but you just don't get?
You know what? At this point, I feel like I am more accepting of stuff but, I guess noise man. I don't know if it's popular but I just don't understand noise.

What musical act, current or defunct, would you most like to see perform live?
I would love to see Funkadelic, man. George Clinton and his posse. To see how those dudes get down. Them or Sun Ra.

What is your favorite guilty pleasure?
Indie pop, indie pop, man. Marina and The Diamonds and like, I mean it doesn't guilt me as much but I know to my hip hop homies and DJ friends I wouldn't play that shit to them. I wouldn't show them that or tell them I got this sample from that.

What song would you like to have played at your funeral?
I think the song that I would love for people to play at my funeral... "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" by The Smiths. That's the one.

What artist changed your life and how?
A Tribe Called Quest, man. The positivist in their lyrics and what they were going back too—summoning all types of different people. Like on their second album, the "Excursions" track, the sampling on that is ridiculous and they had The Last Poets on that and they are a big influence on me too man. Like their general idea of sampling the stuff that their parents had in their record collection and turning that out.

Figurative gun to your head, what is your favorite album of all time?
Between Super Fly by Curtis Mayfield and To Pimp a Butterfly by Kendrick Lamar. I think "Super Fly" is my favorite album of all time.