I wouldn’t put any money on that.”Ĭowboy Jim onstage with Todd Snider, Fort Smith AR. “I mean, if I lived another 20 I’d grieve another 20. Bojangles, then my dog ended up traveling with me, then he died, and now I’m gonna have to grieve for 20 years.” After a moment of mental math, he checks himself. He notes how once again, life seems to imitate Jerry Jeff Walker. He adored her and bragged about her constantly, so I’m glad that he was with her.” “He had a great life and the end of it was good,” he told me. Todd is grateful that the end of his life was happy. He had undergone lengthy treatment for Leukemia, showing a puppy-like spirit until the very end. His dog Cowboy Jim died in January after a lifetime spent on the road earning adoration for his appearances on-stage, where he’d frequently nap at his master’s bare feet. Todd calls the memories he’s left imprinted on the place “ghosts,” and in the case of his dog, the ghost is especially fresh. “I’ve run through this parking lot with my dog – ten times, probably.” He also recalls an argument he had in this spot with a friend, and a time long ago when his band got rowdy here. “(Yesterday) I was walking through the parking lot of this hotel and I could see my dog,” Todd remembers. He’s in a parking lot he’s acutely aware he’s been in before. Todd speaks with me over the phone about his pending return to his old stomping grounds and his 2019 album Cash Cabin Vol. This month, Todd will return to the Devil’s Backbone Tavern for the first time in over 30 years to perform three shows on Valentine’s Day weekend with his long-time friend Jack Ingram.
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He learned to play a little bit of guitar, started writing, and before long was performing on Friday nights in the corner at the Devil’s Backbone while Miss Vergie poured him free beers. There, he was introduced to the music of Jerry Jeff Walker and instantly connected with Walker’s troubadour lifestyle. After high school, Todd found himself bumming on a couch in San Marcos, Texas. It’s all part of a story most of Snider’s fans know well. “Life’s too long to wait.” They’re words Snider immortalized in the sing-along chorus of “The Ballad of the Devil’s Backbone Tavern” from his 2000 album Happy to Be Here.
“Life’s too short to worry,” she told him.
The Bartender’s name was Miss Vergie, and she worked behind the bar at the Devil’s Backbone Tavern, a roadside beer joint in the shrubby ranch land southwest of Austin. He’s invoked the Rastafarian term for positivity while pondering whether he’s managed to heed the advice given to him decades ago by a bartender in the Texas Hill Country.
“I’m ninety-eight percent Irie Ites, two percent Liza Minelli turd,” he tells me, this time making himself laugh. Just as easily, he can sigh in the middle of the punchline to remind you the funny story he’s telling today at one point had a very real struggle behind it. He can inject the F-word in just the right form to make you belly laugh while he’s describing a tragic event.
Like a Todd Snider song, Todd Snider in conversation can slip effortlessly between being sad and funny. The singer will return to his old Hill Country haunt for shows on February 13th, 14th, and 15th Photo by Dave Nowels III, and Life Imitating Jerry Jeff Walker Todd Snider on Returning to the Devil’s Backbone Tavern, Cash Cabin Vol.
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