17 December 25 - 31, 2025 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents phone with The Boss can match or even ex- ceed his potency, but Ely could. Ely’s friendship with and influence over Strummer and his band of British punk gi- ants, The Clash, is the most storied of all of Ely’s collaborations. Ely and Strummer re- portedly met in London in 1978 and bonded over their love of poetry and the old country ballads of Marty Robbins. From there, Ely would go on to tour with the band, and according to many accounts, the Texan’s versatility and multicultural in- fluences put an unmistakable stamp on the band during the years when the band be- came international stars. As influential as the Clash were and remain, the group didn’t have tons of commercial hit songs, but on one of their only No. 1 U.K. songs, the in- stantly recognizable “Should I Stay or Should I Go,” you can hear Ely singing in the background if you listen closely enough. As the ’90s gave way to the new millen- nium, Ely became a godfather of sorts to younger generations of country-rock song- writers, including Austin band Reckless Kelly and Grammy-winning superstar Kacey Musgraves. Such a progression shouldn’t be confused with going quietly into any sort of good night, however. Ely’s poetic swagger, both on stage and in the stu- dio, not only remained intact but also inten- sified as Americana music gained a national foothold through increased commercial in- terest, including radio stations, venues and award shows dedicated to the burgeoning roots-infused alternative to polished, main- stream country music. His range, vision and vigor could be felt and heard on his stream of stellar solo re- cords and again as he continued recording with the Flatlanders. Refusing to be stuck in one space, Ely would win a Grammy award in 1999 with the rest of Los Super Seven, a Tejano-influenced supergroup that featured Freddy Fender, Flaco Jimenez and David Hidalgo of Los Lobos fame. In late 1995, this reporter and his brother trudged out into the frigid early morning air to see Ely perform a single song inside of Billy Bob’s Texas in Fort Worth when the CBS Morning Show with Paula Zahn filmed an episode inside the honky tonk. As a rule- following 20-year-old, it was my first time inside the legendary venue, and it didn’t matter that it was only for one song at an un- godly hour, because we got to see Ely and his band tear through a ferocious version of “All Just To Get To You.” Ely was no stranger to North Texas, of course. He would become a regular, mar- quee attraction of the now-dearly departed Bedford Blues Festival. That same brother and I dragged a group of our less-than-en- thusiastic friends to see Ely headline the Bedford mainstage in 1997. As we were walking away after the show, word started filtering out that Diana, Princess of Wales, had died in a car crash. A couple of years later, at another Bedford Blues Fest perfor- mance, I had a few too many in the hours leading up to Ely’s set but managed to rally in time to embarrass my date as I shouted the words to “Me and Billy the Kid,” or what I am sure I thought the words to that song were in that moment. In 2007, my wife and I were expecting our first child, and, frankly, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to go to another concert ever again after our bundle of joy arrived. I suppose that’s why I had little problem dragging my extremely pregnant wife to the Granada Theater in Dallas to see Ely perform with Reckless Kelly. We left a bit early that night because I eventually developed a guilty con- science, as my wife was clearly nicer to me than I deserved. I don’t mind saying that each of my Joe Ely concert memories has been memorable for reasons other than the concert itself, but I also don’t mind saying the memories wouldn’t have been nearly as powerful had Ely’s music not been connected to them. Fittingly, when Ely announced his grim diagnosis in September, new music soon fol- lowed. True to form, “Raining in My Heart,” the final song released before his death, isn’t what many might expect. Instead of a hard- charging ball of tumbleweed, the gorgeous ballad originally recorded by another iconic West Texan, Buddy Holly, in 1958, shortly before his own death, is a somber, serene bit of orchestral bliss, made Ely’s own with his unmistakably raw and weathered voice. It’s not a hopeful farewell, and the lone- some tune is bound to cause more tears than it dries, but again, Ely’s genius and greatness have never had anything to do with making us feel good; rather, Ely’s music has always been about making us simply feel by taking us places we didn’t know how to get to on our own. Dallas Observer Joe Ely helped create whatever it is we now know as “Texas music.”
