Victor Camozzi

The other night, busy doing a whole lot of nothing, I took a break from Googling reviews of my latest album and decided to whip up a snack of potato chips and tuna salad.  Mind you, I did not make…

"Like a boss." My kids say this. I hear this. People say this. I get it. It's pop culture. But may I submit an alternative? A southern fried option for the Texas cognoscenti? I say the more regionally appropriate phrase…

Early summer.  Austin, Texas.  Late evening. I sat on my back porch. Nursing my first IPA of the night. Or was it my 12th? I never was good at math.  Regardless, in the silence, I realized I wasn't alone. The…

Guinness. Dear god almighty, Guinness. I have drank her in local London boozers and drank her in the States' Disneyland renditions of publand Brittania. I have drank her in the sweaty hovels of South Africa. And drank her in the…

Once, visiting Kevin Welch on his ranch in Dripping Springs, Texas, he dropped a little knowledge on me. He said, "writing songs is like tending a garden. It doesn't bear fruit constantly. You gotta plant the seeds. Give it love…

What day is it?  What time is it?  What year is it?  And who ate all the damn Coco Puffs?  The quarantine is growing hazy.  Like desert delusions after a fifth of cheap tequila with a gila monster bite chaser…