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    Pen Pal

    The nation's oldest Death Row inmate probably won't ever be executed. But he sure loves to write letters.

    By Paul Rubin

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    Budget Ballin'

    South Florida's lawless exotic rental car industry keeps rolling.

    By Gus Garcia-Roberts

  • Houston Press

    Crime Doesn't Pay Back

    In Texas, restitution for victims is nothing but a state-sanctioned sham.

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  • Seattle Weekly

    Hot and Frothy

    If you thought Seattle couldn't fetishize coffee any more, you haven't been to a "cupping" yet.

    By Jonathan Kauffman

Jimmie Dale Gilmore

9 p.m. Friday, October 17. Off Broadway, 3509 Lemp Avenue.

By Roy Kasten

Published on October 14, 2008 at 11:28am

Jimmie Dale Gilmore has one of the most instantly recognizable voices in American music, a tremulously high, soulful twang that makes Lefty Frizzell sound like an investment banker by comparison. Starting with the Flatlanders in 1973, his career path has been fitful and elusive, and even if he hadn't spent the better part of the '70s getting his mystic on in an ashram in Colorado, his musical concept — a fusion of honky-tonk and neo-psychedelic folk rock — would never have sounded at home on country radio, even at its most progressive. Gilmore sings every song as if it were a personal dedication to the desolate, sun-scarred landscape of his native Lubbock, Texas, as if he knows the loneliest of stories and can give them the most necessary and undiluted of country voices.



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