Willie Nelson gives the power of his legend to Beto O'Rourke on the Texas scene | The music



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Willie Nelson went on stage in Austin on Saturday night with a "Beto for Texas" cap on his braided hair. It did not last long – in a few minutes he threw the hat into the crowd and replaced it with his red bandana.

That Nelson was there in the heart of the capital, to lend the power of his legend to Beto O'Rourke, the democrat who destroyed the state with an insurgent attempt to remove Ted Cruz from his seat in the US Senate, remained indisputable. He made no effort to remove his Beto T-shirt.

But he let his music speak. Literally, in the case of a new song that he gave his debut that left little to the imagination.


If you do not like who's there, vote 'em out

It's election day

When they're gone, we'll sing and scream

Nelson is the figurehead of Texas since his return from Nashville to Austin in 1972. With lyrics that deal with the daily struggles of cowboys, farmers and lovers, he has succeeded in the impossible: adoration of Texans across generations, covering the entire city. and campaigning and bridging the ever-widening political gap.

Who else can reunite hippies, hipsters and Trump supporters under one roof?

This time, though, it was too much for many Texans supporting Cruz. Willie's fans were already furious after the announcement of Austin's rally, convinced that his decision to play for O'Rourke – Nelson's first public performance for a political candidate – was irreproachable.

But at 85, it did not seem to bother Willie. In addition, his new detractors should have known that his adherence to progressive and liberal politics dates back several decades and goes back to the famous era when he rose on the roof of Jimmy Carter's White House.

The hoo-has before the rally seemed to bother Nelson. He came on stage with his arms around a visibly sweaty O'Rourke, who had just promised a reform of universal health care and immigration to a popular crowd of 30,000. The Democratic candidate, an American representative of El Paso, had also promised the legalization of marijuana – one of Nelson's favorites, who owns his own cannabis company in states where the drug is already allowed.

In their last appearance together, at Willie's annual picnic on July 4th, O'Rourke reconstructed his punk-rocker past and played guitar at It's All Going to Pot and Will The Circle Be Unbroken. This time, he just sang with the choir, standing slightly to the side and looking a little embarrassed.

At least the song for which he came had an echo for both men: On the Road Again. Nelson still spends most of his life playing family, maintaining an exhausting rate of about 150 concerts a year and rarely returns to his spiritual home in Austin.

This ruthless record is limited only by O'Rourke, who imposed on President Cruz an improbable charge with a one-year tour of every county in Texas: the 254 of them.

Among the largely young and politically excited crowd, there were serious acolytes of Willie Nelson. John Dromgoole, 71, nicknamed the Natural Gardener, follows the musician since his debut in Austin at the Armadillo headquarters in the seventies.





John Dromgoole, 71, follows the musician since his debut in Austin at Armadillo's world headquarters in the seventies.



John Dromgoole, 71, follows the musician since his debut in Austin at Armadillo's world headquarters in the seventies. Photo: Ed Pilkington for the keeper

Dromgoole, who now runs a garden nursery, is friends with Nelson's second wife (out of four), Connie. One area of ​​his nursery is reserved for a discreet tribute to Willie, with a replica stone and vegetation of the famous guitar star, Trigger.

"It's the music that brings us all together," said Dromgoole, braided hair like Nelson. "That's right, it's for all of us – when you hear his songs, each of us hears that they are only sung for us.

Lane Mann, 25, was also in the crowd with an On the Road t-shirt. It is an original 1980s, and it wore it in honor of his grandfather Mike, a big fan of Willie, who died this year.

Lane's mother, Jules Mann, 59, wore a custom t-shirt that said, "Willie is my spiritual animal." Mother and daughter were side by side, but had a slightly different perspective.

Lane Mann was there, she said fifty-fifty: she loved Willie but really wanted to hear O'Rourke and be raised by the hope of his policy. "It unites us, travels all over Texas and shows progressives that they are not alone."

His mother was comfortable with Willie: "He talks about freedom of the road, without worrying about anything, and he writes nice words all the way."

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