The River Revival Is Just What A City Boy Needs.

It feels like a different world, away from the fifty-story-Jenga condo towers and valet brunches, paralyzing traffic and electric scooters. The air is rejuvenating.

By, Andrew Blanton | Exclusive To Corridor News

I’m passing over Alligator Creek, though I don’t know why they call it that. I rub my eyes as quilts of dark-grey clouds begin to disperse. “Maybe I’ll take a look under the bridge,” I think as wind from a semi-truck nearly blows me off the road. I didn’t know river monsters could navigate rapids.

There’s a beer barn with a giant golden-yellow-and-red star in all its glory pointing up at the sky, but I don’t bother to stop. A maze of detour signs and bulldozers lie ahead. Concrete dust and ringing sound of a jackhammer float lazily through the humid air at the end of an aging neighborhood. An orange-polka-dot construction fence signals the end of the line.

I turn around and slowly creep through dying wooden houses. If I go any faster, the chipped-white paint may blow clean off the front walls.

“Greetings from New Braunfels,” a colorful wall on a roadside gas station proclaims. It feels like a different world, away from the fifty-story-Jenga condo towers and valet brunches, paralyzing traffic and electric scooters. The air is rejuvenating.

Cactus and barbed wire camouflage themselves behind long wild grass and swaying white flowers, trapping me on a two-lane country road that winds through the picturesque landscape. Every so often the clear-green Guadalupe River peeks out over low-water bridges and faded billboards.

Three children hoist inner tubes twice their size high above their heads as they emerge from a sea of RVs. Their sandals smack the bottom of their feet as the shortest sibling struggles to keep up.

I follow close behind an orange Volkswagen bus as a trail of smoke puffs into the air. Adventure stickers line the narrow back window. A fitting ride for the vibe I fall into at the KL Ranch Campground, a long-narrow sliver of tents and picnic tables underneath a towering rock face along the Guadalupe River.

There’s a man in a plaid skirt and brown fedora inquiring about fresh bottled juice behind a pair of shrinking jugs of Deep Eddy Bloody Marys. He passes out a shot of bourbon to a couple and offers them a set of t-shirts from a promotional box.

DJ Mills McCoin nods his head behind his Apple laptop, blasting out the River Revival Radio from an elevated booth on the bank of the river. Scattered clusters of campers idle nearby in the slow-moving current in beach chairs and pool floats. A graffiti painted bird stares out from a large canvas in front of his table. A fitting touch for the self-described commodore of the Blue Heron Yacht Club. If he could, he would nod to the reggae and Tejano echoing through the park. The river crowd cheers as he plays “Africa” by Toto.

The graffiti heron is one of many pieces on display at the River Revival, sprayed on site by Black Cassidy, a muralist and street artist from Houston. He lists a 40-foot-tall painting of Christopher Walken on the side of Saint Arnolds Brewery as one of his crowning achievements.

“Five years ago I just met the right people and immediately became a muralist,” Black Cassidy said. “I’ve been lucky enough to be under, and work under some of the best street artists and graffiti artists in Houston, and they pretty much taught me everything.”

The DJ announces that a float parade contest is about to begin. Judges line the bank, eager to hold up whatever large number seems appropriate.

A baby sits like a king on his throne in his balloon-filled-orange raft. A few rainbow unicorns follow. The children seem to have as much fun as the adults in their moment of glory. A crew from camp 83 struts by dressed as the cast of Baywatch, blowing high-pitched whistles and hoisting red floaties. It takes cosplay to win it seems, the zoo animals with human bodies garner plenty of attention.

A few campers seem ancy as the aroma from an entire roasted pig Little Kitchen HTX is preparing fills the air. The Smoke coming from the trailer is intoxicating.

The DJ slowly brings down the music as Matt Graham climbs into a white-wooden-paddle boat with an acoustic guitar. He’s wearing sparkly-skin-tight pants with wings on the side and a sleeveless top with a hoodie. He’s dragged out to a boulder in the middle of the river and sings Oasis and Britney Spears sing-a-longs to the surrounding fans. He’s only warming up for his eclectic party band Swimwear Department, that kicks off while he’s being pulled back to shore.

Over one hundred campers surround the ensemble on a grassy hill, cheering as they break out a limbo pole and hold an impromptu contest lead off by Splice Records CEO Shaun Brennan.

Graham said the name was part of an experimental writing prompt suggested by the bass player. The content solely focuses on swimming pools and shopping malls.

“I wanted to make music that I would want to go to a show to and dance to,” Graham said.

Graham tells a rambling tale amongst cheers and laughter about the “free-osk,” campground kiosk stations that offer goodies throughout the day. He teases the campers for using electric air hoses to fill their river floats before the band pitches out a dozen beach balls. They bounce from person to person like gnats on a front porch light during a cover of Elvis Costello’s “Pump it Up.”

“We created a monster,” Graham says as he jumps around like Mick Jagger, thrusting the unicorn float into the air. What a genius. It’s like Andrew W.K. with more fun and better songs.

Graham’s main political cause is the lack of swimming holes in Houston. He promises to advocate for the cause but swears he’ll be back next year.

“Houston needs a swimming hole like Marco needs Polo,” Graham says as the crowd laughs and applauds. “Like a shark needs a minnow.”

The last song lists every department store, bookstore, music retailer, and food court any mall has ever seen before Graham dives into the river. I’m beyond impressed.

It’s dinner time, and a roasted hog awaits. The line seems to replenish like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Baked beans, collard greens, and dirty rice fuel the dancers as costumes are adjusted, and makeup is applied. Children run around the picnic tables in banana costumes. A girl struts by in Great Gatsby attire and a Christmas light headband.

The Maggie Belle Band from New Orleans performs on the main stage as the sun drifts away. She’s soulful and dreamy, funky and spacey. Just what the Voodoo Doctor ordered. Horns blaze in the cool night breeze.

Jackie Venson and The Suffers are sure to blow the roof off this sucka’, but I have a lengthy ride back to the light pollution and city smog. Splice Records sure knows how to wake up a sleepy river town.