The Best of John Rabon Is on Its Way

This Thursday, the Chronicle’s annual “Best of Austin” issue drops.

“Drops,” they say. Like it’s a bass note depth-charging something by Skrillex, or, uh, Flux Pavillion or whatever. Like it’s a testicle in the body of some baby boy – especially, gravity being what it is, if it’s a bouncing baby boy.

The issue drops, you see.

Which means that there’s a lot of winners coming up in this town. Winners chosen by our readers, after those same readers nominated them and then voted. And of course there are the Critics’ Picks, too – as decided by our elite coterie of fucking hipster journo snobs, right?

There’s a plethora of winners soon to be revealed, is the point.

No, I can’t tell you who they are right now: Our editor and publisher would take turns beating my ass with a tire iron.

But I can tell you, because I’ve seen what’s on its way, I can tell you someone who hasn’t won a single damned Best of Austin award in any category: John Rabon.

That’s John “Uncle Cranky” Rabon, local stand-up comedian, originator and longtime host of the Spite Club show at the Velveeta Room on Dirty Sixth.

Rabon wasn’t nominated for anything in this year’s Readers' Poll.
Nobody suggested him for a Critics' Pick.
He hasn’t won a goddamn Chronicle thing.

Personally, I don’t think he’s gonna give a shit about that. I think he’s too busy, right now, celebrating his other wins.

See, after immigrating to Austin in the late Nineties – he moved here from Luling – young Johnny Rabon, son of a smalltown Texas preacher, took to the local comedy stages and night by night struggled into the beginnings of his stance and style, conjured up that Spite Club at the Velv, worked the years like a boss-in-training … definitely had some action going on, scenewise … and then he sort of wandered into the enticing shitfields of alcohol and heroin addiction.

“Not all those who wander are lost,” said some wizard who wasn’t created by a former waitress. Be that as it may … Rabon? Was fucking lost.

Note the past tense, though: It’s been a while. The man’s been off heroin for seven years. Been sober for six.

Every day’s a little celebration when you’re free of that shit – but that’s still not the win we’re talking about here. Because what Rabon’s just done, after getting his life back together to where things can actually be done, is release his first comedy album.

Not on Virgin Records, no. Not on Sure Thing.

He’s released the album himself, under his Smokepuppet label. And when it was released, on Monday, Oct. 22 – his 45th birthday, no less – that album hit #1 on Amazon and #5 on iTunes.

Rabon tells me this with a smile. Reckon, if you listen to the album yourself – it’s right here, and conveniently titled John Rabon – you’ll have a smile of your own. Hell, you’ll have more than just a smile, because Rabon is, well, listen, I know comedians are supposed to be funny, right? Because that’s the whole idea of comedians? But sometimes they’re not, really?

John Rabon is really funny.

And here’s just a little free taste for you now: