I’ll never forget the first time I brought my accordion through the doors of the Broken Spoke in Austin, Texas. It was a hot Tuesday night in the early-90s, and the back room dance floor was already packed with two-steppers spinning under the colorful lights that stay up all year-round. Sitting in with Wayne “the train” Hancock and bass man Don Bacoch was the first of many wonderful evenings of music and socialization at the historic honky-tonk.
Playing for Spoke visitors from all around the world, most folks there had never seen a woman leading a band with a full-size piano accordion. Some smiled politely. A few raised eyebrows. But the moment we hit the first notes of a swinging version of Hank Williams “Jambalaya,” something magical happened — the whole room leaned in.
That night I learned a powerful truth: the accordion doesn’t ask for permission. It just opens its bellows and breathes life into a room. By the third song, people were crowding the stage, hollering requests, and dancing like they’d known these Cajun and Tex-Mex rhythms their whole lives.
I played with fire in my fingers and joy in my heart. We tore through classics and my own originals until the sweat was dripping and the dance floor was a joyful blur of boots and smiles. At one point an older cowboy tipped his hat and yelled, “Girl, that squeezebox of yours has more soul than half the guitars in Austin!”
That was the night I truly understood why I was happy I chose this instrument. It’s not flashy. It’s not loud just to be loud. But when you play it with heart, it connects people — young and old, country and city, dancers and listeners — in a way few other instruments can.
From that night on, the Broken Spoke became my musical home for over 30 years. Tuesday evenings with the Love Saints became a celebration of real Texas music, real dancing, and real connection.
The accordion taught me this:
Music isn’t about being the biggest or the loudest. It’s about showing up, breathing life into the moment, playing with other musicians, inviting everyone to share in the sheer joy of roots music.
And I’m still doing exactly that — now from Phoenix, through online lessons, new recordings, and the stories I’m finally ready to share here on debweb.