The Accidental Gospel Singer Who Started a Legend
You're in Austin, the state capital of Texas, sitting in Travis County at about five hundred feet elevation where the Hill Country meets the coastal plains. This is a city of nearly a million people that's managed to brand itself as the live music capital of the world.
Austin was founded in 1839, named after Stephen F. Austin, the father of Texas. It became the capital that same year, though Houston fought hard to take that title back. The city sits on the Colorado River, which was dammed in the 1960s to create the chain of Highland Lakes. It's home to the University of Texas, established in 1883, and famous for keeping things weird, as the bumper stickers say.
Now, about Stubbs. Let me tell you about Christopher B. Stubblefield, a man who never intended to become a legend but couldn't help himself.
Stubbs was born in 1931 in Lubbock, grew up picking cotton, and learned to cook from his mother. When he was young, he'd sing gospel in church, had a beautiful voice that could fill a room. In 1968, he opened a little barbecue joint in Lubbock that became the only place in town where Black and white musicians could play together during segregation. Muddy Waters, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, they all came through. The walls were concrete block, the floor was concrete, and the music was everything.
But here's where the story gets interesting. Stubbs never made much money. In 1985, his restaurant went under. He was fifty-four years old and broke. A young music promoter in Austin had eaten at Stubbs' place and never forgotten it. When he heard Stubbs had closed, he drove to Lubbock and made an offer: come to Austin, we'll open a new place, and you'll cook while we book the bands.
Stubbs moved to Austin in 1992, and that's when the magic happened again. His new restaurant on Red River Street became the launching pad for countless careers. But the beautiful part? Every Sunday, before service, Stubbs would stand in his kitchen and sing gospel, just like he did as a boy. The staff would gather around, and this man who'd lost everything would sing hymns over his brisket.
He died in 1995, but that building on Red River is still there, still hosting music seven nights a week, still serving his recipes. Keep an eye out for it as you move through downtown.
| 01 | You're in Austin, the state capital of Texas, sitting in Travis County at about five hundred feet elevation where the Hill Country meets the coastal plains. This is a city of nearly a million people that's managed to brand itself as the live music capital of the world. Austin was founded in 1839, named after Stephen F. Austin, the father of Texas. It became the capital that same year, though Houston fought hard to take that title back. The city sits on the Colorado River, which was dammed in the 1960s to create the chain of Highland Lakes. It's home to the University of Texas, established in 1883, and famous for keeping things weird, as the bumper stickers say. Now, about Stubbs. Let me tell you about Christopher B. Stubblefield, a man who never intended to become a legend but couldn't help himself. | 0:52 | |
| 02 | Stubbs was born in 1931 in Lubbock, grew up picking cotton, and learned to cook from his mother. When he was young, he'd sing gospel in church, had a beautiful voice that could fill a room. In 1968, he opened a little barbecue joint in Lubbock that became the only place in town where Black and white musicians could play together during segregation. Muddy Waters, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, they all came through. The walls were concrete block, the floor was concrete, and the music was everything. But here's where the story gets interesting. Stubbs never made much money. In 1985, his restaurant went under. He was fifty-four years old and broke. A young music promoter in Austin had eaten at Stubbs' place and never forgotten it. When he heard Stubbs had closed, he drove to Lubbock and made an offer: come to Austin, we'll open a new place, and you'll cook while we book the bands. | 1:00 | |
| 03 | Stubbs moved to Austin in 1992, and that's when the magic happened again. His new restaurant on Red River Street became the launching pad for countless careers. But the beautiful part? Every Sunday, before service, Stubbs would stand in his kitchen and sing gospel, just like he did as a boy. The staff would gather around, and this man who'd lost everything would sing hymns over his brisket. He died in 1995, but that building on Red River is still there, still hosting music seven nights a week, still serving his recipes. Keep an eye out for it as you move through downtown. | 0:37 |