Willie, of course, became our first mega-star. And it was the Dillo’s Eddie Wilson and Mike Tolleson and others who sat cross-legged on the floor with Willie and talked him into appearing, convincing him that what he had was honest, and good, and that he would play well to the Armadillo audience. Which proved to be a gross understatement.

In a 1973 Texas Monthly piece called “The Coming of Redneck Hip,” Jan Reid wrote about a Willie Dillo show: “As remarkable as Nelson’s act that night was his audience. While freaks in gingham gowns and cowboy boots sashayed like they invented country music, remnants of Willie’s old audiences had themselves a time too. A prim little grandmother from Taylor sat at a table beaming with excitement. ‘Oh lord, hon,’ she said, ‘I got ever’ one of Willie’s records, but I never got to see him before.’ A booted, western-dress beauty drove down from Waxahachie for the show, and she said, ‘I just love Willie Nelson and I’d drive anywhere to see him, but you know, he’s sure been doin’ some changin’ lately.’ She looked around. ‘I have never seen so many hippies in all my life.’”

This became a familiar scene, as Jerry Lee Lewis and Waylon Jennings and the like followed Willie into the Armadillo, drawing a complete mix of fans young and old. Music was the common ground, a “roots” sound hippies and rednecks both could relate to.

In 1974, Time magazine gushed: “Rock is no longer a dirty word in Austin. Indeed, by embracing rock’s big beat, Austin’s musicians have evolved a brand-new style of country rock, and have made the city the fastest-growing country-music center in the U.S. Nashville, still the capital of country, may provide more regular work. Bakersfield, Calif., may offer the inspirational presences of Merle Haggard and Buck Owens. But from the point of view of new sounds, freedom and plain musical fun, Austin now definitely ranks as No. 1. . . . What the Fillmores East and West were to the rock era, the Armadillo World Headquarters is to Austin’s country-rock set.”

By 1976 the New Republic would write: “Michael Ventura, an actor and theater critic who emigrated from Brooklyn, was surprised when he discovered cowboys and hippies peacefully coexisting in the same saloon, three generations on the same dance floor, and ‘the only place outside of Harlem where the men dance as well as the women.’ Dozens of people in and out of the music business make the point that Austin music brings different cultures together—not only cowboy and hippie but Texas booster and multinational executive, anglo, Chicano and black.”

This unique audience at the Dillo drew raves from all quarters. The common denominator was an immoderate music appreciation, and artists did everything but roll in it. Frank Zappa called the Dillo the “last really fun place to play” and recorded an album there. So too did Freddie King and Commander Cody & the Lost Planet Airmen, the band that lit Austin’s afterburners in 1972 (and that first brought Asleep at the Wheel through on tour). When Cody recorded they had to cut the audience from the final mix—it was too loud. Ray Campi perhaps put it best: “Here they’ll accept anything that’s real and good. They don’t care what it is . . . There’s an open mind here, and that’s great.”