he tells he’s more likely to call it
“stumbling along.” Like a noodling
jam at a Dead concert, “You never quite know where the stepping
stones are going to lead you,” he
describes.
He’s stepped on the right stones
starting with a stint as a runner for
a local concert promoter in Wichita, Kan., which afforded him the
opportunity to work behind the
scenes fulfilling memorable rider
obligations—”I don’t know how
many pounds of dry ice for a Pink
Floyd show,” he recalls, utilized to
mask the hydraulic lifts that made
the moon rise into the night sky.
Asked to “fill a lot of shoes,” poster
work was included, and as a senior
in high school, Houston designed
one of his first for the Grateful
Dead’s November 1972 appearance
in town—a show that cost $5 (or
$5.50 at the door).
These days, he recently sold a copy
of that small poster “for an obscene amount of money,” he says
disdainfully, and later reticently
reveals that the nomadic jam band
has several drawers of original
hand-cut transparent separations
(akin to the negative of a photograph) in his studio storage drawers, which translates to more than
his fair share of Dead posters over
the years.
Continuing to hone his craft as
touring acts came through the Midwest, Houston remembers posters
for Isaac Hayes (“back when he
was referred to as the Black Moses”), loads of long-haired English
rockers extending their invasion,
and the early incarnations of Fleetwood Mac (“when they were still a
real live blues band”).
Following love to Oregon, he ended up in Portland in the early ‘80s,
which is also when he really learned
screen printing—even though he
presumptuously thought he already
knew it. In 1988, Houston opened
a design studio with friends, doing
graphic design and making promotional materials for trade shows, in
the Pearl District—”back when the
Pearl was really scary to go into”
and rent ran just 17 cents a square
foot, but you might “go down to get
the mail and there’d be somebody
sitting there with a needle, spoon
and a lighter,” he says.
dio walls and piled on the shelves
that extend high above your head
(much of which is also easily
browsable on his website), it’s a bit
hard to distinguish what pieces are
works of passion and which were
commissioned. The fact is after
“you’ve done several pieces, they
take notice,” especially when you
ply your craft with as much artistic
integrity and in a self-proclaimed
“workaholic” fashion as Houston
does. It wasn’t long before bands
and management that liked Houston’s style started commissioning
show-specific or tour pieces.
town, he created a complimentary
piece—this time for the show held
at the much larger Schnitzer. Portland was the final date of the 18city tour and, as many will recall,
Mitch Mitchell died in his sleep
five days later at the Benson Hotel.
Back in 1994 and ‘95 when King
and Houston launched Voodoo
Catbox, designing and printing
concert posters rekindled something inside of Houston. He describes it as such: “There’s this biThat said, it was an affordable artcycle leaning up against the wall
ist’s enclave where he and his coand you’re like, ‘Oh, I haven’t ridhorts had a joke “that you could
den a bicycle for a while’ and you
throw a rock and hit a photogra- To this day, Houston still assigns get on it and you just take off, [repher and it would bounce off and himself projects, making posters membering] ‘I forgot how much
hit two graphic designers.” So, be- for shows he believes are import- I enjoyed riding a bicycle.’” The
sides the rent, maybe things haven’t ant even though no one has com- exhilaration of zooming downhill
changed so much. The business of missioned—or even approved— on that newly rediscovered bike
making concert posters began in him to do so. “It’s always kind of is only half of the equation. What
“I like the fact that they can turn into little pieces of
magic and they can also turn into little pieces of crap.”
earnest in the mid ‘90s but it wasn’t
strictly a commercial endeavor.
“When we started out, [we’d see
that] yadda yadda was coming to
town [and say] ‘I want to do something.’ Then you would do it and it
would be your way to get into the
show,” Houston explains.
a slippery, sliding area,” he says,
although with the quality of his
work and the reputation he’s built,
it’s hard to imagine someone being
upset by his initiative.
continued to fan the flames of fulfillment in those early days was the
fact that “we can get into shows for
free,” Houston laughs. “You always
hear that’s kind of the crux of the
matter. You don’t care about how
Generally, the exact opposite it much work and you just think, ‘I
true: When the 2004 Experience can make this and then scoot in.’”
Hendrix Tour brought together the
Working alongside “another poster late legend’s bandmates—drum- Proof of his ability to not just scoot
guy here in town,” Mike King, the mer Mitch Mitchell and Band of in but be recognized and welcomed
pair dubbed themselves Voodoo Gypsys bassist Billy Cox—along- also lies in the fact that “we’ve only
Catbox and started by enlarging side the likes of Buddy Guy and had one cease and desist, which I
and screen printing some of King’s Paul Rodgers to play Jimi’s tunes at thought was kind of cool,” Houston
11-by-17 telephone pole pieces— the Roseland Theater, Houston was co