In Memoriam: Michael Corcoran (1955-2024)

No one wrote better, more poetically and more hilariously about Austin music – all of it.

If I hadn’t used the morbid joke too many times before, I’d title this piece “Michael Corcoran Is Dead, And I Ain’t Feelin’ So Good, Either.” He’d have appreciated it. He was a chuckling-while-walking-past-the-graveyard sort….

But the sad fact of the matter is that Corcoran’s son Jack announced his father’s death in a Facebook post at 5PM today. According to The Austin American-Statesman’s initial obituary, he was found dead in his home in Buda. No cause of death was given, and an autopsy is in the works.

This town has produced some hellacious rock journalists. Perhaps none was greater than Michael Corcoran, the man who dubbed Austin "The Little Town with the Big Guest List." I have fond memories of sitting with Corky one ACL, as we compared notes about what compelled us both to write. He spoke to me of the great Creem writers, Hunter S. Thompson, and of National Lampoon. And I smiled: "We come from the same place." He grinned back: "Yes, we do."

To get a feel for Corky at his most scabrous, hilarious best, here's his infamous "Austin Music Sucks" column from The Austin Chronicle's April 25, 1986 issue: https://www.austinchronicle.com/features/2021-09-03/austin-music-sucks/ 

I also greatly recommend his Substack, Michael Corcoran's Overserved.  Lord knows his recommendation at his ‘Stack has brought this ‘Stack a lot of readers:

Which is probably something that requires illumination, for those that remember the mid-’90s “rivalry” between Corky and I, after he returned to town to work for the Statesman. None of that was my idea. I had no problem with him, though he seemed to have plenty with me. Probably because I was at the rag where he built his initial reputation, the Chronicle. (Speaking of which, where is their obit?) And some used to say I took his place at the Chron. Not me – I admired Corky, but didn’t wanna be him. I wanted to be Lester Bangs.

So, yeah. It got kinda stupid between us for a few years in the ‘90s. But it’s instructive to note I never once fired back at Corky. It was all him. Because I bore him no malice, and was a fan. How could you not be? No one wrote better, more poetically, and more hilariously about Austin music -- all of it, not just punk, country, blues or whatever, but all of it -- than Michael Corcoran. Well, Margaret Moser did too, and she wrote with love. But Corky was in a class all his own. 

But after I returned to the Chronicle and music journalism with my 2013 True Believers story, no one was happier to see me back than Michael Corcoran. “TIM STEGALL IS BACK!!!” he crowed in his repost of the feature at his FB page. When he saw me at SXSW days later, he gave me a big grin and bear hug, shouting at me, “Motherfucker! Where have you been?!” There was no beef in our old age.

This is shocking. This is a deep loss. R.I.P., Corky. You should have known all those years ago: There is no replacing you.

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