A late afternoon stroll through the Postoffice District in Downtown Galveston offers a few guarantees. Rudy & Paco will always beckon, promising an evening of steak and escargot. MOD Coffeehouse’s sidewalk patio will hum like a European café, tables full under a lush canopy of green vines. The Old Quarter Acoustic Cafe will wait silently for nightfall, when its cozy room will fill up with folk singers, song junkies, and cold beer. And as long as he’s not on tour, Tyson Webb will often appear, meandering through the old streets, guitar slung across his back, looking like Sunday morning coming down.

“Galveston is a refuge, where you can live a more artful life,” Webb, now 24, says. “If you’ve got art to show for it, you can get taken care of by the community.”

Webb is one of many new young artists who’ve chosen to make Galveston home in recent years. He grew up splitting time between Kemah and League City, then moved to the island after a stint in the Navy, right around his twenty-first birthday. He found his footing at the Old Quarter, the listening room where the late Rex “Wrecks” Bell—songwriter, bassist for giants including Lightnin’ Hopkins and Townes Van Zandt, and the room’s longtime owner—built a haven for literary songwriters and late-night ramblers before his death in November 2025.

“I was singing cover songs in bars, trying to sing the blues,” Webb says. “But then, I got pulled into the Old Quarter. I realized, ‘Oh. It’s not really about playing the dive bar at night.’ If the Old Quarter didn’t exist—if Wrecks Bell had never existed—I don’t know if anything would have ever told me, ‘Hey, original songs are important.’”

That lesson shapes Webb’s debut album Awoken by the Birds, a compelling snapshot of an artist finding his voice and the tight-knit world that still helps shape him. “It puts you right here in the beginning of what I hope will be a good, long career in music,” he says.

Produced by Robert Kuhn of the psychedelic surf rock band Galvezton, the stripped-down collection is an achievement in intimate acoustic storytelling—not just because the nine tracks show promise, but because Webb is already very good. His grainy croon quickly becomes a trusted guide, carrying listeners through questions and confessions, moments of appreciation and hard-won peace. Webb has obviously studied Van Zandt, who believed that lyrics should be able to stand alone as a poem before the addition of chord progressions and melodies. On the track “Candles,” Webb hints at the bliss satisfaction brings and the tension that craving more of it creates:

There’s something to be said for sitting in the sun 
Nothing left to do and nowhere else to run.
Something to be said about how it feels, I’m sure
To be anywhere at all with your soul begging you for more.

Fans of Evan Felker’s melodic realism will find plenty to appreciate. Felker, who leads Turnpike Troubadours with razor-sharp writing chops, often uses detailed explorations of rural Oklahoma to reveal more universal truths. Webb is on the same hunt, but in an island setting, full of birds, sun, and waves. He is also determined to trust himself. “I have a casual way of writing. Second thoughts…I just think of them as bad,” Webb says. “Instincts are good, even if they sound weird. But going back, trying to add something later—I try to limit that.”

Musically, the album sidesteps stereotypical folk arrangements dependent upon acoustic guitar and accented by fiddle fills or harmonica punches thanks to two key departures: Webb’s melodic inclinations lean more into boozy ragtime than Dust Bowl guitar or banjo strings, and the frequent, brilliant lead rides from Chris Lauer and his cornet. A horn similar to a trumpet, but more subdued, the cornet serves as a sweet, mournful duet partner for Webb, as a fiddle does in more traditional instrumentation.

The pair began collaborating at the Monday open mics Webb hosted at the Old Galveston Club downtown. As Webb tried out new songs, Lauer joined him onstage, creating a mellow, gorgeous cry that doesn’t just support Webb’s sound—it defines it. “It was never a choice to have horn in my band. That’s just how this thing unfolded,” Webb says. “If somebody thinks this album is special, they’ll think it because of Chris playing the cornet.”

If Lauer’s cornet elevates the album with wistful grace, Webb’s writing provides the meaty, layered foundation. On “Flower Fields,” one of Webb’s favorites, jazz-infused acoustic guitar paves the way before Lauer’s cornet steps toe-to-toe with the singer’s winsome melancholy, tinged with hope:      

Just like that old eagle flies and dolphin swims and sings,
All the flora, fauna, funny feelings life can bring
Hello, spring
I hear the buzzing of your wings
Glad to see what this one brings

“Interstate Cigarettes” offers a singalong chorus that hints at the understated power behind Webb’s vocals, while “Wanna Feel Good” aches and soars. Line after line, song after song, Webb creates vignettes and more abstract musings that invite listeners to lean in.

Kuhn, who set out to capture Webb’s spirit and the broader, growing Galveston community of artists on the album, sees the island as central to Webb’s voice. “In Galveston, you get this small town feel, but you have tourists coming in, so it creates an opportunity for people to get gigs—long gigs,” he says. “If you set your mind to it, you can play seven nights a week on the island. Think of that 10,000 hours principle. You have to log all that time before you master what you’re doing. Galveston provides a way to do that.”

It has its other perks, too. “Gigging at night, then going to take walks in the morning,” Kuhn says. “It’s a really nice way to live.” There’s also earning potential—a clear path to making a living from art, and a supportive community.

At a Galvezton show, fans singing along to Kuhn’s original songs will often see Webb accompanying him onstage, either on the guitar or accordion. The Mighty Orq, one of the region’s most mesmerizing singers and players, often sits in with Webb on steel guitar. The camaraderie is palpable, and audiences enjoy the extra thrill of never knowing just who might show up to play.

Webb is logging the hours—during shows around the island and beyond, and on stages that he trades with artists who have become his collaborators. Performances fill out the calendar year ahead: Kuhn’s La Izquierda Records, which released Webb’s album, will feature him in this year’s deep lineup of artists for the two-day La Izquierda Surf and Music Festival May 1 and 2; on May 9, he’ll play Dan Electro’s; and in June, he’ll jump to The Big Top to launch a residency, where he’ll play every second Tuesday of the month.

Reflecting on his album and his hopes, Webb is comfortable with what the collection is and isn’t. “It’s supposed to be a record. I know we’re in this era of five-second attention spans, and I’m in that boat, too,” he says. “But I hope folks can just put it on and hear the blossoming stages of me and Chris starting a jam for people on the island with some nice, peaceful tunes.”