On the surface, the music industry seems to live in terror, staring down the well-publicized threats of Internet file-sharing and a struggling economy. The former looms especially large, as new generations seem increasingly willing to hold onto their favorite songs without even owning hard copies. But at South By Southwest—a huge annual music-industry convention and showcase that brought thousands of musicians, fans, and label employees to Austin, Texas, from March 14-18—those concerns stayed in the margins, confined to panels with names like "When Will Digital Music Be Legal And Popular?"
That panel, out-of-touch title aside, was really about the future of making money off downloaded music, which is a fair concern in light of the public's taste for getting everything for free while circumventing unpopular industries from the record business to radio. In an age of rising list prices and increasing conglomeration of retail, production, distribution, and radio, it's difficult to feel sympathetic for anyone but the recording artists, who are rarely paid royalties anyway. If there's a massive online jukebox with everything you've ever wanted to hear in one place for free, why ever listen to the radio anywhere but in your car?
At SXSW, however, such issues were secondary to the annual juggling act of seeing everything there was to see. If the culture is suffering from the diminishing choices wrought by merger-mania, it wasn't apparent from the embarrassment of riches on display here. A mishmash of signed and unsigned, big and small all played simultaneously, which meant attendees had to choose between, say, a crowded reunion of the legendary Soft Boys or one of many intriguing smaller acts, whether signed (Damien Jurado collaborator Rose Thomas) or unsigned (the compelling Austin band Palaxy Tracks). Should you attend SXSW to revel in performances by old favorites, or skip the best and seek out the rest? Which would you pick during a single one-hour time slot: David Byrne, Gillian Welch, Nebula, Julie Doiron, Waco Brothers, The Toadies, or one of a few dozen others?
In many ways, SXSW is like a film festival where many of the entries are out-of-circulation favorites that will never be shown in quite the same way again. You can see the amazing New Pornographers on tour in other cities, but how often will Kinks singer and SXSW keynote speaker Ray Davies jump on stage for a song? Sometimes it's possible to see old favorites during daytime promotional appearances, but when those acts include Ron Sexsmith, Death Cab For Cutie, Clem Snide, and the aforementioned New Pornographers, one exposure often isn't enough.
Crowds and lines did mar many concerts. The popular Austin club Emo's splits into two venues, allowing easy transfer back and forth, the only downside occurring when one act is far more popular than the one on the other stage. The jaw-droppingly abrasive sounds of The Locust were entertaining for a short time, after which everyone in attendance crushed in for the soothing atmospherics of Japancakes, which became less soothing when oxygen became an issue. Conversely, fire marshals had slashed the capacity of the coffeehouse Ruta Maya to 49 shortly before SXSW—you could turn cartwheels with only 48 other people in there—so hundreds crushed against the entrance to get a look at Palaxy Tracks. This may be stating the obvious, but that probably didn't create optimum safety conditions in the event of a fire. It's not much of a comfort that bizarre liquor-license and capacity restrictions exist even in Austin, which has a more progressive view of live music than arguably any other city in America.
With 1,000+ showcasing bands and plenty more playing small clubs that didn't participate in SXSW, it helped to have a gimmick or hook. Brassy's perverse mix of rock, hip-hop, cheerleader-style vocals, and sneering hipster attitude had the benefit of a famous sibling: Singer Muffin Spencer is Jon Spencer's younger sister. But the music was insufferable, with shrill, smug posturing that made the elder Spencer's act seem warm, sincere, and restrained by comparison. The White Stripes, a brother-sister act with far more menace and groove, had the striking outfits and Led Zeppelin stomp down pat, justifying a significant portion of its deafening buzz. And Bloodhag needed little more than its hilarious concept to draw a sizable crowd on a slow opening night: The Seattle "edu-core" band, clad in dress shirts and ties, blurts out spastic grindcore, with each song serving as a biography of a different science-fiction author. Musically, the joke gets pummeled into submission after a while, but it makes for an essential T-shirt. Order yours at www.hiscorearcade.com/bldhg.htm.
As with film festivals, SXSW makes it easy to lose sight of the realities beyond its borders: The outstanding Scottish rock band Idlewild, whose 100 Broken Windows is sure to rank among the year's best, reached thousands at several Austin appearances. But its live dates in the weeks that follow include plenty of low-profile club dates and free campus shows. One of the biggest invite-only industry concerts was headlined by none other than The Cult, returning after nearly a decade of discord, side projects, and worldwide indifference. With all due respect to The Cult's legacy, it's easy to get the feeling that if a big enough deal were made of it, Kris Kross could attract a line around the block at SXSW. Comebacks are always brewing here.
Other shows naturally produced mixed results. Tha Liks, the witty hip-hop group formerly known as Tha Alkaholiks, had its charms buried under so-so sound and a sea of hip-hop concert tropes. (Everybody say, "Li-iks!") The joyous Black Eyed Peas, another of the best hip-hop groups working today, fared considerably better in a more challenging outdoor setting. Johnny Dowd's stage presence, complete with lyrics recited from a notebook, was almost as unnerving as his hypnotic music. Superdrag and Arlo did well with aggressively catchy, supercharged pop-rock, while the comparatively gentle likes of The Minders, The Orange Peels, and Frisbie made winning work in the venerable but somehow commercially unfashionable genre of power-pop.
Few genres went without representation at SXSW: For impossibly tight garage-rock, it's hard to outdo the critically acclaimed Streetwalkin' Cheetahs, while Drive-By Truckers melded the guitar heroics of Neil Young to the Southern-rock sensibility of Lynyrd Skynyrd. The latter's set grew ponderous as it devolved into an endless jam session, but the first half drew widespread raves. Maverick country singers Radney Foster, Jim Lauderdale, and Jeff Black played in the round, alternating songs and singing the praises of their new independent record label, Dual Tone. The eternally winning Foster and promising Black outdid Lauderdale, even though he's arguably the most popular of the three. Roots-pop acts were well represented by former Whiskeytown collaborator Caitlin Cary and the wonderful Clem Snide, whose late-night set no doubt attracted dozens of new fans. If the forthcoming The Ghost Of Fashion is as warmly winning as last year's appropriately titled Your Favorite Music, it should rank among 2001's highlights. And while the exquisite dirge-pop group Red House Painters would have benefited from an earlier time slot—its songs weren't made for standing-room-only crowds late at night—it was nice to see the band return after a lengthy, label-imposed hiatus. Its long-in-limbo Old Ramon, shelved for about three years, finally comes out Apr. 17.
Ray Davies, who has experienced industry difficulties of his own in the past year, opened the conference with a lengthy keynote address. Over the course of nearly an hour, Davies covered his best musical moments, his travails with labels (including his own, which once tried to enlist the musical services of Vincent Price), and his stalled projects (including a new album and an iffy-sounding musical titled Come Dancing). The best line among many contenders: "Beware of the record executive who doesn't know how to tap his feet."
Even the most rhythmically impaired visitor to SXSW would have had a hard time not finding something to enjoy among so many contenders. Regardless of the fate and recurring flaws of the industry—up to and including its propensity for having chewed up and spit out many of the 2001 conference's best acts—the music itself sounded as vital as ever. For all the distractions of massive crowds, rampant schmoozing, Shiner beer, and ringing ears, that's all that really matters.