And so it begins… South By
Southwest 2006, the 20th year of musical madness in Austin, Texas, the
self-proclaimed "music capital of the USA!" Eight billion bands play in any
available nook and cranny, some already massively popular, some hoping to catch
the ears of radio programmers, media, and honest-to-goodness music fans. (And
sometimes all three.) The A.V. Club
ventured down south to join in the delicious melee. We humbly offer this
minute-by-minute report.
DAY ONE, MARCH 15: OFF TO THE
ROCK RACES
4:56 p.m.: You know you're at SXSW when the taxi receipt
features advertising for a new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album.
5:48 p.m.: Imagine that all the rockers from your town founded
their own city, and you'll have a rough approximation of Austin in March.
Unlike its New York counterpart, CMJ, SXSW is concentrated into one relatively
small area. Black T-shirts, bed head, dudes wearing eyeliner, and tattoos
abound. The days begin early with parties and barbecues, and they end late with
shows everywhere. Unlike CMJ, a
lot of bands end up playing multiple times, so it's not a big deal if you can't
get into a show—you'll probably have another chance.
6:01 p.m.: An air of desperation lingers as bands try to stand
out, industry types talk business, and people size up others to see how they
can benefit. It concentrates pretentiousness into spiritually lethal doses. At
this very moment, the founder of eMusic—he sold the company years ago to
Universal—is sitting nearby in a café, pitching some kind of new business
to various label people. There's talk of revenue streams, royalty payments,
and—probably—synergy. (That last one is a guess.) But SXSW has a
festive air that acts as the spoonful of sugar to make the soul-sucking
elements go down. It's hard to complain when there are so many good bands, warm
(though cloudy) weather, and Shiner Bock.
6:08 p.m.: The first day of SXSW Music (it's immediately
preceded by SXSW Film and SXSW Interactive) is a zoo, and everybody who
purchased or somehow earned a badge must wait in line to get it. A SXSW
worker—they're everywhere, and the fest is amazingly well
organized—tells someone behind us in line, "Everybody has to wait.
Everybody who gets a badge is the same. The Beastie Boys had to wait in this line. Elijah Wood had to wait in this line." We think he said, "Charlize Theron didn't have to wait, though."
7:08 p.m.: To the average Joe, he probably just looks like a
weird, possibly homeless guy, but he's a demigod here: While waiting for a
table at a Thai restaurant, in ambles Dinosaur Jr's J Mascis, with grey mane attached. We end up seeing him everywhere over the weekend.
8:14 p.m.: At the opposite end of the indie-rock celebrity
spectrum… It's former O–Town member (they're the boy band from Making The Band, remember?) Jacob Underwood, who now sports big ol' dreadlocks. Does anyone else
here recognize him? Doubtful.
8:19 p.m.: Thieves could have a field day breaking into vans and
trailers here. (Not that The A.V. Club would condone that behavior.) Say, is that Orange Rockerverb 100 yours?
Nice. Oh, and that vintage Moog too, huh? Are you gonna be around all night?
Speaking of vans and buses, they're all here, from 20-year-old shitheaps to gussied-up Nightliners to one van that had a PA mounted inside of its rear doors. (A band performed inside.) "We had hoped to have the only white van, but
it looks like we're out of luck," Eric Elbogen of NYC indie-poppers Say Hi
To Your Mom said. Maybe next year.
9:21 p.m.: Russian Circles play "Death Rides A Horse" at the Flameshovel
showcase, stealing the show. Bound Stems are here, too, but there's something in the air that's not quite
right. A mysterious pool of water at the front of the stage turns out to be raw
sewage. Bound Stems play a solid set of fractured, arty rock, and don't appear
to be too concerned by the stench. After the set, the band admits that the
smell was twice as bad onstage.
10:30 p.m.: An invite-only party for Blender magazine's 20th anniversary (are they that old?), is
getting underway at a produce warehouse outside the main drag. The event offers
the irresistible lure of a "red carpet." The promised celebs (Elijah Wood, Tommy Chong (!)) never materialize. There's a scramble to take photos of a guy we
don't recognize. It turns out to be jazzy Brit singer Jamie Cullum, a fact that excites mostly no one. Also appearing on
the red carpet: Singer-songwriter Rhett Miller, who looks way too dressed up.
11:55 p.m.: The music finally starts, with buzzing Twin Cities
band Tapes N' Tapes, who are at
least partly worthy of the hype around them here. Like many bands, they're
scheduled to play SXSW an ungodly number of times. The fashion-forward crowd
seems unenthused—they're not here to be enthused—but the band is
pretty great. We don't stick around for Echo & The Bunnymen or Spoon
(or all the free liquor).
11:59 p.m.: '90s indie stalwarts Versus are still amazing, and
it's even worth jumping at any chance to see their offshoots. +/- is fronted by James Baluyut and Pat Ramos
—Versus' guitarist and drummer, respectively—and its records
feature wondrously claustrophobic pop that has a few things in common with
Pinback. The band's fleshed-out live sound can be explosive.
12:32 a.m.: Unintentionally hilarious British band The
Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster
plays sorta proto-modern-metal-punk that nods to Danzig and hardcore. We just
assumed they were weird no-names on a British showcase, but apparently they're
hep enough to rate an upcoming collaboration with UNKLE…
1:06 a.m.: The Rakes
may be this year's future of Brit-rock—funny, cutting, catchy, and great.
Singer Alan Donohoe looks and dances like Ian Curtis, but the band sounds like
a fashion-unconscious Bloc Party with a love of The Jam—and with tight
songs more important than their presentation. That makes for a riveting
performance, which includes the monster single "Retreat," as well as a Serge
Gainsbourg cover. Amazing.
1:13
a.m.: Even though it takes The Go!
Team an eternity to set their gear up
for the night's last slot, they easily win over the audience with ebullience.
The English band couldn't have looked happier to be onstage, and it was
contagious for the capacity crowd at Exodus. The club's stage is at street level
with windows along the back, so passersby could watch the show from behind if
they couldn't get in. That's the other thing: You can't walk down the street
without hearing a cacophony of music from various clubs, all of it blending
together. Last night on Red River Street, you could tell that Neko Case was
performing with The New Pornographers because her voice came through clear
across the street.
2:02
a.m.: The Flaming Lips finish up a "secret" show. It's exactly the kind of
thing that makes Austin in March so exciting and fun. Thursday's "secret" show?
Beastie Boys.
[pagebreak]
DAY TWO, MARCH 16: FOR THOSE
CONTINUING TO ROCK, WE SALUTE YOU
10:30 a.m.: SXSW managing director Roland Swenson gives a
heartfelt introduction to an appearance by Neil Young and film director Jonathan Demme, noting that the festival had tried in the past to
get Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan as keynote speakers, but never
Young—he seemed out of reach. As on his recent Daily Show appearance, Young was totally normal and chill, which
actually seemed a little strange. He spoke about songwriting, the concert film
he made with Demme, etc. It wasn't terribly enlightening, but interesting just
the same.
12:06 p.m.: Owen,
also known as Mike Kinsella (Cap'n Jazz, American Football, Joan Of Arc) is
playing at the Convention Center. It's a little early to completely absorb his
beautifully confessional songs, but he sounds great and, appropriately enough,
plays the song that includes the line, "I listen to my same old CDs / New Order
and Morrissey."
4:16 p.m.: Islands,
featuring former members of The Unicorns, make a pretty little mess onstage at
the Longbranch Inn, both with the cheese popcorn they're tossing around and
with worldbeat-tinged indie pop. When rappers Subtitle and Busdriver join the fun, for a few seconds it feels like the place is going to
explode.
4:30 p.m.: Neko Case soundchecks with "Star Witness" in a tiny field house
in a park overlooking the city at a party thrown by Anti- Records and Chicago
club the Hideout (where Case used to tend bar). SXSW simply doesn't get better
than a small show with great music, free alcohol, nice weather, and an awesome
view of the city.
5:10 p.m.: Elefant,
the New York band that sounds British, closes out a Filter-sponsored party. They're giving away Puma track
jackets with "Elefant" emblazoned on the back. The sound is boomy and weird,
since it's in a big stone courtyard covered by a tent. But Elefant are still
good, even though the singer doesn't wear his scarf. It's probably too humid
for that.
8:47 p.m.: Guy walking on Sixth Street talks on his phone:
"Every time someone thinks I'm a loser, I can feel it." Blabbing on your cell
phone at top volume isn't helping.
9:15 p.m.: People go nuts for Morrissey, of course. And he's very good, of course, because he's
the sort of born entertainer/artiste that most bands here wish they could be,
or at least be near. No, his later solo stuff isn't as good as The Smiths, but
it's still pretty damn good. And for the old school, he even busts out
"Girlfriend In A Coma," "How Soon Is Now," and, best of all, "Still Ill." Up
next, according to the guide, is a "Special Guest." This is usually a good
sign, so we stick around until the next scheduled act, Goldfrapp, takes the stage. Ray Davies was reportedly supposed to show up and play, but
didn't.
9:17 p.m.: Red Hot Chili Peppers logos (with the release date of their new album) are
spray-painted on top of other people's posters and flyers all over the city.
Because if anyone needs the help of viral marketing, it's a multi-platinum
artist with a large, devoted fanbase—never mind the unknowns or relative
unknowns whose posters are getting covered up.
10:02 p.m.: A man who turns out to be Wayne Coyne of The
Flaming Lips walks down Sixth Street
in a giant plastic ball, followed by people in giant alien and insect costumes.
SXSW has a little bit of a Mardi Gras to it, which may explain the
Bible-beaters roaming the streets and urging people to repent. As the
evangelicals shout over a megaphone, a woman yells, "Elvis is my personal lord
and savior!"
10:10 p.m.: Deadstring Brothers take the stage at the Bloodshot Records showcase. The vibe of the club is sports-bar jockiness
(female boxing and the NCAA tournament are on the five giant HDTVs). Waitresses
walk the crowd with test-tube shots, and an MC talks constantly between bands,
"Hey folks, don't forget to try a shot, only $2! All right, stick around for
more great music from Bloodshot Records artists!" What, no jalapeno shooters?
Singer Masha Marjieh asks, "Am I forced to watch TV while I play?" Answer: Yes.
Singer-guitarist Kurt Marschke adds sarcastically, "Gimme some of that female
kickboxing!" The Deadstring Brothers play an excellent set of country-fied
Southern rock anyhoo.
11:24 p.m.: Scott H. Biram—"the dirty one-man band"—plays a song about getting hit by
an 18-wheeler, which actually happened to him. Biram's pleasantly abrasive hard
blues is excellent, and he's an electrifying performer—no small feat for
a man whose setup consists of his voice, his guitar, and some kind of kick-drum
contraption. He swears a lot, too. Biram debuts a new song: "Well if it tastes
like chicken, and it smells like pee, you know that fish didn't come from the
sea!" A few seconds later he adds, "That's all I got for that one." Who needs more?
12:13 a.m.: Bobby Bare Jr.: "Could you turn off the yellow lights? I feel like I'm a cheeseburger
in the yellow lights of life." Bare, son of country-music legend Bobby Bare,
plays an excellent set of rocking Americana, a nice mix of country twang and
rock bombast.
1:59 a.m.: In an effort to end night two with a bang, it's
straight to Eternal to experience the fuss that is Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. It turns out that the Brooklyn band—which
plays earnestly quirky indie pop that brings to mind Talking Heads, The Velvet
Underground, and Violent Femmes but is too inspired to sound
derivative—is worth every drop of the ink that's been spilled in its
name.
[pagebreak]
DAY THREE, MARCH 17: NEVER
GIVE UP, NEVER SURRENDER!
12 p.m.: Just because you can drink for free at noon doesn't mean you should.
12:29 p.m.: Two band guys sit in a sandwich shop discussing their
singer: "I think the qualities that make him an asshole also make him a good
lead singer," one says. The other counters that it's part of the "good guys,
bad band" phenomenon: Nice people make shitty music, or so the theory goes.
12:35 p.m.: Scarecrow! This
metal band caught a friend's eye because they wear skeleton face paint.
Apparently they caught no one else's eye, because they play to about five
people. But they give it their skeleton-faced all just the same. The singer
even introduces himself as "Yours deadly."
1:56 p.m.: Reverend Dave Ciancio of The Syndicate (the company
that manages screamo band Thursday, among others) snags what he says is his
42nd pair of sneakers at the Riot Act Media/Flameshovel Records showcase. He
apparently has 41 pairs of Vans and, now, one pair of retro-looking Sauconys.
2:48 p.m.: Comedian Eugene Mirman hosts the Merge/Sub Pop party in the sand-filled
backyard of a BBQ joint about a mile outside downtown. He does a bit about a
band that sent him a MySpace message (they were opening for Badfish, apparently
"the best" Sublime tribute band), and they wanted him to come. He answers with
a disturbing message that includes, "The worst thing I've ever done is shit on
a cat in its sleep." Recent Sub Pop signees Band Of Horses begin a set that's marred by constant mic problems.
Frontman Ben Bridwell changes lyrics to say it's their worst show ever.
Everyone laughs.
3:01 p.m.: The Go! Team is supposed be going on right now at the Spin party at Stubb's, but apparently they're already
done. The Stills follow with a
fairly boring performance, but We Are Scientists are convincing. Apparently Charlatans UK are still together, too.
3:40 p.m.: Back at the Flameshovel party, Headphones—the newish project of Pedro The Lion's David
Bazan—battles a mic stand that won't stay up. He prefaces a song with a
bit of history about how the Romans privatized their army just before the
empire fell. "I pray America crumbles soon," he says. Umm…
4:20 p.m.: Legendary '90s punk band Lifetime, who broke up in '97 but reunited last year, begin
their set at Emo's. (My Chemical Romance is the not-so-secret headliner.) The crowd erupts. Frontman Ari Katz
says, "This is the most girls there's been at a Lifetime show ever." A guy with
a visible bald spot stage dives. People run and jump off the stage continuously
during the set, and the crowd itself jumps up and down, moshes, and generally
freaks out. The group's members clearly didn't expect such an ecstatic
reception, but they love it. Afterward, a kid exclaims, "That didn't just
happen, did it? I can't believe that just happened!" Just how big of a deal was
it that Lifetime played? After My Chemical Romance takes the stage (to much
squealing from young girls), frontman Gerard Way says, "The greatest fucking
honor of our lives is to play with Lifetime."
5 p.m.: RJD2 is
playing DJ at the Pitchfork day
party, which takes place in a tent. No one seems to notice that RJD2 is playing
DJ, though, as it just sorta sounds like someone is playing records between
bands. Which, come to think of it, is exactly what's happening. Art Brut
closes out the tent party, and the British band is funny, sloppy, and weird.
Singer Eddie Argos has a killer moustache. They blaze through 25 minutes,
including a new version of the song "Emily Kane," in which Argos updates the
story of his long-lost girlfriend. It's fucking charming.
6:40 p.m.: We Are
Scientists, last year's super buzzing
band at SXSW (and owners of an excellent, Killers-like album this year),
perform three songs for a live broadcast on a Minnesota radio station. Have you
ever seen a band play in a little conference room on the top floor of a hotel?
It's actually pretty cool. The DJ interviews bassist Chris Cain—he of the
semi-ironic moustache—between songs, and he's hilarious. The band is
great, too: How is their record not totally massive yet?
7 p.m.: The big story of day two is a surprise appearance by
the Beastie Boys, who open a show
at Stubb's that also features Deadboy And The Elephantmen, Noisettes, The Fiery
Furnaces, The Dresden Dolls, Gomez, and Nickel Creek. Word travels quickly late
in the afternoon, and the teeming masses converge. A TV news van parks outside,
a news helicopter circles overhead, and the staff tries to cope with a crowd
intent on getting in. The Beasties take the stage to "Brass Monkey" of all
things, and the crowd goes crazy. Enthusiasm makes it easy to forgive the
B-Boys' obvious rustiness, and the trio keeps the goodwill going with a set
full of hits, from "No Sleep Till Brooklyn" to "Body Movin." A guy exclaims,
"Damn, they look motherfuckin' old!"
7:25 p.m.: A giant MySpace bus gets mobbed by kids on Fifth
Street. They disappear inside of it as it pulls away, perhaps never to be seen
or heard from again.
8:49 p.m.: Members of female trio The Like sign the autograph wall at Arirang sushi on Sixth
Street. One member draws a big heart, then writes "The Like are cunts 4 eva"
inside of it.
10 p.m.: Same hotel as We Are Scientists, same floor,
different side, it's Eric Bachmann
playing the No Depression night. He's not necessarily a fit for that crowd, but
he is amazing, especially with the addition of some new songs and a violin
player. The instrumental "Islero" is fiery. A solo album—how is that
different than a Crooked Fingers album, you ask?—is due later this year,
and the bits we hear are great.
10:15 p.m.: With all the available choices, Sukpatch at Latitude 30 turns out to be a bad call. The
Minneapolis band apparently forgot that it used to make great, beats-y pop that
was like a more drugged-out, less eager version of Beck. Now Sukpatch is just a
run-of-the-mill indie-rock band. Sadly, Toto, we aren't in the mid-'90s
anymore.
11:05 p.m.: It's time to leave civilization and make the trek
east for the Fiery Furnaces show
at Red's Scoot Inn. Though there's a line to get into this unsanctioned event,
a hill behind the venue is just high enough to allow for a perfect view of the
stage. There's no denying that the Friedbergers are rocking the place with all
their might, but once it becomes clear that they're not going to start throwing
punches at each other, it's easy to stop paying attention.
11:15 p.m.: Clem Snide's Eef Barzelay plays solo, battling
against bad sound, another band playing outside, and even—oh the
inhumanity—a sound system right behind him that won't stop playing
hip-hop. He plays an angry set, which is still pretty damn impressive. But
ideal conditions these are not.
12:07 a.m.: Binky Griptite, guitarist and emcee for The
Dap-Kings (blues maven Sharon
Jones'), warms up the crowd before Jones makes an appearance. He tells the
bartenders to turn off the TV over the bar: "There's only one show going on
here tonight."
12:20 a.m.: You haven't been to Austin in March until you've been
nearly bowled over on the sidewalk by Juliette Lewis. Slow down, rocker!
12:40 a.m.: Text message from Kyle: "Make the blues music stop."
Note that he still wants music, just not blues. Good for you, Kyle!
1:27 a.m.: Neko Case
laments her choice of pants. "I have a bit of a camel toe going on," she says,
laughing, and requests that people don't take photos of it. Everyone cheers,
particularly the dudes. Her backup singers, Kelly Hogan and Rachel Flotard,
laugh before Flotard says, "Really? We have a moose's paw over here. It's
clams' night out, if you know what I mean." The crowd roars. After Case plays
"Dirty Knife," a track from her excellent new Fox Confessor Brings The Flood, a woman in the crowd says, "She's blowing my mind!
I'm going to buy all her albums tomorrow!"
2:05 a.m.: St. Patrick's Day ends with Snow Patrol at Stubb's, and the dramatic pop is a bit
underwhelming. Maybe it's all that Shiner talking, but suddenly everything
starts to sound like The Goo Goo Dolls. It's time to get some sleep.
[pagebreak]
DAY FOUR, MARCH 18:
RUNNING ON FUMES, BUT RUNNING JUST THE SAME
11:10 a.m.: The circus prepares to leave town, but not without an
intense day and night first. People are exhausted, hung over, and getting
burned out, but they soldier on.
1:54 p.m.: During an acoustic set at the Austin Convention
Center, Rogue Wave plays "Salesman At The Day Of The Parade," a quiet
song from their recent Descended Like Vultures.
2:13 p.m.: Flatstock 8,
a gathering of rock-show poster designers, is doing brisk business. It'd be
easy to drop a month's pay at this joint, with amazing limited-edition work by
The Bird Machine, Burlesque, Aesthetic Apparatus, and tons of others. If you
want some funny Dr. Dre stickers or a kick-ass Arcade Fire poster, this is the
place to be.
2:16 p.m.: There aren't a ton of people on hand to see Amusement
Parks On Fire, but the English band
plays a great set of anthemic rock that bursts, buzzes, and pays tribute to
some of the best alt-rock from the '90s (Smashing Pumpkins, Hum, Dinosaur Jr.,
etc.).
3:01 p.m.: Near the Emo's Annex stage across the street, a young
girl asks a security guard what time Lifetime will play. When she hears that the band played
yesterday, it's like she just watched a puppy get run over. Twice.
3:50 p.m.: Far from the din of downtown, there's more din: The
neighborhood surrounding the University Of Texas (a couple of miles north)
keeps busy, with shows in vintage shops, pizza places, and even Urban
Outfitters, which scores great bands every year. The Rakes play again, after some serious technical
difficulties. They are even awesomer than on Wednesday.
4:01 p.m.: The microphone keeps cutting out on Beth Ditto of The
Gossip. Instead of getting pissy
about it, Ditto says, "Fuck it, I don't care. You can hear me." Considering the
intensity of her gospel-like punk wail, she's probably right.
5:32 p.m.: Goblin Cock
is a sludgy metal band fronted by Pinback's Rob Crow, and just in case anyone
thought that any of the black-cloaked dudes onstage were taking themselves
seriously, they toss in a cover of Tears For Fears' "Head Over Heels."
Hopefully Roland Orzabal will get a chance to hear it someday.
5:36 p.m.: Screamo band Thursday takes the stage with "Understanding In A Car Crash"
and the crowd erupts. There's a lot of singing along and pointing fingers at
singer Geoff Rickley, who flails like an epileptic.
8:34 p.m.: The singer of New Mexican Disaster Squad prefaces a song during the group's set at the Jade
Tree showcase at Emo's by referring to it as "the fuck song." A fiftysomething woman
sitting in the corner keeps her fingers in her ears. The group's hardcore was
apparently too loud, and there's no doubt she's too old.
9:02 p.m.: Hardcore band Paint It Black takes a minute between songs to make sarcastic
comments about SXSW. "That's what SXSW is all about—moving units, making
connections… and eyeliner." The bassist adds, "If I see anyone on a Blackberry
during our set, I'm going to throw down my bass and shove it up your ass."
9:15 p.m.: Eternal, which looks like a dance club, is the wrong
place for tender acoustic troubadour Jose Gonzalez. He's still impressive, even more so live than he is
on record. He plays his cover of The Knife's "Heartbeats" (the one from the
Sony Bravia commercial with all the balls bouncing down Russian Hill in San
Francisco) and pretty much transfixes the entire audience (except for one
asshole who thinks he's being hilarious by secretly attaching stuff to his
friend's back).
10:11 p.m.: Over at the Merge showcase, there may not be a less
surprising band in the world than The Essex Green, whose throwback pop seems generated via some sort of
throwback-pop computing machine. Is this the same label that spawned The Arcade
Fire, Polvo, and…
10:57 p.m.: …Superchunk,
who hadn't played together in months before this show and who seem perpetually
on the edge of packing it in? You couldn't tell here, as they stormed and joked
through a set of classics and even a newbie or two. Singer/label co-owner Mac
McCaughn started the set with this gem: "I didn't tell the rest of the band,
but I think we're gonna get signed tonight!" then blazed through everything
from "Cool" to a fiery "Precision Auto." After the set, who appears on stage to
half-drunkenly sing Superchunk's praises? David Cross, that's who. Nice.
2:16 a.m.: And then it was done, and a whirlwind of rock had
blown through town for the 20th time. There are shows we're sorry we missed
(Editors, Gang Of Four, Levy, Julie Doiron, Billy Bragg, The Flaming Lips,
Metallagher, the Barsuk/Saddle Creek showcase, and lots more), but there's
always next year. We'll be back.