SXSW (Thursday): Found Magazine and Quackmedia Day Party
RED 7; Austin, TX
I showed up at RED 7 just in time to know I was about to be in big trouble. David Letterman comedian {Andy Kindler} tried out his brand of cheesy Jewish humor on the audience, who were not having it, but I've got my own personal reasons for thinking the guy is kind of awesome, so I fought the boos with about 15 other people.
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- {The Hard Lessons}
The Hard Lessons are from Detroit, MI, a kickass husband-and-wife team made up of guitarist/vocalist Gin and keyboardist/vocalist Koko Louise. They also might have the hardest-working drummer in the business, because The Hard Lessons' freight train of solid rock ‘n’ roll doesn't allow for a single breather. Ripping through a 30-minute set, the electricity between Gin and Koko was palpable, as the room swelled to capacity. Gin ended the set hanging from the rafters, playing his guitar with the cord looped over a metal rod. The crowd lost it, because who doesn't love some good rock show theatrics?
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- {Lucero}
The room's demographic slowly changed from neon-clad hipstahs with geometric haircuts to slightly older folks with kids, who had obviously come to check out Lucero, from Memphis, TN. Ben Nichols' raspy croon manages to bring an element of sweetness to their hard-drinking sound, most notably stirring up the room with live favorite “I Kissed the Bottle” from Dreaming in America. For a band on the brink of its first major-label release (Universal), Lucero give the most down-to-earth, grin-worthy set I've seen thus far, delivering with a beery gusto and certain joy that even country music haters can't dismiss.
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- {The Hold Steady}
The Hold Steady's live shows have grown to epic proportions, and it's definitely a mixed bag, as their crowds have grown much larger (awesome) but for some reason decided that circle pits are a good idea (not awesome). After getting punched in the face, I retreated backstage to watch from a safer vantage point and marveled at the effortlessly tight powerhouse the Hold Steady's set has become. Craig Finn spits out his nasty little novels over guitarist Tad Kubler's measured mayhem, backed by sweet harmonies and keys from Franz Nicolay and the rock-solid rhythm section of bassist Galen Polivka and drummer Bobby Drake. Giving the sweaty, exuberant crowd an even sampling of old and new tunes, they closed out with the arresting “Slapped Actress” from 2008's Stay Positive.
SXSW (Thursday): Primal Scream (Sponsored by BlackBerry!)
Cedar Street Courtyard; Austin, TX
Before Primal Scream starts, self-importance hangs over this event like a black cloud. The social hierarchy breaks down thusly: ticket holders vs. wristband holders vs. badge holders vs. VIPs vs. artists — these groups are favored for entrance and seating. This class system emerges in a way that’s tragically familiar to us well-dressed beasts. We all fall into our roles, bow our heads, and do as we’re told.
I’m surrounded by marketing majors who aspire to be yuppies. The scene is grim, dear readers. We are lost. But hopefully soon we will be found. Primal Scream will revive our tired souls, born into a bondage of which we are only partially aware.
Primal Scream is pure, transcendent holiness. Bobby Gillespie is modest, delicate, ugly, and completely illuminated. A radiant grey-hair in a sport coat offers me a joint and says, “This is what we did in the ’60s!” I respond, “This is what we do now!” And it’s a really fucking sweet moment.
Bouncers periodically have to literally leap from stage to audience to pull some dancing crazyperson from the gentle mosh pit that has materialized in the middle of the floor. AT LAST, I’m at a show where such a magical scene could take place.
SXSW (Thursday): Found Magazine and Quackmedia Party, Thee Oh Sees
Various; Austin TX
Hindsight being 20/20 and all that, it would have been a smart idea to have set out today with some sort of game plan. Alas, "smart" doesn't often figure much into my constitution. Today ended up being a rewarding yet frustrating (see my second recap later today), proving that not all is sunshine and smiles at SXSW. I also came to the realization that SXSW is a lot closer in spirit to Mardi-Gras than it would like to believe. Having said all of that, the day couldn't have started any better.
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- {Thee Oh Sees @ The Beauty Bar Patio}
Oh dear, intelligent TMT readers! I hardly have to mention how good Thee Oh Sees were, do I? I will anyway, because when it comes to masters of manic and intense, too much information doesn't come into the equation. Playing a midday set under the packed Beauty Bar tent, John Dwyer, Dammit!, Mike Shoun, and a keyboardist I did not know (sorry) tore into their songs with the intensity of a starving badger. The group was truly in a punishing mood, giving more attention to their low-end chuggernauts than to their dronier psychedelics. With Dwyer chewing up the mic and violating his Burns guitar and the band shooting the same intensity back at him on the floor, to say this was the opening shot everyone needed is a massive understatement. By the time they struck their last chords and skins, the band, the audience, and the walls were covered in a welcome start-of-the-day sweat.
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- {Found Magazine and Quackmedia Party @ RED 7}
{The Entrance Band}'s leader, singer, and guitarist Guy Blakeslee gives new meaning to the word "skinny." As he danced around his mic during the power trio's songs, I couldn't help but think of Steve Vai's Crossroads appearance. Blakeslee's playing probably helped cement that image also, as he worked his paisley guitar with much-applauded skill and emotion. As cool as Blakeslee was, the bassist and drummer were equally enthralling. I have never, ever seen a girl play the bass like Paz Lenchantin does. Whether convulsing and contorting or dropping to her knees to belt out heavy-stringed notes, she snatched the audience's attention from her frontman every few seconds. Not to be outdone, drummer Derek James was a whirling dervish of limbs as he belted away on his kit. Playing a blues-based brand of psychedelic rock, this was not the most spectacularly novel-sounding event, but it was certainly one of the most energetic shows I have seen in awhile, and The Entrance Band managed to drive an adrenaline needle into the heart of what is often a lifeless heavily-stoned sound.
While certainly no fashion plate myself, I simply have to take a couple of lines to describe what I saw at {The Magic} (pictured) show. I realize it was still early in the day and I had been recently rattled by an Oh Sees roundhouse to my senses, but what kind of mystical world did I enter where a stage can be inhabited by a cast consisting of a ginger-haired high-school jazzbo, a 4th grade dodge ball student, a wedding band rebel (tuxedo shirt, sleeves cut off), an ice-cool keyboard femme fatale, and a frontman that looked like prime 1980s era Edwin Collins, but wearing skin-tight sparkly-pocketed cut-offs, suspenders, white patent leather loafers, and argyles? This amalgamation of weirdness' sound could only be placed in that emerging unclassifiable class of electro stutter-step disco pop that was bizarre and incredibly catchy.
After shocking the crowd from their afternoon stupors, most of The Magic took a back seat and played behind {Human Highway}, featuring Nick Thorburn from Islands and The Unicorns and country troubadour Jim Guthrie. When Thorburn took the mic and said, "I hope you like slow dancing," he wasn't kidding. Playing a soft set of creepers and weepers culled from their debut disc, Moody Motorcycle, the duo and support staff had the crowd in a happy, mellow mood, although a little lulled. While it was easy to get taken away to sleepy town during Human Highway's show, it was also near-impossible to not get wistful or even misty-eyed listening to the melodies created by the two singers, recalling earlier, easier times when male singing duos ruled the world.
I was going to ride out of Red 7 and into the Austin sunset until I was stopped by the arty, dream rock of Detroit's {Javelins} (pictured). It is difficult to put a finger on what they do so well. Is it straightforward, well-executed pop songs? Is it the canvassing of styles and patterns (pop/rock, dance, herky-jerky) to make a unique whole? Is it the singing drummer invoking made-up memories of a skinny, good-looking Phil Collins with hair? Whatever it is, it works. I would have gotten kicked out of my journalism program if I ever used the term "really pleasant" to describe something that clearly deserves better, but I cannot think of anything that describes Javelins better. Maybe it is best not to think too much about formulas for success and go with the most tried-and true formula of all: simplicity. I was interested, but not captivated, by their album (Heavy Meadows), but I think a revisit is in due order. But for now, it is time to recharge.
SXSW (Wednesday): Austinist Party / Austin Music Awards / Dananananakroyd @ The Dirty Dog
Various; Austin, TX
- {Austinist Party @ The Mohawk}
Following a most unfortunate encounter with {The Von Bondies} at Red 7, we headed to The Mohawk to catch {Akron/Family}, but they still hadn’t hit the outside stage. So instead of listening to the excruciating hippy-rific sounds of {Elvis Perkins in Dearland}, we sought louder refuge at the inside stage, only to find who else but {The Mae Shi}, AGAIN! Oh sweet fortune, thank thee for thy bounty! Honestly, I could watch The Mae Shi all day. They did the same songs, save for a 30 second rendition of “I Get (Almost) Everything I Want,” played the same electric autoharp, threw the same parachute over a similarly raucous crowd, but who cares! They play with a puzzling conviction that ranges from near-weeping emotionality to TPing the principal’s house gaiety, so it’s always a treat to marvel at their versatility as well as to wonder about what the heck they’re gonna do next.
Earlier in the day I asked guitarist Brad Breeck a question in a half-assed attempt to sum up the group: There are two kinds of punk bands, those who listen to “Institutionalized” by Suicidal Tendencies and really identify with it, and those who laugh at how stupid it is. Which camp does The Mae Shi fall in? He replied, “Both. It’s important to feel those things and say them, but you have to laugh at yourself too, because you’re ridiculous.” I think I may have actually sort of kind of succeeded... maybe.
Off to Akron/Family we traipsed following another enchanting set with The Mae Shi. After ages of sound-checking and finagling with instruments, they began at last. My initial thoughts were that Akron/Family could be a far better band if they would just forget the verses and just go straight into the chorus. All too often they would stick with a tinkered out drum melody and breathy vocal for too long, only to finally arrive with a beguiling melody long after my patience left the station. They’re at their best when their tunes kick into full gear and they start to float off script, but like scores of jam bands before them, they often get caught in the snares of pedantic sentimentality in exchange for daring.
All this happened before their penultimate shamanistic trance jam that just left me feeling uneasy. The trio added on four new members, each with his or her own drum, pounding along with the others a hypnotic melody that couldn’t help but send some into a swaying Woodstocky dance. Everyone on stage was obviously having fun by themselves, but I wasn’t having much fun in the crowd. Although a lot of the audience went under the spell, I couldn’t help but think this pulsing jam was more for the band themselves to get lost in instead of taking the audience, or at least me, along with them. But who knows, everyone else seemed to be having a good time. Their last tune was a dull one that reflected none of the cultish danger of the jam, and I left scratching my head towards the nearest Mexican restaurant.
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- {Austin Music Awards @ Austin Music Hall}
We headed to the Austin Music Hall after dinner to see the reunion show of Austin punk legends {The Dicks}, featuring Scratch Acid and The Jesus Lizard’s own beloved madman {David Yow}. This was by far the most disappointing performance of the day (my TMT buddy agrees). The Dicks were preceded by two exceedingly bland Austin groups, {Suzanna Choffel, Ruthie Foster and Carolyn Wonderland} and {Bob Schneider and the Fire Ants}. We endured the muzaky display in hope that The Dicks would hit the stage soon, but unbeknownst to us, this showcase doubled as the Austin Music Awards Show. It had all the long-winded, self-gratifying trimmings of Oscar night, only with uglier people. The Dicks came on a half-hour late and played for only 20 minutes, most of which was spent with the bass turned up so loud that a dude in a hovering Harrier jet would tell the sound guy to turn it the fuck down. David Yow sang on one measly tune, and even though it’s cool that I can say I saw The Dicks, they were old and weathered and just going through the motions instead of trying to recapture their sound.
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- {Dananananakroyd @ The Dirty Dog}
We wisely ended the evening with {Dananananakroyd} at the Dirty Dog. I didn’t think I would see a better punk band after The Mae Shi, but I daresay Dananananakroyd is better, if not easily more boisterous and life-affirming. Comprised of one lead singer, a drummer that floats between drums and performing dueling lead vocals, one permanent drummer, two guitarists and a bassist, Dananananakroyd is a lot to take in. They’re the happiest kids in Scotland, and they just want to play with you. From their anthemic tunes to their unbelievable manipulation of the audience into a “wall of cuddles,” Dananananakroyd are as joyous punk gets this side of Andrew W.K. But where AWK clings to simple three chord standbys, Dananananakroyd include all the expert musical intricacies of a band like Hella in their songs. At the end of their set, the two lead singers headed into the crowd and exclaimed, “We did it! We did it together!” as they high-fived the hell out of everyone within reach. We sure did do it.
A fine end to a really, really packed SXSW. I doubt any further entries on my part will be so extensive as this one.
SXSW (Wednesday): Spaceland Throw Down Party
Maggie Mae’ s; Austin, TX
Austin! City of the living! Home to the biggest and most expensive block party in human history, South by Southwest! Like a timid but well-mannered sheep-herding pig seeking his fortune in the city, I have traveled to this town to be moved by music and to marvel at the bold and dangerous new heights hipsters have taken skinniness (Are Oreos not ironic enough for you to eat, people?).
- {Spaceland Throw Down Party @ Maggie Mae’s}
After missing my downtown stop and riding on the bus for two needless hours, I arrived at the Austin Convention Center at high noon. I got my wristband, went to the toilet, walked up the street, and went into the first bar I found. Unwittingly, I had stumbled into the Spaceland SXSW Party at Maggie Mae’s, a free show with three separate stages featuring almost two-dozen bands. Fraught with indecision as to which band to watch, I decided to make up a rule I shall follow for the rest of SXSW: When confronted with several bands playing at the same time, always go for the loudest one.
My decision paid off. When I got there, {Lovvers} were at the ass end of their set, but I saw enough to enjoy them. A spindly brood of British roustabouts, they grinned and screeched their way through some decidedly simple fuzz-punk. These spazzy Nottinghammers couldn’t be happier to do exactly that, though. The guitarist looked like every riff he pounded out won him the lottery, and the lead singer stomped and swayed through the meager crowd like a pre-pubescent David Lee Roth. I wish I had the chance to catch them in their entirety later, but alas, it appears Wednesday was their sole day of operation. Oh well. Semper fuzz, fellas!
{The Mae Shi}, on the other hand, are painting SXSW red with five official shows this week and a slew of unofficial ones. Their bassist told me they were playing four shows on Thursday alone, and even if he was exaggerating, it’s still a miracle of modern science that such a ruthlessly energetic band can possess so much stamina. According to their guitarist, their tireless work ethic preps them for such impressive feats of endurance, but nowhere is their Herculean effort more apparent than their songs. While Lovvers (and many other punk bands) are as comparably hyper and self-aware, The Mae Shi separate themselves from the pack with an onslaught of calculated synth-and-shout and hilarious hijinks. In what I assume is one of their live hallmarks, they covered the entire crowd in a multi-colored parachute and played under themselves in the pit. With a Mae Shiite within arm’s reach of everyone and the parachute rippling above, I began to think that maybe I shouldn’t have begun my SXSW experience with The Mae Shi. Maybe everything else will be kind of crap after this.
Following The Mae Shi’s transcendence was {Future of the Left}, a hardcore band formed in the ashes of Wales’ beloved mclusky. I didn’t actually know for fact that Falco and Jack Egglestone were in the band until my British friend Tom confirmed it, but it’s impossible to mistake Falco’s phlegmy howl and manic sense of humor. The songs were mostly straightforward, with rhythms provided by what appeared to be a Tourettes-addled drummer and Kelson Mathias’ hypersexual bass barrage. Future on the Left are far more aggressive than mclusky ever were, but with that extra aggression, the music has become more straightforward and less of a joy to listen to. They’re still funny as hell on stage, though, with Malthias closing out the set by stealing two girls’ purses and swinging them on his massive biceps, then immediately dropping to the ground for a set of press ups.
{Marnie Stern} followed the masculine overload of Future on the Left, and I was a very excited panda, indeed. I loved This Is It and I Am It and I am He and You Are He and We Are All Together etc etc and couldn’t wait to see her bust out some genuinely melodic fingertapping in person. Unfortunately, technical difficulties abbreviated and marred Marnie’s set. Maggie Mae’s was having trouble with blowing out the vocals for all the previous bands, but none had it worse than Marnie Stern. When they thought they finally fixed the vox, they would drop back out again, and Marnie’s hopelessly muddled licks and an overabundance of percussion didn’t help matters either. In Maggie Mae’s slight defense, I thought Marnie could have chosen a better set list in the first place, but that’s a small criticism following such shoddy soundsmithing. I hope I get to see Marnie again in more enjoyable circumstances.
The last band I saw at Maggie’s was {Vivian Girls}, about whom I have little to say. All the trappings of Breeders-esque punkswomanship but with a fraction of the depth and intrigue. Granted, I may have still been under The Mae Shi’s spell, but I found Vivian Girls to be little more than tolerable.
After Maggie’s, I decided to follow the lead of two strapping limey punters name Tom and Mark. I do so very dislike attending shows on my lonesome, so I was pleased as fine pickle wine to make new amigos, especially ones with a considerably tighter battle plan than I had. I was planning on just hunkering down at some showcase or another and drinking myself into a shallow oblivion, so it was nice to tag along with a pair of spirit guides who had actually done their homework.
SXSW (Wednesday): Fat Fox, My Old Kentucky Blog, Austin Rock Camp for Girls
Various; Austin, TX
- {Fat Fox Showcase @ Lambert's}
It was at Lambert's when I realized my day was becoming eerily focused on bands from Nashville and Portland -- through no fault of my own. Come on, Kansas City! Where are you!?
{Eileen Rose and the Holy Wreck} come straight out of Nashville, with an expert brand of “music that makes you want to drink” (direct quote from my accompanying pal). Rose wore her voice out to a raspy growl within five songs, which might not work so well for her in the future, but her sweet June Carter croon dominated the southern mix of lap steel, lightning-speed guitar licks, upright bass, and snare-heavy drums. “I've got such a good band up here, it's like driving a Ferrari,” Rose joked. Rose has three-full length albums available from Rough Trade.
{Setting Sun} (video above), fronted by Gary Levitt from New Paltz, NY, had the unenviable task of recreating a five-piece band “too poor to make the trip,” which I suspect has happened more than once at SXSW. Backed by an iPod playing recorded mixes of the missing band, Levitt recreated the full, folky sound of Setting Sun so convincingly that if I'd been looking away, I'd have had no idea. He was also joined by Jen Turner (current guitarist and singer for Joe Arthur and now recording under the name Inner) for a few songs, filling the void completely. If Bright Eyes were all grown up, it would sound like this. Setting Sun's latest album is out now on Young Love Records.
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- {My Old Kentucky Blog Showcase @ Radio Room}
I wandered around 6th Street, program in hand like a n00b, and tried my luck at the Radio Room, hoping to check out My Old Kentucky Blog's showcase. Success! I made it just in time for {Viva Voce}, one of those bands I've heard bits and pieces of and always thought, “Hmm, I should check that out in detail.” Serendipity landed me right in the front row for the Portland-based (see!?) band's set, and it quickly became obvious that these people are total pros and not above throwing disparaging glances at the Austin City Social Club that had formed in the front row. Kevin and Anita Robinson switch off lead vocal duties with ease, supported by new members drummer Evan Railton and multi-instrumentalist and singer Corrina Repp. Viva Voce's sly, psychedelic-with-a-kick character definitely gets a boost from these two, so y'all should be excited about their new album, Rose City, which comes out May 26 on Barsuk. “A band name and a record label that are equally hard to pronounce,” quipped Kevin.
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- {Austin Rock Camp for Girls Showcase @ Maggie Mae's}
Maggie Mae's charges you $2 for water, whether it's tap or a bottle. Uh, fascism. Just sayin'. At the suggestion of my friend, I tagged along and checked out the Austin Rock Camp for Girls showcase just in time for {Ten Out of Tenn}, a 10-piece touring band made up of ten Nashville-based singer/songwriters who release albums together, along with their own individual records. Since each song was written by a different member, I find myself liking the taste of some more than others, with a sweet ballad called “Let the Woman” reigning as a standout. My music-soaked brain did not have the energy to jot down each member's name, but to give you the best idea, I'll just refer to Ten out of Tenn as Nashville's response to The Last Waltz, and you can't really go wrong with a stage jam-packed full of talented people. Ten frontpeople are better than one, in this case. Volume II of their collaborations is being released in conjunction with American Songwriter magazine sometime this summer, and I'm sure they could have played the entire album, but were thwarted by a 2 AM last call. I squeezed myself onto a hilariously chaotic bus to get across the river to my hotel and fell asleep to a band practicing in the room beneath me, which would normally turn me homicidal, but really, it seemed perfect.
