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): 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.
SXSW (Wednesday): 4AD Showcase
Central Presbyterian Church; Austin, TX
The 4AD showcase is a typical event that shows SXSW's true caste colors. The hierarchy system of the privileged badge holders, the less-but-still-privileged wristband holders, and the braying, paying public is a pickle that ends in a lot of ill will and sad fans. The current policy is a point of contention among many people and is fraught with pecking problems: badge holders get to walk straight into any show; wristband holders get next admittance dibs but often have to wait (especially at a showcase such as this one), and fans wanting to see the show lineup in ridiculously long queues, waiting for the rare instance that a badge-or-wristband holder leaves, without another one taking their place. It is tricky; the wristband and, especially, badge holders pay a lot of money to cover the conference and shows, but if you had seen the faces on the hundreds and hundreds of one-time ticket buyers in line, there wasn't much sympathy going around for anyone lucky enough to get into this packed place of worship. There needs to be a better scheme in place (maybe limit numbers for each group of entrants or a show-sharing thing?). Anyway, as a wristbander, I was incredibly fortunate to arrive when I did, but I still had to wait a long time before slyly maneuvering myself inside using less-than-wholesome means.
- {M. Ward}
My deviousness paid off. As you would expect, M. Ward thrived in this sort of setting. Standing front of altar, he played an emotional set challenging the crowd to turn away. You could just see it in his eyes. All songs were ravishly received but tracks like "Fuel for Fire," "Sad, Sad Song," and his cover of "Oh Lonesome Me" echoed off the wood-paneled walls and spiraled around the arched ceiling. Naturally, his playing was spectacular. The one solo instrumental guitar musing gave me goosebumps, and this was a rare case in which hearing Ward's gentle scraping of chord changes along his acoustic's neck was absolutely necessary. It was his voice that surprised me. Not that Ward doesn't possess an endearing set of lungs but hearing his voice bounce off those walls like a warm superball was even more powerful than I remember. At the end, Ward intervened divinely by multi-tracking his own voice to sound like a mini-chorus of himselves before sitting at the piano for a quiet coda. All in all, Ward's was a set full of elegiac laments.
- {Department of Eagles}
What was started before, but has since been eclipsed by his Grizzly Bear commitments, Daniel Rossen's Department of Eagles were one of the most anticipated buzz bands among the outside throng. Inside, Rossen, Fred Nicolaus, and company had everyone, including fellow Grizzly Ed Droste smiling from their pews. Arrangement is key to Department of Eagles and everything sounded, to borrow a Brian Wilson-ism, like teenage symphonies to God. But there is something more sinister going on with Department of Eagles. They tend to play the creepy and eerie card more than the baroque popsters to whom they are often compared. The result is the creation of a wonderful dark mood. Buoyed by their immaculate arranging and playing, and some light-hearted self-deprecating in-between song banter, they won over the crowd of fans and industry smugoes quickly. Although this was as rapt as I've seen a crowd in a long time, I was more impressed with the show's beginning and end. The solitary Rossen playing solo songs filled the church air with a less lush sound perhaps, but it was doubly beautiful to these ears. This was the first but not only time I wished for a stripped down set.
- {St. Vincent}
I have eyed her from afar, but this was to be my first time seeing the lovely Annie Clark/St. Vincent. I didn't know what to expect and was excited to see her in a quiet, acoustically-endowed setting. After a lengthy prelude of stage-arranging, tuning-up, and monitor-leveling, the five-piece band launched into a strong songlist with Clark using this opportunity to introduce us to a number of new songs from her forthcoming album, Actor, plus a few "oldies" like "Marry Me" (which was one song that demanded a full-band treatment). As good as it sounded -- the band was eclectic, enthusiastic, and tight, and the crowd loved every minute of it -- I really would have preferred to see this uniquely gifted performer less-accompanied. She cuts such a charismatic figure that anything that deflects the focus from her is superfluous. There was a healthy mix of softer interludes and crunchy cuts that the audience bought up wholesale, but, no offense to anyone, I really hope I get the chance to catch St. Vincent again with a simple backing of bass and drums, sans the sax or strings.
- {Camera Obscura}
A new label, a new chapter, but, thankfully, the same comforting pop sound for Camera Obscura, who ended the night by filling the church with their joyful yet melancholic missives. Playing as a seven-piece tonight, the band began the proceedings with the title track from My Maudlin Career before sliding nicely into Let's Get Out of This Country's "Come Back Margaret." Dressed in their granny garb, Tracyanne Campbell and Carey Lander manned the front of the stage while the boys backed with the gusto and groove of a band that always puts the listeners in a good place. Pop music has been done so many times over that finding unique needles in the hay is a blessing. Camera Obscura have patented their sound so perfectly that no one even tries to cop their moves. And why would you want pretenders when you can get the real deal, anyway?
SXSW (Wednesday): Austin Music Awards
Austin Music Hall; Austin, TX
The convention center in Austin is a terrifying meat grinder, turning gentle music fans into snotty poseurs and the unifying power of art into the separating power of fashion, of class. I’m referring, of course, to the classification system embedded in this event: wristband vs. badge. The badge holders prance around like dukes and ladies, having total first-tier access to anything and everything, while the wristbanders (like myself, dear reader) slouch and scowl, embarrassed of their economic deficiency.
And this disparity is wrong! As it applies here, as it applies to the world at large. And where do we thinkers and true-hearts go when we can take no more of the injustices embedded in the many systems of this world? We go to weep and scream with David Yow (often of The Jesus Lizard) performing with The Dicks at the Austin Music Hall at 208 Nueces Street.
Oh wait, this isn’t a loud, noisy punk rock show. This is the Austin Music Awards.
Punk rock heroes {The Dicks} are billed here with David Yow. A giant screen shouts: “The Dicks w/ David Yow” and we, The Jesus Lizard fans, await with baited breath. Soooo, after The Dicks play a fine, raucous set, {David Yow} appears (wearing a sport coat, FYI) and sings with The Dicks on their penultimate song.
And that’s it. A huge, old, punk-rockin’ grey-hair says, “Seems a little perfunctory doesn’t it?”
Yes, I agree. It’s a little weird. Frankly, I came out tonight to see David Yow, and I have to admit, I’m disappointed. So, the Austin Music Awards (riddled with all manner of local news camera, vans, etc.) goes on, announcing certainly important awards for an audience so bored that one of the award announcers says to the audience, “Are you all on Xanax or something?”
As I’m leaving, I note that the “Experimental Award” goes to Death is Not a Joyride.
An old man outside tells me a story about how the Austin Music Awards used to kick off SXSW and about how this is primarily a locals event. One year, he goes on, Lou Reed opened for this awards show, bringing in a bunch of non-locals, as confused as me about the whole thing. He recommends that I stick around for Rocky Erickson and Black Angels, but I do not stick around.
SXSW (Wednesday): Akron/Family, Endless Boogie, The Week That Was
Various; Austin, TX
Traveling -- like house-moving, rush-hour driving, or a colonoscopy -- can be among the most stressful things in life if you don't take the right attitude. An exhausting airport venture is normally something that would make my blood boil, but with thousands of bands waiting for me in Austin, there was nothing to be angry about. Undeterred by lengthy stop-overs and an unexpected, but thankfully gentle, cross-border cavity probing, I dropped off my belongings, checked my stress gene at the hotel door, and set off downtown, deciding to let serendipity be my early evening guide.
- {Akron/Family @ The Mohawk Patio}
And a good guide she was. The very first building I chanced upon was The Mohawk, and I strolled on in just as Akron/Family started their late-afternoon set on the patio. Without going into too much detail, it was merely days ago that I was (probably rightly) chastised by a fellow Tiny Mixer for cutting down this very band after seeing a less-than-inspired live show. Another encounter was required and, as luck would have it, here it was. It goes without saying that I was proven dead wrong on my derogatorive blast, because this time around Akron/Family was in fine form, playing to and with the crowd creating a community glee-for-all that only they can achieve. Jamming and chanting was at a premium, and the crammed-to-capacity crowd sang balls out to a set filled with faves.
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- {Endless Boogie @ Beerland}
Instead of cooling my heels at an Irish pub (with requisite "traditional Irish music" like Aerosmith and JC Mellancamp coming from the PA), I bypassed this wee den of authenticity and instead checked out the tail end of Endless Boogie's set at Beerland. Aptly named, this New York foursome play loud, psychedelic drone pieces that are heavy on the endless, somewhat less on the boogie. I am a sucker for extended fret-adventures, so I basked in frontman Top Dollar's soloing. The sparse crowd was in the right place if it was looking for a band that mixes the new breed of blues-based stoners, Can, and a host of ’70s rawk like Mountain and Sabbath.
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- {The Week That Was @ Friends}
After declaring their self-titled debut as my #1 album of 2008, I simply had to catch The Week That Was, who popped into Southby for this lone show. For me, "Where Do I Begin" and "The Airport Line" were the best of the bunch but you cannot go wrong with anything the foursome played. Decked in matching black tees, TWTW played through with a list of tracks from their record with the same inimitable artful style and sense of intelligence and lured many admirers from the streets outside. I chatted to frontman Peter Brewis before the show and he said that he and brother David would be recording new songs for their presently-hiatused band Field Music soon. Good news all around but I'll take anything I can from these from Sunderland pop wonders. A good start to the day but I had a couple of nagging questions on my mind for the rest of the evening: Will I make it to the church on time? And if so, will I get in?
SXSW (Wednesday): Bitch Magazine / Kill Rock Stars Day Party
Club De Ville; Austin, TX
- {Explode into Colors}
After scoring the very last (no joke) free breakfast burrito at Club De Ville, I gave my attention to Explode into Colors, a Portland, Oregon-based all-girl three-piece with two drummers: one sits, one stands. Punctuated with yips and yelps, this band really lives up to their name with a sunny brand of serious lady rock, backed by a real powerhouse of a rhythm section. Members Klaudia Meza, Lisa Schonberg, and Heather Treadway have also played with Thunder!Thunder!Thunder!, Hornet Leg, and Japanther. They ripped through their half-hour set with furious energy that left them dripping sweat, even in the cool breeze that would forsake us later.
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- {The Shaky Hands }
The Shaky Hands drove for 38 hours from Portland, Oregon to play this day party, and I for one appreciated the effort. They kept the party's momentum going with special thanks to drummer Jake Morris of the Joggers, who became a permanent member this winter. Their scraggly appearance likens them more to a classic rock throwback than catchy power pop, but the latter would be a better way to describe their razor-sharp, messy, Kinks-y feeling. “Has anyone here been in transit for more than 64 hours? No? I win. In fact, I think I'm still in transit. That guy,” said the lead singer, pointing to the front row, “is definitely still in transit.”
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- {The Paper Chase }
The Paper Chase, based in Dallas, Texas, have somehow managed to make me think the phrases “This is most theatrical!” and “Are those people headbanging?” simultaneously. Aided by the creative use of a synthesizer, this band manages to create a mini-stage show within its set, evoking the sounds of sirens and very specific moods, by way of unpredictable melodic directions. Another word pops into my head: “Jazz?” Basically, I'm uncomfortable, and while this band is damn technically talented, I'm not sure if I dig it, though if creep-outs are your thing, you might be into it.
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- {Horse Feathers}
Horse Feathers ain't nonsense, actually. Portland is the city we love for this party, of course, and these kids represent it quite well with fiddle, cello, saw, acoustic guitar, mandolin, xylophone, and a smattering of drums. Folky and tranquil, I'm reminded of the live acts Garrison Keillor recruits for his long-running public radio variety show, A Prairie Home Companion. This is a compliment.
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- {Thao Nguyen with the Get Down Stay Down }
When I saw Thao Nguyen messing with her guitar on the side of the stage, I totally fangirled. Which was okay, because the fine ladies of Bitch were next to me doing the exact same thing. Taking off her monster sunglasses, Thao squinted at us and admitted that she and the Get Down Stay Down “haven't played in quite a while,” asking, “Are you guys gonna go check out that other band because they have better stamina?” referring to a ve-ry loud band playing outside down the street. Nguyen hails from San Francisco, and her infectious warble and boot-stomping style is a million times better live than on her already-excellent records. Watching her dance across the stage and interact with the band just completes the picture perfectly. She's totally irreverent, slightly drunk, and obviously brilliant; treating us to a brand-new song called “Body.” Note to the dude who THAT song was written about: watch your back.
