SXSW (Thursday): The Henry Clay People, Vetiver, Nite Jewel, Crystal Stilts, Let's Wrestle
Various; Austin TX
Whereas my day was spent inside clubs or on walled-in patios, I was grateful to get out on a real patio, where the Texas breeze could take away some of my accumulating festival stank. Knowing I was in for a long night, nothing could have been a better rejuvenating tonic than sitting on the off-beaten-track enclave in the late-afternoon sun taking in a surprisingly chipper group of young-uns and a young, but old ‘n’ wise-sounding bunch of wunderfolk. Who they be? Let's see!
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- {The Henry Clay People, Vetiver @ Opal Divine's Freehouse}
Checkered shirts and power pop flowing freely on the patio? I have run into {The Henry Clay People} territory. The California foursome played a energetic set of not entirely dissimilar pop anthems but played them with tons of youthful enthusiasm. Think an American Teenage Fanclub or an American Sloan or an American Velvet Crush (wait, they are American!) and you are headed in the right direction. It is refreshing to see a band having fun, particularly within this annual bastion of studied cool. The boys played what they know; these realistic songs about being young, working part-time (all the time), and needing nothing more than a couch to get by worked even better when mixed with the genuine look of wanting to be there.
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While the Henry Clay People were entertaining, {Vetiver} were downright mesmerizing. Their originals were as beautiful as their choice of covers (I loved their rendition of Bobby Charles' "I Must Be in a Good Place Now"), and their sound was perfect. Associations that Andy Cabic has to the new breed of folksters should all be a distant memory now, because Vetiver belong to a blues/alt-country that summons the memories of The Band or a more somber, prime-time Jayhawks. The group played a lovely bunch of songs and were even serenaded by a trilling bird throughout. While this little piece of paradise was nice, I had to go back to the grind of the heart of downtown to explore some more club options.
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- {Nite Jewel, Crystal Stilts @ RED 7}
After killing time taking in the sights of Austin's "entertainment district" (take that any way you want -- wink, wink) I hightailed it back to my daytime haunt, RED 7, to soak in a bunch of New York bands taking part in Heeb Magazine's showcase. I caught the ass-end of Suckers, who were workmanlike experimenters with a frontman dressed like Joseph The Technicolor Mime. The band was alright and the crowd was small, but I didn't see enough of them nor remember much of the show to make any bold descriptions. I did, however, see more than enough of {Nite Jewel}. Playing a nice, lengthy spot, the erstwhile multi-media artists Ramona Gonzales and Emily Jane rocked the party the only way they know how: with waves of sound mixed with minimal electro-beats backing up Gonzales' Debbie Harry-gone-shoegaze vocals. Influenced as much by smoove R&B and fun ’80s pop, Nite Jewel was a breath of freshness and the ideal way to start the second half of the day.
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{Crystal Stilts} were more than an hour late for their set, but most people didn't care. I have seen them before, but I still find something new in their sound every time. This time, I actually noticed the band's strong early rock ‘n’ roll and girl group tendancies more than their slightly gloomy, twee-meets-garage influence -- and it felt good. Making up for their scheduling mishap (they didn't know they were playing this show, allegedly) by asking for requests from their small back catalogue and pandering to a crowd that was already converted long ago, Crystal Stilts sounded like Crystal Stilts: fuzzy pop guided by a floppy fringed jangle guitarist, distant zombie vocalist, competent bass and keys, and upright citizen twacking away on the small set of drums (early Primal Scream/Bobby Gillespie-style). Tracks like "Shattered Shine" and "Converging in the Quiet" got the biggest claps of the gig, but the band (alongside a number of similarly-hyped NYC bands playing this same night and all over SXSW) are a hot ticket right now, so there was no chance any of their songs would go over like lead balloons.
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- {Let's Wrestle @ Wave Patio}
By the time the Stilts ended their show, it was late and I was due elsewhere. Timing and snap decisions are everything, and I decided to forgo the likes of Chairlift and Telepathe and hustle off to Wave to see Let's Wrestle. It turned out to be a poor move on my part. Sure, I saw Let's Wrestle, but just barely. Placed in a absurdly small rooftop patio, the UK trio played to a tight crowd who grasped for oxygen, even though it was outside. Attempting to get anywhere close to the stage was pointless, so I hung at the back and took in a band that I have recently been raving about to anyone who will listen. The disappointment of being stuck in a inconvenient venue was nothing compared to the disappointment of a sub-par performance by this very young pop combo. While there were flashes of brilliance to be had (a great version of "I Won't Lie to You" had the crowd in full pogo mode, for example), Let's Wrestle also introduced a couple of new elements to their sound that I did not want to nor expect to hear. Gone were the touchstones that attracted me to them in the first place (the wonderful ambivalence and nonchalance) and in their place were generic pop shapes. New tracks were relatively unmemorable and older tracks felt as though they were being performed at a double-time pace. Now, I am an environment reactionary; something like a bad venue, lunkhead bouncer, or bad seafood will usually color my mood and patience level. However, even after putting my most positive foot forward up there on that patio, I couldn't brush off a worrisome feeling that I was witnessing the birth of the next Ash, a band of three that lost all of its early punk-pop vitriol when it jumped into the catchy-but-disposible straight pop game then into its late-career, straight-up, crap-rock facade. I hope I'm wrong.
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.
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?
