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?
