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.
Parenthetical Girls / No Kids
Sunset Tavern; Seattle, WA
If it weren't for friendship, one would wonder how two distinctly different groups would end up on sharing a stage. No Kids with their sweet Canadian dance pop and Parenthetical Girls with their cabaret anthems — the pairing left the bearded masses in states of mad scratching and syncopated head-bops.
No Kids quietly took the cramped stage, but managed to spread themselves out to give the stage an appearance of grandness. Crafted of P:ano keyboardists Nick Krgovich and Julia Chirka along with drummer Justin Kellum, No Kids had little command of their created illusion. The band ripped through tracks from a promised new album to half the crowd — the other half eager to drink as much as they could and stay as far away from the stage as possible. No Kids had a calming effect on those hunkered near the band, lulling the audience into tipsy sways and small but controlled heap-bops and shoulder-shrugs befitting of wallflowers. The start-and-stop pop of No Kids is similar to the wealth of keyboard-based bands out there (Chromeo, Matt & Kim, Mates of State) -- that is, if those bands downed copious amounts of Valium and Xanax. In a live setting, No Kids’ tight-knit grooves were repetitive, turning each song into deformed clones of the previous. It wasn’t until the set-closing “Halloween” that the band and crowd got on the same page, but by then the once-clustered crowd was already spreading itself to random corners of the small club. If No Kids proved anything, it was that perhaps the bedroom was the perfect place for them.
Parenthetical Girls gladly gave up their bedroom escapades, as Zac Pennington stormed the crowd in a floral sweater vest and elderly thrift store button-down. After a snafu (involving a detached mic cord) halted Zac’s march through the middle of the club, he (literally) picked himself up, brushed himself off, and jumped back into the song as if it were scripted. Rather than being the polite knocker No Kids has presented themselves to be, Zac and (((GRRRLS))) kicked in every door in the house with a mix of Roxy Music swagger and Matthew Friedberger static. While the breadth of their set focused on a jittery mix of slow-fast-slow and loud-quiet-loud, (((GRRRLS))) made it work by throwing a bit of old style and grace with the kitchen sink instrumentation that has become a trademark of modern indie musicmakers. While the bedroom may no longer be large enough to contain an entertainer as brash and exuberant as Zac Pennington, it’s a treat to know that the music (((GRRRLS))) create is still steeped in posters, LPs, journals, and toys.
[Photo: Sarah Meadows]
Crystal Stilts / Blank Dogs / Women
Music Hall of Williamsburg; Brooklyn, NY
Pop songs infused with a bunch of reverb and distortion have become something of a theme among Next Big Thing designees in the past year or so. Blank Dogs and Crystal Stilts are among two of the most recent Brooklyn bands to make a name playing verbed-out garage pop, and both were on the bill with Women (pictured), whose great 2008 record plays with pop more discretely and carefully than those bands.
But if Blank Dogs or Crystal Stilts wrote a song like Women's "Group Transport Hall," it probably would've been cloaked in reverb. Women, on the other hand, play it straight, sweet, and quick. Rather than overlaying melodies with a coating of noise, Women place them side by side, on equal level. The (comparatively) dulcet tones of "Transport Hall" stood next to the more abrasive "Lawncare" and "Shaking Hand" that, especially in their live show, created a sense of unpredictability and excitement. None of Women's songs departed greatly from their recorded versions, nor did the new ones break the mold in any way -- but the essence of each song, like the brilliantly unresolved tension of "Lawncare," stands out in a live context. Women's live show proves their status as under-appreciated forerunners of 2009 indie rock ‘n’ roll, but it also shows that this state of affairs won't change any time soon.
Meanwhile, Blank Dogs are like a Stereogum wet dream, with their pitch-perfect ’80s nostalgia, ambiguously dark lyrical themes, and garbled pop melodies. But for all their admittedly pretty great and prodigious recorded output in recent months, it's clear that Blank Dogs are still finding their sea legs in respect to the stage. If their live sound is more reminiscent of Big Black than Joy Division, they make up for it by stalking the stage like mopey Cure fans. On this night, they didn't sound bad, but they didn't sound especially good either -- and while it's hardly a surprise, given the effort they've put into maintaining some anonymity and mystique, they certainly didn't wow anyone with theatrics. "Setting Fire to Your House" came off well, but "Leaving the Light On" was the song that really stood out from the set, hinting at something resembling Jay Reatard-garage-pop chops under all the gothic affectation.
Crystal Stilts also towed a similar line, backing up their critically approved output with what would undoubtedly be a critically approved show. Not to be a downer, and maybe it's just cause I had been listening to classic freestyle all day, but I'd personally love to see bands like Crystal Stilts and Blank Dogs try tearing down the fourth wall of reverb, taking a good look at their audience, and lightening up a little.
