It was 2 AM on Sunday March 16th in Austin, TX. SXSW was wrapping and I’d been drunk, high, or at least generally intoxicated since Tuesday. The late night bus (Night Owl #481) was not running on time.
There was a guy bent over on the street corner loudly and violently puking into the gutter. Girls in high heeled shoes stumbled up and down Sixth Street like wounded soldiers- and let’s face it- if you were out there that night you were a wounded soldier too.
To the west there was a loud crunching noise and the squeal of brakes- no doubt some drunken shithead out being a drunken shithead in a car. There are certainly no shortage of those at 2 AM on the drunkest street in Austin. A man sitting in a wheel chair to my left craned his neck in my direction and asked “WHAT WAS THAT?”
Perhaps he wasn’t specifically asking me- perhaps he was just thinking out loud. But it’s too late for thinking about circumstances or keeping one’s mouth shut. I’ve had too many beers and just finished spending the night in the good company of friends. Needless to say, I had an answer.
“That’s the rioting masses!”
“Huh?” He asked, clearly no respect for the class warrior underdogs- the pig fucker.
“POWER TO THE PEOPLE!”
“Huh?”
“DUMP THE BOSSES OFF OUR BACKS!”
I was getting excitable. It’s not like excitement wasn’t warranted. Still he rolled away from me in the wheel chair as I shouted “POWER TO THE PEOPLE!” one more time. I suppose it’s just better that way.
I was feeling pretty blurry. As I have already said, I spent the night drinking with friends in a couple different bars. Daniel, Jimmy, Lacy- I hope this document finds you back in good health and more sober states of mind. I went home and didn’t leave the apartment for 48 hours of recovery. Anyway- this is not the time or place for personal letters & asides (though I promise plenty more).
SXSW has come and gone. Austin, Texas is slowly returning to normal after one hell of a party. Thousands of people, bands, drinks, and tunes are gone now, but they are not forgotten. And we will never forget. The madness started on Tuesday and let up on Saturday night. I suppose I could have pushed for one more day with the festival of “Sunday Mornin‘ Comin‘ Down” shows, but quite frankly, I don’t want to look at another beer for at least a week.
Goddamnit. Starting this story at the very end was an incredibly waterheaded idea. I apologize. That said I suppose there is nothing left to do but transition messily to the very beginning.
TUESDAY MARCH 11
My vacation began in earnest, the moment I got off work Tuesday. It’s been a long time since I had a vacation in mind that didn’t involve pissing away paid time off. This year was quite different- I worked and saved some of that time so I could take an entire week off for SXSW. I’d have time to hang out with out of town friends. I’d have time to catch more of the music. I’d have time to party. All of this sounded quite nice.
7PM Tuesday night is where our story begins though. I’d been home from work, had some quality time with the bong, and finally called up my good friend Jimmy, a successful independent businessman, and was on my way downtown to meet him at the Hilton. I spent the bus ride there (Gold Dillo) taking down notes that on further reflection and repeated readings look more like the last will and testament of a madman than they do the vacation journal of a music fan. The realization had occurred to me though, that the moment I hit the Hilton bar, I was kissing sobriety goodbye for a few days.
Here’s what my notes had to say:
NOTES UPON MENTALLY PREPARING FOR A WEEKLONG BENDER:
-How much money do I have?
-What will I end up drinking?
-How much water should I be drinking?
-How am I getting home?
-Put deodorant on balls. Always put deodorant on balls.
My notes also state that “I’m so fucking happy right now, I could mouth kiss a horse” but that can’t be right.
Eventually my bus stopped downtown and I walked a confusing maze of streets toward the convention center wondering where the Hilton was. Suddenly it occurred to me that I should just look up for the company logo as nearly every building downtown has one. Sure enough, I found the Hilton.
I walked into the Hilton Bar scanning the perimeter for Jimmy. I was worried, briefly, that I might not recognize him. “What if he got taller?” I thought. “What if he grew a beard like ZZ Top?” “What if he had a sex change and didn’t tell me?” I didn’t see him anywhere and my mind was racing with ludicrous fantasies. The moment I sat down at the bar a hand slapped me on the back and shouted “BILL!” And so that was how I met up with my friend.
Jimmy and I got drinks and sat down to compare schedules. Names like Monotonix, the Night Marchers, Ladyfinger, Fucked Up, The Weakerthans, NOFX and Brian Posehn filled our lists. Phrases like “free beer”, “free drinks”, and “free…” seemed to show up heavily as well. Our first show stop for the night was Austin’s Red Seven to see the Architects. We had a little bit of time to kill though, so we headed over to my favorite Sixth Street drinking hole, Lovejoy’s, for some quick brews. The brew was Fireman’s #4, a favorite of mine in the last year or so. We talked about SXSW more, bands we’d been listening to or had seen, and all that kind of catch up talk that goes with two music nerds and beerside chat. Finally we finished up the beers and headed to Red Seven.
I want to go on record saying that I love the Architects. They’re a great band. “Revenge” may have been the best CD I picked up during SXSW 2007 and I’ve listened to it fairly religiously since last year.
“IF BOMBS WERE LIKE DREAMS, I’D BE HEZBOLLAH!” sang the Architects. Ah- I love that song.
The Architects tore through their set and I happily tapped my feet, bobbed my head, and drank my beer. Jimmy thinks that the Architects never age and that they only look slightly older ever. I tend to agree. The biggest difference it seems is that the drummer is no longer 14 and that they no longer play the kind of music they played as the Gadjits.
As the Architects set ended, one of Jimmy’s associates/business friends/room mates, Shannon, at the Hilton showed up and ushered us away to a party sponsored by Pure Volume. I would also like to go on record stating that should Shannon ever need his back covered in a fight or some other such nonsense- I’ve got it for the present he gave us: 2 solid hours of uninterrupted free drinking. There was some band on the stage- we didn’t watch them. We did run into Darby though and stood around drinking in the back yard tent for a long awhile. I had 4 vodka redbulls, 3 beers, and slammed a glass of wine on the way out of the club.
Needless to say, I was very drunk not only before we left but during the time we were there. Inside the club was a television set with scrolling text. It was broadcasting text messages that people sent to the tv. There were some profoundly interesting combinations of words, not at all unlike the poetry of William S. Burroughs: “I can see your buttcrack“, “Fuck work ya’ll“, “Cunt shit fuckballs“, and finally “Cocksucker tits.”
I think my favorite one is “Cocksucker tits”. I don’t know why I think it’s so funny, but it makes me bust up laughing. Perhaps it’s because the word “tits” becomes utterly sweet and innocent went placed after “cocksucker”. Just say it to yourself really quick. See if you smile afterwards.
After cultivating a decidedly good buzz we headed over to the Rock Band party at the Six Lounge.
I should probably mention, for those who do not know Jimmy, that he broke his knee playing guitar hero. This unfortunate turn of events became a blessing when the makers of Guitar Hero saw him at the party and gave him drink tickets. We got more beer and got even drunker.
Some time, around 1 AM I began to feel like I was crashing. I had been up since 7 AM so I suppose that’s forgivable. Before I left the bar though, Jimmy and I did get in a game of Rock Band. And we lost horribly. Jimmy was quick to blame the guys we added to our team in line, but I think our real failure as a faux band came at the hands of yours truly. I just couldn’t figure out which goddamn button did what and couldn’t really see straight enough to coordinate those movements.
I ended up walking all the way home and stopping at Player’s for a hamburger and fries before settling in at home for some powerade and bong rips.
WEDNESDAY MARCH 12
“Red Bull gives you wings” the commercials say, but if possible side effects of “wings” are fucked up sex dreams and no sleep, I think I’ll just stick to Vivarin. I’d elaborate more, but unfortunately my notes make very little sense. I remember reaching for my Moleskine in the middle of the night to jot something down but the next morning all I had was a gigantic spiral in the center of the page. Perhaps I felt I was entering an abyss or something- a spiraling madness that was going to continue forever and not end. I’m only guessing though. I just don’t know.
I woke up for good about 8:30 AM and got myself ready for the day extra slowly. I was going to start the day out at Lovejoy’s for the Business Deal Records party. I got ready and made some phone calls to find out where everybody was. Barb was at work, Keef & the Bassturd’s respective voicemail & answering machines were in good working order, Jimmy’s voicemail was completely professional, and Daniel was somewhere in godforsaken Oklahoma with the rest of his band.
I decided that Tuesday night was officially to be known as “the night of the vague blur”. All the booze made everything run together.
On the way to Lovejoy’s I stopped for a big slice of Roppolo’s piza (spinach & mushroom, delicious!) and then a convenience store across the street for a pack of smokes. Visits to Lovejoy’s require cigarettes always. It’s one of a few bars in Austin that you can smoke inside of- not because it’s legal or anything, just because the owners don’t fucking care.
I was excited for the showcase because Fishboy were playing. I played a show with Fishboy for twelve people in Omaha once. I was unemployed and played very poorly that night as I got very drunk on free Old Style at O’Leaver’s. I liked Fishboy a lot and I’d been meaning to see them ever since moving to Texas.
I had a couple of house brews at Lovejoy’s to start the day off with and then my friends started showing up. Keef showed up with some folks from Denver- Kathleen, John, & Paul. We had some more beers and then finding out that Fishboy wouldn’t be on until four, headed to Emo’s to see the Evangelicals and Headlights. At Emo’s, I immediately grabbed a PBR tallboy and started in on the fourth beer of the day shortly after 1PM.
I enjoyed the Evangelicals set, but quite honestly, I don’t remember why or what they even sounded like- a pretty rough way to start out the day. But we did watch them and I had fun, so I guess maybe I’ll have to give them a listen.
Headlights played inside with their brand of keyboard happy, hand clapping, dancy indie pop. I’d seem them twice before in Omaha. One time at O’Leavers and another inside a friend’s living room. They were fun back then and they were fun still. I don’t think think many dudes in the room weren’t staring at the keyboard chick the entire time. Their set worked like Red Bull’s advertised side effects- indeed I had wings and felt quite picked up again. Around this time Barb showed up and joined our crew. I got another PBR and did a shot of Jager then we walked to the outside stage to watch Yacht.
Yacht were a guy and girl with laptops and prerecorded beats that they sang over. They were charming at best and annoying at worst. They did inspire a hearty chuckle from me though, with this bit of poetry:
“Protect your eyes! Protect your eyes! Be careful with the downloading! Leave me comments!”
After Yacht’s set we headed back to Lovejoy’s to see Fishboy and have even more beer. Discovering that the free beer had all be used up during our departure, I settled for another Brown-Eye PA.
Fishboy’s set was awesome. They seemed much more rockin‘ than they had when I played with them in Omaha. Voices around the table thought that Mountain Goats were a big influence and I wouldn’t deny that at all, but they really remind me more of Troubled Hubble than any other band. As of this typing, it’s been a week since the show and I still get choruses of “Farewell dear albatross…” stuck in my head.
Just as Barb, Keef, Kathleen, John & Paul were headed out the door, Jimmy showed up with Chris. They both showed up with a hankering for more beer. We got a pitcher of Airplane IPA, watched Count Dracula’s Weed Smuggling Jam Engine set and headed off on a mad search for food that took us to the Hilton and up and down 6th street before settling at the Ultimate Sports Grill on 6th street. We were all getting pretty hungry after a good jaunt around town and the Hawaiian burger & Potato wedges I had hit the spot nicely. I was back in shape and ready to rock.
Jimmy and Chris had shows they wanted to go to, and I being badgeless/wristbandless & all about free things headed over to Beerland to take in some bands on the Super Secret Records party. I wanted to see the band Party Garbage the most and stayed until after their set. First up on the bill were the Teeners who were followed by Candi & The Cavities. They weren’t bad, but they didn’t really do anything for me. Party Garbage played third and they took no prisoners. At the start of the first song, their leader singer emptied a trash can over his head and covered himself in it. He proceeded to run around singing under the trash can until he pogoed off a wall onto the floor. The music itself was really thrashy, aggressive punk rock. There was a lot of energy. I had a PBR tallboy and some Maker’s Mark.
After leaving Beerland, I headed over to Mohawk to catch the Frenchkiss Records showcase. I wish I had good things to say about the Frenchkiss showcase. I don’t, for the record, have any bad things to say about Frenchkiss Records or the showcase itself. Frenchkiss Records is a label I have the upmost respect for, especially with them having put out all those Lifter Puller, Hold Steady, and Les Savy Fav records. They’ve also recently aquired the Plastic Constellations from Minneapolis who Barb swears by. She’s right too. They’re really goddamn good.
As I was saying though- I have no complaints with Frenchkiss Records about what happened at Mohawk. That beef if purely with the establishment of that venue, puritanical drug laws, and my ownstubbornness.
Moments after I arrived at the show, I bought a beer and found Barb, John, & Paul sitting upstairs. I sat down and lit up a doobie and shared it with John and Paul. Perhaps, you can already see where this is heading and are wondering why I would be so brazen- well, mainly because this is not strange behavior in Austin. I’ve openly smoked in a lot of places and it was never a big deal. Anyway, a guy in a black t-shirt walked over to us. I took a big hit off the doobie and was getting ready to extend it forward to him and ask if he wanted a toke when he said “You guys have to leave here right now.” Then he made me roach what was leftover and wound’t let me keep it. He probably smoked it in a portajohn somewhere later on.
So, John, Paul, and I got punted from Mohawk. Then John and Paul had to close their tabs. So we got to hang out with the guy who was kicking us out of the club for another five or ten minutes which was fairly awkward to say the least.
“So… what do you fo when you’re not kicking people out of bars?”
We ran away to Lovejoy’s for another beer (the day was chockful of Lovejoy’s) and then took a cab back to my apartment to drink Corona, rip from the bong, and pass around an acoustic guitar like a campfire singalong.
It’s ok- I hate us for acting like hippies too.
THURSDAY MARCH 13
I woke up in a state of disarray and tried to find my glasses for awhile. Eventually I gave up until after I’d had a chance to shower, eat a couple vivarin, and rip the bong. Finally I found my glasses and went for a walk to Wendy’s for starchy food filler for my stomach along the walk down town to the Saddle Creek showcase at Emo’s.
I suppose I could have just ridden the bus, but it’s not every Thursday morning that I find myself walking to Emo’s to see out of town friends playing at Noon. The novelty of walking a couple miles messed up had it’s appeal. As I neared Emo’s I ran into Jamie & Mach from Ladyfinger walking down the street. They were headed for food and I was headed for the line. When I got to the front door at Emo’s, it turned out I was second in line. There was a much longer line right along side of us for a show at Club fuse featuring Nada Surf.
“Club Fuse must be pretty cool,” the girl right in front of me in line said timidly. “But not as cool as Saddle Creek.”
I held back sidesplitting laughter somehow. Anytime I hear people talk about Saddle Creek bands with that much enthusiasm outside of Omaha, I find it really funny.
There were a lot of bands on the bill, but the two I wanted to see were on first: Son, Ambulance and Ladyfinger. Ladyfinger kicked things off right at noon with a rip roaring rock & roll set not to be trifled with. Ladyfinger are one of the bands I miss seeing from Omaha on a regular basis. Their cd “Heavy Hands” is, in my opinion, the best thing Saddle Creek has put out in years (aside from Mayday’s “Bushido Karaoke”). I had one New Castle and two PBR’s at Emo’s. I got to hang out with all a lot of Nebraskans I haven’t seen in over a year- Jimmy, Daniel, Lacy, & the Ladyfinger dudes. I was amazed at the amount of Omaha folk I saw walking about. It was kind of weird. But it was good to see a bunch of old pals.
While standing in the courtyard at Emo’s, having a cigarette with Jimmy, the lead singer of a band that Antiquarium Records proprietor Dave Sink once called “The longest running worst band in Omaha” noticed that I was wearing a t-shirt from Fort Crook Billiards in Bellevue and complimented me on “representing”.
Unfortunately things took an unexpected and ugly turn for the worse and I’m not really exactly sure why that happened. Maybe I just came off as a dick or something in the heat of the afternoon drunk for a couple days already. I don’t know. But I learned a valuable lesson about bar shirts. If you buy one from the Goodwill and run into somebody somewhere who happens to know and love the place that’s on your t-shirt; talks about it non-stop for a couple minutes name-checking the bar owners, his pool league, etc.- you can’t turn around and tell them this:
“I got this t-shirt at the Goodwill in Council Bluffs once.”
This is what the lead singer from a certain band that may or may not be called “NEVA DINOVA” had to say back:
“I can see we have nothing in common.”
So it goes.
Son, Ambulance played second and really impressed me. I hadn’t seen them play in a good number of years. In fact, Daniel wasn’t even drinking age yet the last time I saw them play. I really dug their set. The new songs really had a life of their own. The three part harmonies, the saxophone breaks, the forays into acid/noise rock, then transitions into strange twee pop- I dug it. It was no what I really expected to hear.
Son, Ambulance finished up and it was time for me to continue on my rock & roll mission. Next up, I was headed to the Typewriter Museum for the Starcleaner party and an afternoon of free beer & free food. Jimmy tagged along to come check out When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth.
I ended up seeing Gorch Fock, Mariannes, Unsurpassed Profit, When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth, Monotonix, Stupid Party, 50 Million, The Carnys, Killer Dreamy, Killer ‘Lectric Santa, Songs For Moms, the Slits, Dead Dog, the Reaction, Tulsa Wildlife, Future Virgins, Vena Cava, and Shellshag at this party. I ended up staying there all day (which I’d planned to do anyway). I ended up having nine beers and there were joints circulating all afternoon. It was a very chilled out, cool scene.
My favorite acts of the afternoon were When Dinosaurs Ruled the Earth, Monotonix, the Carnys, Songs For Moms, the Slits, Future Virgins, and Shellshag. I was, sadly, too late to catch Party Garbage again.
Monotonix was the most energetic band I saw during SXSW. They don’t use stages and prefer to play on the ground surrounded by their audience. The singer keeps a long microphone so he can move through the audience. All of them have ridiculously awesome facial hair. The drummer looks like Borat. During their final song, the audience helped lift the drummer into the air on his bass drum kit, lifted his other pieces of equipment into the air and held all of it in place while he banged out a solo. The lead singer flung beers and water at him the entire time. Monotonix hail from Tel Aviv and take no prisoners.
The Carnys are always fun. They’re probably my favorite band in Austin right now. I enjoyed their set. I’d write more on it, but I’m a little hazy on everything that happened through out the afternoon.
Songs for Moms hailed from Oakland, California and pelted out Lookout! Records styled pop-punk. I liked their set a lot too.
Shellshag played a little after 9 PM and I was woozy by the time they finished. The crowd was really into their set, which was awesome. Everybody sang along on the songs they knew. Everybody danced a little bit. Fists were pumped. Every single person in the place was tanked and it was a great time.
On my walk home I came across a Turkey Leg vendor on Sixth Street. I told him he had just saved my life, then purchased a turkey leg and aGatorade and walked to the bus stop. I don’t really remember getting home. I do remember the point where I realized there was no way I would be able to remain upright if I tried going to see Billy Bragg & the Weakerthans. Finally, I just hit the wall and passed out.
FRIDAY MARCH 14
I crawled out of bed around 10 AM and stumbled around and got my bearings together. I had to run a couple errands before I could head off to the Dog and Duck Pub for the Modern Radio “Minneasota Migration” party with STNNNG, Plastic Constellations, and others.
I was excited about seeing STNNNG the most. STNNNG are one of my favorite bands of the last few years and really, any opportunity to go see what they’re doing, is an opportunity I won’t pass up. Their music is full of riffy jams. They know how to snarl. The lead singer Chris Besinger is the perfect mixture of charming and utterly abrasive on stage. Friday’s viewing made the fifth performance I’ve seen from this band.
I had a couple of expensive pints of Warsteiner at the Dog and Duck. They were tasty and all, but everything there was a tad bit overpriced, food included (which I also partook in).
The first band of the day was Private Dancer featuring Jesse Kwakenat and Nate Nelson from STNNNG. They were a five piece band featuring three guitars, bass, and drums.
My notes describe their songs like this:
“A jangly and fast marching beat. 50’s dance music on pills. Steady, spacey & full of freak outs. 1,2… 1,2… *SQUEEEEEEEEEEAL*!”
There are other notes too, but I’ll be goddamned before I figure out what any of them mean. They’re wedged between “observational” and “enviromental” notes stating things like “there’s a lot of fucking cops here”, “water wants to be free, motherfuckers!”, and “got high in the portajohn“.
I dug Private Dancer, verily.
Vampire Hands were up next. They were also sweet. Vampire Hands had two drummers, bass, & guitar, as well as a lot of extra percussion (egg shakers, tambourines, & whatnot). The drum beats were super tribal and constant. The guitar was soaked in reverb. The bass player’s voice was ghostlike. Even at points when the strings were sparse, the drums charged along like an all night drum circle whacked out of their minds on handfulls of adderall. They were very intense.
Following Vampire Hands were His Mischief who really didn’t do anything for me. About this time, the Bassturd and Todd on Acid showed up, so we ducked into the Dog and Duck and sat in the AC for awhile and drank free waters. Then they headed off to see Black Moth Super Rainbow and I headed back outside to watch more bands play.
Next up were Birthday Suits. They were a hyperactive drum & guitar combo who played spazzy, loud-ass, garagey rock. They were cool.
Jesse from STNNNG bought me a beer right before Chooglin‘ took the stage and advised that they were “straight up Chicago, y’know?” I didn’t really know how to answer that as it could just as easily mean “kids who used to be in ska bands” as it could “kids who used to live and die by Cap’n Jazz & the Promise Ring”. I’m venturing “kids who used to be in ska bands” hits the mark a little closer to home and I don’t mean that as an insult at all. Chooglin‘ have a four piece horn section. I ended up so intrigued by this band that I diagrammed their stage set up in my moleskine to make sure I properly captured everything correctly. The horn players surrounded their drummer in a semi-circle that unleashed a powerful blast of noise alongside the blare of the guitars. It was a regular sleazy, dirty rock & roll time ala Rocket From the Crypt. Holy shit. Chooglin‘ ruled.
My notes say that “sleazy has a certain sound to it. It’s wet- utterly soaked in booze- it pushes and pulls like an erection after five whiskies neat.” I cannot for the life of me explain this now. But it certainly sounded good at the time.
Finally STNNNG took the stage. It was getting hot out. I was getting delirious. I’d been sitting outside in the heat all day and even though I was covered by a circus tent in a parking lot, I was starting to feel the heat and the sun. STNNNG tore through a great set. I’ve seen them play utterly insane shows and I’ve seen them play fairly reserved shows too. This set was different. It was full of the kind of energy that you only see from a band that’s been together for awhile. It was the kind of energy that allows improvisition on the turn of a note. They were confident and proud on stage. Chris Besinger tore through the audience and climbed all over the equipment on stage howling like a mad man and making jokes. The twin guitar assault of Nate Nelson and Adam Burt wailed away while the rhythm section of Jesse Kwanekat and J. Michael Ward kept time like a grandfather clock on too much ephedrine. I left the show after their set feeling rejuvenated by the power of rock & roll.
I went home to get out of the sun and make some phone calls. The Bassturd and Todd on Acid cruised up to my place and we caught the bus down town together. They were not full of bar food, so we made a pit stop into Jimmy Johns. The Bassturd wanted to see some comedians, but I decided not to as I was going to see all the same comedians the next day in the park. Also, I didn’t want to pay cover. I was considering going to the Scoot Inn for a show, but decided against it eventually. While cruising down Sixth Street, we spotted the back of Matt Pinfield’s head in the portable Direct TV studio. We stood and watched the back of Matt Pinfield’s head for awhile and reminisced on 120 Minutes. Eventually we went our separate ways. I ended up back at my apartment drinking Ziegenbocks from the CVS.
Home was not meant to be my location for the evening though, so I headed over to the Hole In The Wall to see how my favorite neighborhood bar was holding up. A sudden fear had gripped me that maybe someone had set the place on fire and I would never again set foot in there. Clearly worried, possibly distraught, completely paranoid about my favorite corner stool in Austin, I headed over as quickly as possible. I arrived to find the bar completely in tact and was glad to know that my worries were completely unfounded. I stuck around for a couple acts: Sugar & Gold from San Francisco and Bear Claw from Austin. I had a Bloody Mary and some beers.
Sugar & Gold are a disco band. I saw them open for Gravy Train!!! last year. They are quite possibly the gayest band I have ever seen, and I don’t mean that in a mean spirited sort of way. I can’t imagine there being any Disco band that one would ever describe as “the straightest band I ever saw”, but Sugar & Gold are maybe even a couple notches gayer than the Village People. They look straight out of an episode of Soul Train. They look straight out of any number of specials from the 70’s on VH1. Their drummer looks like a sleazy, pimpy coke dealer. They’re also incredibly entertaining. Amazing, really. I did not shake my ass (my ass was barely standing up still), but many of the folks in the bar shook theirs for me.
I sat down at the front bar on my favorite corner stool to catch Bear Claw. My first impression of Bear Claw was logged in my notes like this: “Bear Claw are a trio- drummer, acoustic guitar, bass, & guy/girl vocals. This will either be incredibly twee, awful, awesome or some combination of all three.”
That’s when Bear Claw launched into a set of music straight out of the Mountain Goats, Low, and Belle & Sebastian schools of indie rock. I ended up enjoying their set. I also drank my fiftieth beer for the week.
My notes go on to state “Bear Claw are definitely a little bit twee, but only as twee as twee can be without being annoying. That’s a very good sign of self control- a quality I fear has left me for dead.” Next to this note is a circled number fifty in very triumphant looking script.
I went outside to the courtyard for a smoke and heard the Who’s “We Won’t Get Fooled Again” on the jukebox. I like that song a whole lot. It’s one of the tunes that fills me full of energy. After it finished I headed next door to Jack in the Box for some shitty tacos.
When I ordered my tacos at Jack in the Box, something cool ended up happening: I got a free order of large curly fries. I got them because I bullshitted with the dude behind the counter and we formed a temporary bond.
“Are you the lead singer in a band?” he asked me all enthusiastically.
“No,” I said.
“You look like the leader singer in a band!” he said, again with much enthusiasm.
“I do play guitar,” I offered.
“Really?”
“Yeah!”
“Wanna start a band?”
“Sure!” I said. I figured I might as well play along. If anything I had no inhibition left at this point.
“Really?”
“Hell yeah!”
“Cool!” he said, excitedly.
“Hey could I get some fries?” I asked. I had my wallet out. Instead the dude at the counter just loaded up a large curly fries and sent me on my drunken way. One midnight meal later, I was in bed and sound asleep.
SATURDAY MARCH 15
Saturday morning, I had a Ziegenbock in the shower and then another Ziegenbock before walking to Einstein’s for breakfast. I figured I might as well get a little bit twisted before heading to Waterloo park for the Mess With Texas 2 party. I’m still convinced this was an excellent choice.
I got to the front gate of the park to discover they were not letting people inside yet. Using my drunk, rogue journalista skillz I walked around the park to the other side and snuck in the back gate. There were already people milling around all over the place. I grabbed a spot in the shade and watched people for awhile. I got to see the Breeders sound check- I recognized the Deal sisters voices right away.
When the park was officially opened, I made my way over to the front gate to write down all the line up listings. I was most excited about seeing Monotonix again and the Night Marchers from San Diego, CA (the newest outfit from RocketFromtheCryptDriveLikeJehuHotSnakesSultansBackOffCupids Rock & Roll machine John Reis). I camped out by the stage Monotonix would be playing in front of and drank a Tecate from the Transmission Entertainment tent.
The first band of the Coat Hangers. They were an all girl group sort of like a cross between the fierceness of Riot Grrrl & the sweetness of the Go-Go’s. They were bubbly and sarcastic and made me laugh my ass off with lyrics like “Why does everything I love have to rape me?”
Monotonix played second. Much like the Type Writer Museum party, they did not play on stage but set up right in the grass. The moment their groove kicked in, the chaos began and shit hit the fan. Monotonix waste no time fucking around. The moment the song started, the maniac lead singer was dumping a crash can over their drummer before wearing it himself and running kamikaze style into the crowd. Cellphone cameras were out and aimed like weapons, audience members all sending pictures to friends & family as if to say “You aren’t gonna believe this shit! Check out these long haired, insane, mustachioed Israelis!”
Monotonix’s groove reminds me of an amped up, punky, Grand Funk Railroad. This is Grand Funk forgoing the bong rips and freebasing cocaine for weeks on end and then being let loose into the world. Their set continued with the audience circling Monotonix on all sides. Those most dedicated to the groove surrounded the band and rocked their heads like spastic head bangers. Out of nowhere they all started running around in circles and fucking each other up. It was pure chaos.
I took very detailed notes on this set. The next part will sound too wild if not produced exactly as it was in my moleskine. I am not making any of this up:
“There is a pile of ten or fifteen people on the ground one second in a mass dogpile and now all of them are back on their feet thrashing and pumping fists- now they’re building a tower out of the drum kit while the guitar player plays a discordant riff over and over again and the drummer beats a tom to keep time. The audience is holding up a garbage can like a cape to a bull and the lead singer keeps running into at full speed. Between crashes into the trashcan, the singer adds drum fills on the tower and then finally finds a trash bag- wraps it around his neck- apes an act of autoerotic asphyxiation and spits beer out of his mouth for the finish. The groove swings on like speed freakouts. Everyone will leave this set covered in cold sweat.”
Did I mention I like Monotonix? I really like Monotonix.
Next up were Panther. I didn’t dig them. They sucked. I got another tecate and took a walk around to the various sponsors booths. I talked to some worth not mentioning, the editor of the LA Record who was a pretty nice guy (and highly recommended the Night Marchers), and a girl with the “Save Burma!” tent where we talked about the situation in Burma and I made a joke asking if the newest Rambo movie moving people towards activism there which she seemed to not understand. Ah, well. I also tried to scam press credentials but when I handed the press tent my “Todd on Acid” business card, they’d never heard of that publication. So it goes. You can’t blame a drunk guy with a notebook for trying.
The comedy sets I got to see were by Matt Braugner, Josh Phadem, Jonah Ray, Nick Flanigan, Janeane Garofalo, and Todd Barry - the last two being the best in my opinion. Seeing Ms. Garofalo live and in person was awesome. Todd Barry was hilarious. He talked about why pedophiles have ruined vacationing to Thailand for normal folk- “If you tell me you’re going to go on vacation in Thailand, I’m calling the FBI”.
Kimya Dawson played a set. I didn’t get to watch all of it. I caught about six songs and had to head over to the other side of the park to catch the Night Marchers. ‘Twas a shame, I enjoy Kimya’s music, but the Night Marchers were not to be missed. During the brief interim, I enjoyed a chopped beef sandwich catered to the event by Hoover’s. I also caught the last couple songs on Howlin‘ Rain’s set. They were pretty cool.
The Night Marchers- oh, what can I say about the Night Marchers? It was like a collage of all the John Reis bands I love and have loved. It had the foot stomping rock of Rocket from the Crypt, the riffs of the Hot Snakes, and the signature Reis snarl. I enjoyed every minute of it even though I’d never heard the band before that. After their set closed out, I headed home for the afternoon. It was getting hot out, I was parched and sun burned. The relaxation break was muchly needed and got my energy levels restored so I could head over to the Dirty Dog Bar and catch the official SXSW Saddle Creek Showcase.
This gave me the opportunity to see Jimmy, Lacy, Daniel & Company one last time for the weekend. The bands played well. I stuck around for Ladyfinger & Son, Ambulance’s sets. I was pretty amped after seeing both bands on Thursday and wanted to close out the weekend seeing them play one more time. We must’ve all gotten pretty drunk because my notes are full of hand scrawled insane gibberish stating things like “science fictional touristas scurry across congress on segways. Looks like I’m back in the shit again. If I don’t make it home alive, tell my wife and son that I loved them to the bitter end”, “Was that [illegible’s] vagina flapping in the wind?”, and “Bill Latham is the slowest drinker evs“.
With Son, Ambulance & Ladyfinger’s sets ended and not caring a shit about the remaining bands, we were joined by Shinobu and headed over to Lovejoy’s for a night of Lonestars, drinking, and somewhere in there the bar closed (it didn’t even really seem like 2AM until I had to walk to the bus stop). Which brings us very neatly back to the beginning of this beast of a blog.
South By South West was an amazing time. I saw a lot of bands. I drank a lot. I was out late a lot. Now it’s all over for another year, but that’s ok. I had a blast.
