SXSW 2002

3/15/02
8:00 pm-12:00 midnight
Swedish music showcase: Willowtree, Maryslim, Left Hand Solution, Citizen Bird, The Soundtrack of Our Lives @ Red Room
This year the Red Room (the crappy loft that did such a disservice to the Boggs earlier in the week) is hosting a Swedish music showcase, including the great rock 'n' roll band The Soundtrack of Our Lives. Hopefully the engineers have figured out the sound system by now and we won't have a repeat of the disaster of Wednesday night.

First up is Stockholm's Willowtree. This young pop quintet features guitars that would jangle if they weren't cranked so high and an adrenalized singer my wife describes as a "cute spaz." Regardless, his soaring tenor fits the sparkling tunes perfectly, and the group's energy level starts high and stays that way. Like Iggy Pop fronting the Gin Blossoms, the band tears through a handful of melodic rock songs with no fuss; even the midtempo ballad "When I'm Tired" burns with intensity. The only flaw in the set is that it's too short, the result of soundchecks running long and the music starting 15 minutes late. No frills here, just an impressive performance of music that could add a touch of class to many a "modern rock" station. Between this band and Scotland's Idlewild, "alternative rock" just might win back its good name.

Following a surprisingly quick changeout (the bands are sharing amps and the drumkit), Stockholm's Maryslim takes the stage. Though also guitar-based, this quartet's music is 180 degrees away from the melodic pop presentation of Willowtree. Sporting a visual image that's sort of a low-rent version of the 80s L.A. glam metal scene, the band mixes pre-Sex Pistols punk rock and anthemic arena rock in much the same way as its fellow travelers the Hellacopters and Gluecifer. Basically a straight hard rock band, the group has just enough punk in it to keep it off the playlist of classic rock stations. Maryslim carries a bagful of fat riffs, and it knows just where to put them—right in your face. The frontman's raspy voice and the flashy licks he trades with the other six-stringer keep the songs well away from the pop side of the fence. This is a band made of seasoned road hogs, as well—these guys were tight as hell, as if they'd played these songs a thousand times, and still aren't tired of them. After this blazing performance, it becomes clear to me that the high energy level of both shows so far will be a theme for the evening.

Next up, following a somewhat lengthy set change, is Sundsvall's Left Hand Solution. The quartet's bio places them in the gothic metal camp, though the music I hear coming from the stage is more Black Sabbath than Moonspell. The beauteous singer is the most sedate of all those I'll see tonight, keeping mainly to the microphone and letting her husky croon find its way to our ears: no Heart histrionics here. A suddenly troublesome mix enfeebles the band's act by muffling the guitar, but its slow, heavy (but not dirge-like) power trio rock is still impressive. Especially good is the tune on which the band is joined by a violinist; the tempo races forward as the fiddler trades licks with the guitarist and the vocalist just stays out of the way. This performance brings the energy level of the room down a bit, but it's still greeted warmly.

That level shoots back up into the red when Gothenburg's Citizen Bird takes the stage. Like the Warlocks, the sextet works contemporary psychedelia, building a layered wall of sound that skimps on neither might nor volume. The main attraction is the two effects-laden guitars, but the bass is as likely to play the main riff as the six-strings, and a buzzing organ fills up whatever empty space might be left. The singer, another uninhibited frontman in what seems to be the Swedish tradition, also contributes to the din with unhinged rock screams. He sings more conventionally as well, and his bug eyes sweep the room as if he's trying to stare down everything in it at once. Despite the high noise quotient, there are definite melodies in the midst of the squall; an obvious pop sensibility keeps the tunes from being mere exercises in trippy jamming. The mixture of dynamic textures, interesting melodies, mantra-like repetition and hard rock drive makes Citizen Bird the best band I've seen so far that fits under the psychedelic umbrella. Apparently the audience thinks so too, as it greets the hail of feedback in which the band quits the stage with cheers and whistles that match the volume of the white noise.

Finally, after another lengthy set change, the main event of the evening, indeed, possibly the entire festival, strides confidently onstage. Like the other bands on the bill, Goteborg's The Soundtrack of Our Lives has traveled a long way to be here, and finds a nearly rabid American audience, some of whom have driven over a thousand miles, breathlessly awaiting them. TSOOL is definitely one of the buzz bands of the festival, and the Red Room is packed like a sardine can as a result. This band makes exquisite records, full of superbly crafted songs and strong arrangements. I quickly discovered, though, that as brilliant as the albums are, they give no clue about the rock 'n' roll fury in which the band indulges on stage. Though comprised of older veterans of the Swedish underground music scene, TSOOL gives no quarter when it comes to the energy level of its performance, easily matching the vibrancy of its younger cohorts. Lead singer Ebbot Lundberg, when he isn't singing, twitches almost uncontrollably to the beat, more often than not taking his mania directly to the people, spending as much time performing in the middle of the crowd as he does on the boards. Coupling a high energy level and Lundberg's antics with superior songs like "Infra Riot," "Firmament Vacation," "Sister Surround" and "Instant Repeater 99," TSOOL does more than enough to take both band and crowd over the top into rock 'n' roll ecstasy. It's such an awe-inspiring show, in fact, that I see no reason to stay for the final act, Sahara Hotnights. I'm sure it's a fine band, but after TSOOL, anything else will be a letdown.

The 90s were a good decade for the import of Swedish music to America, thanks to the Cardigans, the Hellacopters, the progressive rock underground and the wave of extreme metal bands. If tonight's showcase is any indication, however, the 2000s will be an even greater period for Swedish rock. Thanks the gods I'm here to witness the second coming.

3/16/02
7:00 pm
eels @ La Zona Rosa
First up tonight is eels at La Zona Rosa. Though this performance is technically a part of the festival, it's doubling as a release party for the band's terrific new record Souljacker, with a reception and an early start time so the group can do a full-length performance. On record the band is known for marrying frontman E's melody-rich songs to hip-hop production techniques. The live edition, with a barely recognizable E and stalwart drummer Butch joined by guitar wizard Joe Gore and a bassist/keyboardist whose name I didn't catch, is much more of a rock 'n' roll band. This works well on the new material; aggressive tunes like "Dog Faced Boy" and "Souljacker part I" require the more rockin' approach, and pop songs like "Bus Stop Boxer," "Fresh Feeling" and "That's Not Really Funny" benefit from the tougher treatment. The band keeps the ballads tasteful, though, leaving "World of Shit" and "Souljacker part II" as quietly intense on stage as they are on record. To the delight of the large crowd, eels delves into its back catalog as well. "Elizabeth on the Bathroom Floor" from Electro-Shock Blues makes a surprise appearance, and the tender (really!) "It's a Motherfucker" and an especially cool "I Like Birds," both from Daisies of the Galaxy, also stop by to say hello. E even reaches all the way back to eels' debut Beautiful Freak, as he and the boys turn "Not Ready Yet" into a Crazy Horse-like epic of distortion and feedback. You'd think such a studio-savvy band would be only so-so live, but eels has always been a strong concert band, and tonight, with a nearly 90-minute show, it delivers in spades.

9:00 pm
oh my god. @ District Bar & Grill
Nearly anything would be a letdown after eels, and unfortunately Chicago's oh my god. doesn't alter that theory. Not because the band isn't talented, mind you. The keys/drums/vocals (and occasional bass) trio is a quirky pop ensemble with a fine new album entitled The Action Album! to its credit. Their main strength is frontman Billy O'Neill, a flamboyant showman with a theater background and a wonderfully soulful pop voice, perfect for the group's arty but melodic tunes. But something isn't right here. Possibly it's the venue; the District Bar & Grill doesn't seem like the right place to witness a rock show that borders on performance art. A good portion of the dinner crowd seems perplexed by what it's seeing. Possibly it's due to the band's set list, which avoids most of its catchier numbers like "The Weather!" and "14!" for stranger tunes like "Aura." Somehow the band just doesn't build up any momentum, and while certain songs ("The Beauty of Servitude!," "Action!") come off well, overall the performance is somewhat flat.

10:00 pm
Shandon Sahm @ Gatsby's
The same problem mars the coming out performance at a small bar called Gatsby's by Shandon Sahm, son of the late Texas legend Doug Sahm and a former member of Austin metal band Pariah. Sahm, going for the gutter glam look with makeup, a glittery shirt and a purple fur boa, begins the show by holding up a picture of the singer from Linkin Park. "This is what a rock star's supposed to look like," he sneers, then tears the photo to pieces. He and his three-piece backing band then attempt to rock the joint, despite there being maybe a dozen people in attendance. It's a formula that usually can't fail, with the quartet banging out unrepentant hard rock with a serious glam component (but definitely NOT glam metal), while Sahm preens, poses, pouts and, oh yeah, sings. Once again, however, the show never gains any momentum. The band comes off as too tentative, taking too much time between songs. Speaking of which, the tunes aren't as memorable as they ought to be; "Ill Will" and "I Get the Hint" are just a couple of killer hooks away from being hummable, but they're not quite there yet. The best songs are Sahm's covers of his dad's two classics, banging the hell out of "Mendocino" and "She's About a Mover." He's hasn't quite lived up to his potential yet, but Sahm has definite talent, and Austin desperately needs the kind of trashy hard rock he's making. Hopefully he'll keep at it and improve.

11:00 pm
Brendan Benson @ The Chile Pepper
As I walk down to the Chile Pepper to see Brendan Benson, I notice that the lines are longer to get into the meat markets, I mean, dance clubs than to get into the rock joints. Ah, Saturday night on 6th Street. As such, I'm expecting the Pepper to be nearly empty, but I'm wrong. Way wrong—when I see how many folks are crushed into the smallish margarita bar, I'm not sure I'll be able to get in. Apparently I'm not the only one at the festival who loves Benson's obscure 1996 album One Mississippi. Once inside, I quickly discover from overhearing snatches of conversation that a lot of diehard pop fans have been waiting a long time for the Detroit-based power popper to re-emerge from his cocoon. Benson and his backup band (which includes a maracas-shaking harmony singer—shades of the Venue) draw the material mainly from Benson's independent comeback album Lapalco. As warmly as those songs are greeted, however, the unbridled enthusiasm exhibited by the crowd when Benson announces a song from One Mississippi shows what these folks really came to hear. The musicians turn in a solid if unspectacular set of power pop tunes, but really, this gig is merely a warm-up for what should be a revival of a promising career.

12:00 midnight
High on Fire @ Emo's
From tuneful pop to speaker-shredding metal in barely a block: after Benson's set, I head over to Emo's for Californian power trio High on Fire. I have plenty of time, and it's a good thing, too. When I arrive, I discover that the previous group finished early; HoF sets up its gear in record time and starts bludgeoning the sound system at 11:45. The vocals are too low in the mix, but it doesn't really matter, since this music is about the molten slabs of six-string riffage emanating from leader Matt Pike's guitar. Unlike the hundreds of stoner metal bands who merely recycle Black Sabbath, HoF actually picks up where Master of Reality left off, with unusual melodies and an edge of desperation. The songs aren't exactly catchy, but they're impressive for their sheer power and reward closer attention. HoF is all about volume and crunch, and it would be hard to beat it at this particular game.

HoF ends its set at 12:30, so I head into Emo's Jr. to try to catch the last few minutes of the Gaza Strippers. Unfortunately, the band is on its last song as I squeeze in, so I hear only a minute or so before it's over, too little to gauge anything about the band's music. Maybe next time.

1:00 am
ST-37, Lift To Experience @ Red-Eyed Fly
When I arrive at the Red-Eyed Fly around 12:45 or so, Austin's beloved psychedelic institution ST-37 is still on stage. Somewhere along the line time was lost at the Fly tonight; the band doesn't finish playing until nearly 1:00. It's nice to be able to enjoy some of the combo's tunes, though, as I've been meaning to check it out for years. The songs are noisy but tuneful, never straying too far into the ether. Not bad, though not revelatory. The band gets bonus points for covering "Birds'd Crash," an obscure Roky Erickson song.

After a lengthy set-up, at 1:30 Lift To Experience takes the stage. While the Denton trio is better known in Europe, where it's signed to ex-Cocteau Twin Simon Raymonde's label Bella Union, it's more popular at home than I thought; the place is packed to the gills and later I'll notice folks singing along. LTE is known both for its spacey guitar sound that fills up a room and for its Christian imagery, though leader Josh Pearson claims it's not a Christian band. Both traits are on display tonight, as Pearson leads the trio through a handful of psychedelic space rock tunes, with long intros, power-chorded breakdowns and shimmering melodies. Pearson plays his Jazzmaster through a Leslie speaker cabinet, giving his tone a constant murmur; the effect is perfect for his otherworldly compositions. He introduces "With Crippled Wings" thusly: "It's about the end of the world with Texas as the promised land." That explains the Texas flag draped over the bass amp and the cow skull adorning the Leslie. That song and "These Are the Days," both from the band's debut The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads, highlight the half-hour set. As Pearson lets ring the final chords of "Days," the drummer trashes his kit, sets the bass drum ablaze and lights his cigarette with the flames. LTE is all about the sacred and the profane, it seems, and it finds beauty in both.

With that, another SXSW draws to a close. There are a few more acts that will play on Sunday, including the infamous Austin cover bands the Diamond Smugglers, the Dung Beatles and Rip and Destroy, but I'm spent. Psychedelia and Sweden seem to have ruled the fest for me this year, and it will be a long time before I see performances to rival those by Pleasure Club and The Soundtrack of Our Lives. But next year might contain those very sets, so I'd better start resting up now for SXSW 2003. Michael Toland