3/15/03
8:00 pm
Otis Taylor @ BD Riley's
This is one of the reasons I love SXSW. Otis Taylor's tours don't usually bring him down to Texas, so the festival was a good excuse to get him here to play. I've been crazy about this guy's records since hearing White African in a listening kiosk in a record store. He's quite possibly the finest contemporary practitioner of that revered art form known as the blues, and one of the very few expanding and updating the country blues tradition. He continued his cycle of innovation with this performance, his first in Austin since the 80s, and one which drew heavily from his forthcoming new album The Truth is Not Fiction. Eschewing his acoustic guitar, harp and banjo for a pair of Stratocasters and an electric 4-string mandolin, Taylor and his band stepped confidently into the realm of electric blues. Rather than make the transition to the Chicago style, as did the delta country blues artists of the 40s and 50s, Taylor stayed true to his own unique vision. The closest comparison would be to Junior Kimbrough, but even that's offbase. His rhythmic, jangling fingerpicking and powerhouse vocals combined with Eddie Turner's effects-laden slide and guitar solos, Kenny Passarelli's root-note bass lines and Ben Selby's keening cello (which essentially took on the role of a harmonica) to create a distinctive, modern blues sound. (There was no drummer; the way Taylor thwacks the strings, none was needed.) Excellent new tunes stood side-by-side with Taylor classics like "My Soul's in Louisiana," "Resurrection Blues" and a stunning, stretched-out "Black Witch" that compared favorably to what R.L. Burnside does on-stage with "Snake Drive." The best capsule description of this performance is two words: pure soul.
I have to say, though, that BD Riley's is not the venue I would have chosen for Taylor; it's a pub, not a club, and thus its regular patrons continued their conversations as if the music pouring off stage was merely one more element of background noise. But there were folks there to listen, as evidenced by the quickly packed house and the number of folks listening from outside (the pub is open air) who demanded to buy CDs when it was over.
9:00 pm
The Lanternjack @ Lava Lounge Patio
Howling Guitar @ Beerland
I have to admit I was fairly torn as to where to go next. I wanted to hit the
Small Stone showcase at Room 710 for at least a little while, as I promised label head Scott Hamilton I would drop by. (Besides, I knew it would be a good opportunity to pick up some SS records I couldn't find otherwise, and for reasonable prices, too.) But there were other acts I wanted to catch as well. So I decided to do something I've never done before; watch only portions of performances before moving on to something else. (Thanks for the idea, Kent!) First I wanted to check out the Lanternjack, one of the many Detroit-area artists in town this year. Thanks to Motown and the MC5, I still have a romantic notion of what Detroit music should be, and not even Kid Rock and Eminem have dislodged it. At any rate, the Lanternjack was a fairly generic but solid punk rock & roll band. The crowd was oddly reluctant to get too close to the stage, which prompted the shirtless, mascara-wearing singer to bring the show to them as much as possible. Rather than leap around or headbang, the dude instead preened and pranced, often standing stock still with a hand on his hip and a sardonic smile on his face. He sounded as if he had a strong voice, but it was hard to tell, as the lousy mix did not favor his efforts. It wasn't bad at all, but I didn't feel too guilty on leaving after 15 minutes.
I'd read about Howling Guitar earlier in the week and was really curious to check them out. Descriptions that mention the Stooges and the Heartbreakers still tend to get my attention, even though such statements rarely prove accurate. I was surprised to see that a "badges only" sign was posted at Beerland's entrance; I hadn't realized the Japanese trio was a buzz band. The Johnny Thunders comparison proved most apt; the band sounded like it used Thunders' version of "Pipeline" as its model. Howling Guitar mashed surf, Link Wray and punk rock into aggressive, skillful rock instrumentals that also found room for the occasional forays into jazz and metal. Like a really raw Huevos Rancheros, Howling Guitar didn't need vocals or even fancy guitar solo to get its point across. Not bad at all.
10:00 pm
Porn (The Men of) @ Room 710
I actually left Beerland around 9:30 in the hope of catching the last couple of songs of Halfway to Gone's set, but the Jersey-based Southern metal trio was already done by the time I arrived. I killed time at the Small Stone merch booth, buying a handful of disks but not hooking up with Scott. (Sorry, man, shoot me an e-mail!) Though I considered heading over to the Austin Music Hall early, just to ensure getting in for Joe Jackson later, I decided to stay for Porn (The Men of). I'm glad I did, too, as Porn was terrific. The longhaired and -bearded guitarist began the set by looping his feedback; the bassist and drummer (whose kit had colored lights inside the drums) began a crushing stoner rock groove and the six-stringer began to layering riff after ribcage-rattling riff over the top. Between his Big Muff pedal, Orange stack and downtuned strings, the picker provided a monstrous amount of low end, vibrating every bone in the audience's collective body. The final song, a 15-minute behemoth that adds a runaway train-fast section in the middle of its relentless sludge, culminated an engrossing performance of a style that can become quite boring live in the hands of lesser bands. (I'm talking to you, Sons of Otis.) The band's slightly spaced-out take on the Black Sabbath stoner rock tradition isn't particularly innovative, mind you, it's just done really, really well. Porn recalls the time when dinosaurs walked the earth, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.
11:00 pm
Keller Williams @ Austin Music Hall
After Porn shut down its amplifiers, I lit out for the Music Hall. I would rather have stayed to see Five Horse Johnson, one of the jewels in Small Stone's crown, but I wanted to take no chances on getting into the Hall for Joe Jackson, and wanted to give myself a good hour before the midnight showtime. It turned out I needn't have bothered; not only did I make the 14-block walk in record time, I walked right in without having to go through a line. The place was barely half-full; apparently a goodly chunk of this year's batch of SXSW attendees would rather have gone to see Supergrass or Camper Van Beethoven. Thus, before Jackson's appearance, I had to endure nearly a full set by Virginia's Keller Williams, a virtuoso multi-instrumentalist and singer/songwriter who had already made friends with the neohippies and jamband fans in the crowd. His easygoing songs and admittedly jaw-dropping guitar prowess easily made fast friends with anyone sorry Phish hadn't attended this year. His percussive playing style had its obvious roots in the innovations of the late Michael Hedges, while his use of loops and live samples of himself on percussion, bass, whistles and all manner of vocal noises, amounted less to necessary evils and more to grandstanding. Not that the audience seemed to mind; he knew how to work a crowd and had them eating out of his hand by the second song. He's more of a novelty/party act at this point; he even slipped in the obligatory Hendrix reference with a few bars of "Third Stone From the Stone" plucked on guitar synthesizer. With his goofy songs and emphasis on guitar flash, Williams came across as an unspeakable combination of Monte Montgomery and Jimmy Buffet. Apparently a bunch of kids have been waiting for that very gene splice; I, however, am not one of them.
12:00 midnight
Joe Jackson @ Austin Music Hall
At last, it was time for the main event, not only of the evening, but, for me, the entire festival. Joe Jackson has long been one of my very favorite artists; I find his ambitions impressive (if not always successfully fulfilled) and his melodies irresistible, and I had been practically trembling with anticipation for weeks at the thought of seeing him play for the first time in my life. Having reunited with the original Joe Jackson Band from 1978-1980, I expected exactly what I got: a set list comprised of classics from that era, plus a handful of new tunes from his terrific new album Volume 4 and a couple of surprises. "Take It Like a Man," "Awkward Age" and the beautiful ballad "Love at First Light" are just as strong on stage as they are on record, and it was a pleasure to hear greats like "Look Sharp" (with which the band opened), "Fools in Love" (done as a medley with a cover of the Yardbirds' "For Your Love"), "Don't Wanna Be Like That" and "One More Time." Even "Thugs R Us," a mediocre new tune, and "Obvious Song," the catchy but slight pop tune that was his last hit single, found new purpose in this performance. The band was tight, with bassist Graham Maby quietly stealing the show as always; the two songs Jackson performed solo at the piano ("Be My Number Two," "Home Town") were likewise excellent. Looking very un-rock star like in his buttoned frock coat, slender build and bug-eyed hair recession, Jackson was in full command of his musical powers, manipulating the melodies on piano and melodica, or by simply singing. The only problem (besides the Music Hall's echoey sound) was his rapidly decreasing energy level—he looked spent after nearly every song. The spirit was quite obviously willing, but the flesh was battling the onset of the flu, and his voice began cracking halfway through the show. This necessitated cutting a number from the set and foregoing an encore, much to the crowd's disappointment. That said, it was still an unimaginably sweet treat for me to finally see, up close and personal, this man whose music I've so admired and respected for 20 years. I left the Hall grinning.
As usual, there are more acts on Sunday 3/16, and also as usual, I was too exhausted at this point to patronize them. For me, South By Southwest was over once again, and I'm sorry and glad at the same time. I saw a lot of great music, hung out with some cool folks (thank you Tony and Dale Tee Pee, for running such a cool label, and thank you Randy Haecker for being easy to find in a crowd) and got a lot of walking exercise. Time to rest up for next year. Thank you and good night. Michael Toland
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