SXSW 2004

I hate to admit it, but at first I wasn't all that keen on attending the South By Southwest Music Festival this year. The last couple of years seemed like more trouble than they were worth. Not that I didn't see some great music, but, as I get older, my endurance level for standing in poorly ventilated clubs with concrete floors for hours at a stretch diminishes, as does my tolerance of crowds. But then I found out that both the Wildhearts, who haven't played in the U.S. in a decade, and a reunited American Music Club, who are just now touring outside California, were appearing. And, hell, I'd taken a nearly six-month hiatus from the whole rock critic thing anyway, so I had no excuse for not having recharged batteries. So, what the heck, into the maelstrom we go.

3/17/04
2:00 pm
Times Beach Records party @ Red-Eyed Fly
For me, the festival began at a party thrown by Times Beach Records, a small but growing Detroit label run by Rustbelt Studios owner Dave Allison and former Big Chief guitarist Phil Dürr. First up was Matthew McGuire, AKA Man, Incorporated (formerly known simply as Man). McGuire needs nothing more than his bass, a kick drum and his own rage to put on a show—he's like the twisted, pissed-off dark side Hamell on Trial keeps suppressed. As good as McGuire is on his hilarious album Machine, he's even better live, where his fuzzy bass chords, red-face bellowing and songs like "Blue Law Sunday," "Fuck the Team" and "Hippie Down" can be best experienced.

Following Man's bracing set were a couple of singer/songwriters. I have to admit, at this point I'm pretty sick to death of the singer/songwriter sound—even when I think the songs are good, I'm turned off by the typically wan, folky, precious presentation. As it happened, I could have spared myself any eye-rolling. Ethan Daniel Davidson's album may be mellow (and, frankly, kind of dull), but onstage he and his group came off like Bob Dylan fronting the Rolling Stones (if Dylan could sing). Davidson's wit, intelligence and passion were nicely supported by his quartet's enthusiastic rocking out, which made me wonder why his records didn't sound like this. After Davidson and company cleared the stage, Audra Kubat filled it back up with nothing but her voice, her guitar and her soul. Singing like the long-lost daughter of Sandy Denny and armed with songs that sound like they were written 200 years ago and will still be relevant 200 years from now, Kubat transfixed the crowd immediately; the friendly chatter usually so prevalent on these occasions was entirely absent while she was on stage. She deserved the rapt attention—she's fucking brilliant.

Anything immediately succeeding Kubat's spellbinding performance would be bound to disappoint, and sure enough, the heartfelt but fairly plain country rock of the Deadstring Brothers didn't match what came before it. But it didn't matter, really—the aura of goodwill was palpable. The musicians supported each other, cheering each other on and guesting in each other's sets. The label folks spread the love as well—it's obvious each artist is on the roster because the label digs 'em, not because they're potential cash cows. Times Beach is a genuine family, and the atmosphere of support and mutual respect gave me a warm glow I carried with me for the rest of the day. Thanks to Times Beach publicist Becki Carr for inviting me to come.

Oh yeah, and Beatle Bob appeared as well.

Celebrity sightings: Clem and Sarge from White Cowbell Oklahoma

8:00 pm
Baby Robots @ Blender Balcony at the Ritz
It's always nice to start off the showcases with some local music. The Austin-based Baby Robots played psychedelic rock squarely in the mold of the late 80s/early 90s wave of British guitar rock bands like Ride, Spiritualized and My Bloody Valentine. The quartet has next to no stage presence except for the sarcastic commentary of its drummer (who had a mic even though he never sang—the band is obviously aware of its shortcomings), but when it kicked up a cloud of melodic noise, it wasn't a big issue. The Robots could use a stronger vocalist, and their sound isn't a particularly distinctive one, but for fans of the style they're not bad at all. As a psych rock junkie, I'm comforted to know Austin has a band playing this stuff.

9:00 pm
Erik Friedlander @ Emo's Annex
Cellist Erik Friedlander played right before a showcase for the Mimicry label, the roster of which consists of avant garde jam bands revolving around ex-members of Mr. Bungle. It turned out to be an appropriate audience. Friedlander, a veteran of both jazz ensembles and classical orchestras, is a true virtuoso, knowing exactly where to put his fingers and how to pull his bow to coax any sound desired from his instrument. Playing without accompaniment, he bowed, plucked and strummed the strings, making his electric cello shriek, cry, hum, moan, groan and murmur. Mixing selections from his new album Maldoror with tunes from Arthur Blythe and Carlos Santana, as well as new improvisations, Friedlander mixed the noisy with the melodic, the challenging with the accessible, and easily won the enthusiastic approval of the teen and twentysomething crowd. "You're having too much fun!" cried a young woman, eliciting a smile. I wonder how Friedlander felt about an audience so different than that found at a classical recital or even a jazz club, especially since there was no pandering on his part. This was pure self expression, unfiltered and unvarnished, and we dug it.

10:30 pm
The Go @ Hard Rock Cafe
I was looking forward to this one, since I was recently turned on to the Detroit quartet's self-titled second album and its glammed-up version of R&B-based garage rock. Since I arrived early, I had to endure the last few songs from the City Drive, a kiddie pop/punk band that would probably have excited me were I fifteen. Fortunately, the Drive was quickly forgotten when the Go hit the stage. Cocky frontperson Bobby Harlow looked smashing in his sunglasses and dyed orange hair, and the band seemed like it was having a blast, but it wasn't the adrenaline rush I was expecting. The hooks were there, and the song selection drew equally from the new record ("American Pig," "Summers Gonna Be My Girl") and the band's acclaimed debut Whatcha Doin' ("Maybe at the Movies," the title tune), but somehow it didn't gel into the transcendent experience for which I was hoping. The band never really cut loose, with only one song wallowing in the chaos and abandon I'd expected. Admittedly, it probably didn't help that, as usual with the Hard Rock, the sound went straight up to the top of the elevated ceiling, especially damaging the vocals. I also felt exhaustion creeping up on me, the result of a late night and early morning, so I probably didn't appreciate the set as much as it warranted. I heartily recommend the Go regardless.

This was also the second appearance of Beatle Bob at a show I attended. It would not be the last.

12:00 am
Destroyer @ The Parish
This is another show I was greatly anticipating, since I'm a big fan of the records Canadian songwriter Dan Bejar makes under the name Destroyer. Since I arrived early after the Go's set, I witnessed the last couple of songs by the Rosebuds, a dramatic indie pop trio that frankly didn't leave much of an indentation. They probably made some friends, though, as the place was packed. The Destroyer diehards outnumbered the neophytes, I'm guessing, as the set was rapturously received even though it was mediocre. The rock aggression usually brought to bear in a live setting didn't suit Bejar's complex, psych/glam/folk rock songs very well, and the backing group's insistence on technical adjustments between every number killed the momentum. Then again, my fatigue peaked during this show, and I actually caught myself nodding off, so perhaps I'm not the best judge of the set's quality. That said, Destroyer's unimpressive live showing certainly isn't going to keep me from enjoying its records.

Celebrity sighting: Mark Eitzel

1:00 am
The Cynics @ The Jackalope
This show was a good demonstration of one of the drawbacks of SXSW. Bad enough that the Get Hip showcase was running behind, though that meant I caught almost a full set by the Paybacks, who sounded like Joan Jett if she'd never worked with hacks like Desmond Child. But the Jackalope has no business being a live music venue. It's essentially a big, circular bar with enough space for patrons to stand around it and drink. The "stage" was simply the one space that had room for a table and chairs, though somehow a four-piece band and monitors managed to squeeze onto it. (The less said about the decor, which featured velvet paintings of naked women in Playboy poses, the better.) This is a perfect example of a business wanting to get in on the SXSW bar sales without really being qualified to present live music (though the Jackalope has since made more attempts at live music). With as many acts as they bring to town, the SXSW folks aren't in a position to refuse a venue that offers a stage, makeshift though it may be. As is usual with these situations, the fans are the ones who suffer.

The crappy layout meant that any decently sized crowd was going to fill the place to the rafters, and that was indeed the case. I'm not surprised—it's been a long time since the Cynics, a veteran garage rock quartet from Pittsburgh that's been in action since the mid-80s, have hit the stage in Texas, and rock & roll fans turned out for it. The band didn't disappoint, either, tearing through a great selection of classics and new material with what can only be described as controlled abandon. Singer Michael Kastelic, his scrappy yowl intact, bounced all over the place, while guitarist Gregg Kostelich and the rhythm section kept the groove and melodies nailed to the floor. The group wisely took most of the material from its twin pinnacles, 1989's Rock 'N' Roll (one of the greatest garage rock albums ever) and the new Living is the Best Revenge, proving that songwriting is just as important as energy when it comes to this most primitive but beloved stylistic umbrella. A simply titanic "Get My Way" made the Hives sound like wimpy amateurs. Unfortunately, I was never able to find a completely comfortable spot to sit or stand (though I'd gotten my second wind by the time the Cynics began), so I was unable to completely relax and enjoy the show. Too bad for me, since the band was in top form and rocked the house quite handily.