SXSW 2004

3/19/04
12:45 pm
Robyn Hitchcock @ Austin Convention Center
I have a confession to make: I've never seen Robyn Hitchcock play. For that matter, even though I'm a longtime fan, I lost track of him after he was dropped from Warner Brothers a few years ago. I knew he was still touring, but thought he hadn't made a record in years. So I was happy to catch up with him this conference, both at the songwriters' panel the day before and at this solo performance during the trade show. I sat down in the middle of a set by former Be Good Tanyas member Jolie Holland, whose jazzy folk/country tunes were quite good, but Hitchcock captured my imagination with his first tune. He played nothing but material I didn't recognize, and it was as good as or better than anything he's ever done. The solo acoustic format suits him perfectly, as it made the show seem like Uncle Robyn in your living room, singing songs and telling tales. "Only the Stones Remain," "Full Moon in My Soul" and the lovely "One L" (a song dedicated to his girlfriend: "I love you in real life/Not just in this song that's coming out of me") were the standouts in a great set, though I'd be remiss if I didn't mention "Viva! Sea-Tac," a tribute to the Seattle/Tacoma area dedicated to Scott McCaughey and The Stranger and featuring the lines "They got the best computers and coffee and smack." He was funny and but not too surreal between songs, like a linear Monty Python skit, and his set was a most enjoyable way to wake up in the morning. He also did a signing at the Borders booth immediately after the show, where I was surprised to find that he'd self-released three albums, including Luxor, from which he drew a great deal of his set, and which I was happy to pick up.

And, of course, Beatle Bob was there.

2:00 pm
Small Stone Records party @ Room 710
I've always dug Detroit's Small Stone label, which has done more to revive 70s-style hard rock than anybody except maybe New Mexico's equally venerable MeteorCity label. I could think of no better way to spend a Friday afternoon than by having my eardrums blown out in preparation for the company's showcase that night; plus it would give me an opportunity to shake the hand of Scott Hamilton, who for all intents and purposes is Small Stone, and a man who's been awfully good to me over the years.

First up was the Glasspack, a Louisville, Kentucky power trio that, thankfully, has nothing in common with that town's infamous arty indie rock scene. The band attacked its songs like a pack of starving wolves taking down a moose. Frontman Dirty Dave ripped psychedelic punk/metal riffs out of his ax like a butcher disemboweling a cow, spraying the viscera all over the place, and somehow the rhythm section managed to keep up. The band played its set with total abandon, the way rock & roll should be. I've had mixed feelings about the Pack in the past, but this bloodbath made me a true believer.

Next up was Dallas' Speedealer, who aren't on the Small Stone label, but fit in more or less anyway. The quartet came off like a black metal ZZ Top, with the singer screeching at the top of his lungs over scorched earth boogie riffs played at a million miles an hour. It was no frills, no bullshit metal, intense as hell. I don't know how often I'd listen to their records, if I owned any, but this set was quite bracing. Following Speedealer was Cleveland space metal ensemble Red Giant, who weren't unlike a mixture of Monster Magnet and High On Fire (minus the Celtic Frost fetish). Songs like "Silver Shirley" were bluesy and spacey at the same time, and the band featured a heavy rock anomaly: a genuine guitar hero who never called attention to himself. I made a mental note to investigate their records when given chance.

The mighty Suplecs took the stage afterward. I've read about this New Orleans band for a while now, so I was happy to have the chance to finally hear them. With tunes like "Rock Bottom" ("It's about being broke at South By Southwest," joked the guitarist), "Stalker" and the superpowered "Black Cloud," a new song about to be recorded for the band's forthcoming album, (On Small Stone? It wasn't clear.), the trio easily lived up to its reputation as stoner rock gods. Sort of in the same vein as Southern sludgemeisters Alabama Thunderpussy, but with more potent hooks, Suplecs impressed the heck out of me and made me resolve to seek out their albums.

The final act of the party, before an extended break to set up for the showcase, was New Jersey's Thousand Knives of Fire, a side project from Halfway to Gone guitarist Lee Stuart. The tattooed axeslinger seemed determined to prove that Monster Magnet/Atomic Bitchwax star Ed Mundell isn't the only guitar hero in Jersey, as the tunes were built around his balls-blasting riffs and chicken-pickin' filigrees. Truthfully, the trio didn't seem quite ready for prime time, as the cliché goes, with Stuart a little too self-deprecating between numbers in a short set. Fortunately, special guest star Man, Incorporated appeared to liven things up in the middle of Knives' show, with a trio of punk rock rants, apparently baffling the metalheads (overheard from a couple of kids: "What the fuck just happened?"). Then it was back to TKoF. Stuart is truly an exceptionally gifted player, and the upcoming album will no doubt kick ass, but the band itself needs a little more seasoning in the concert department.

8:00-11:00 pm
Small Stone Records Showcase @ Room 710
After a good meal and a surprise meeting with old friend Chris Gonzalez (late of the Americanos, now of the Dirt Blazers), I headed back to Room 710 for the "official" showcase of Small Stone bands (passing Michael Penn on the street). Beginning the evening was Sasquatch, who at first seemed like a typical example of stoner power trio rock in the same vein as Porn, Suplecs, etc. The L.A. band was big, burly and heavy as hell, but its songs were unusually melodic and the guitarist sang more than screamed or growled. Far from seeming repetitive, Sasquatch rocked as hard as its better-known contemporaries, and lived up to its name in song.

(The singer dedicated a tune whose title I didn't catch to Fireball Ministry leader the Reverend James A Rota II, who lost his father earlier in the day. Our condolences.)

Throttlerod came next. Recently shorn a member (I guess they realized they had to match the power trio lineup of the other bands on the bill), the South Carolina ensemble stood out from the other acts by virtue of its use of dynamics. Though as in love with feedback drones and sodomized boogie as the rest of the label's roster, the boys in Throttlerod leaven the sludge with more open spaces and variety in their arrangements. There's something distinctly Southern about the group's music, something that indicates a life lived with a Southern accent, and it's not just the twang in their vocal harmonies (yes, harmonies). Throttlerod is one of the most impressive bands in the Small Stone lineup, and its performance underscored that fact.

The stage next hosted the pride and joy of Denton, Texas, the mountainous Dixie Witch. This, you guessed it, power trio has the telepathic interplay and interband sense of humor of seasoned road dogs, and its performance was a joy to behold, made by a trio of guys who've played the music they love together in every dive that would have them. Drummer Trinidad Leal may pound his drum kit (which features a pair of massive parade drums in place of kick drums) like he caught it fucking his girlfriend, but he keeps the groove going and sings soulfully to boot. The band played a good selection of tunes from its last record One Bird, Two Stones, including standouts "On My Way," "The Wheel" and "Goin' South," as well as its virtual masterpiece, the title track from its debut Into the Sun. Dixie Witch is the most traditionalist of the Small Stone bands, its version of 70s arena metal less punk-informed than that of its peers. A Dixie Witch show is a guaranteed good time, and this set was no exception.

The final act I caught at the Small Stone showcase was Porn, who blew my mind last year and did it again tonight. It's amazing to me how guitarist Tim Moss and his cohorts reap such great rewards from such seemingly simplistic tools. Beginning with feedback and a guitar loop, the trio built a damn near lethal wall of downtuned riffage, with Moss exploiting every noise his six strings, bottleneck and massive Orange amps could make. Each tune had multiple sections and tempos, but didn't come off as prog at all, and somehow hypnotic melodies (and the occasional growled vocal) emerged from the sludge. Porn's volume was unbelievable, almost a physically palpable presence, yet the band made it work as more than just shock value, jamming its riffs into the ground and smashing them to pulp. Porn is the ultimate power trio, and I for one can't wait for the August release of their new crunch rock opus.

12:00 am
Jesse Harris & the Ferdinandos @ Bigsbys
As much as I would have loved to stay and see Acid King (not to mention VALIS, the space rocking final act on the bill), I got paranoid about being able to get into Bigsbys for American Music Club's 1:00 set, so I left, thinking there would be a line for AMC the way there was for the Posies the night before. Apparently, I underestimated the draw of the 12:30 Big Star reunion show, because I walked right in to a slightly crowded, but hardly full, club. So I sighed heavily and managed to put up with Jesse Harris & the Ferdinandos' wan, characterless roots pop, telling myself that at least I'd get a good spot for the AMC set. Harris wrote the Grammy-winning "Don't Know Why" for the equally dull-as-doing-dishes Norah Jones, and after enduring his seemingly endless set, I can see why she'd be attracted to his material. Blech.

1:00 am
American Music Club @ Bigsbys
This band's appearance was one of the reasons I attended SXSW this year (the Wildhearts being the other, but more on them later). I've been a huge fan of American Music Club since the release of its third album California way back in 1988. I saw them play only once, in 1991 at the now-deceased Cannibal Club in Austin, and it was one of the greatest live music experiences I've ever had. So, as much as I love Mark Eitzel's solo material and shows, I was ecstatic at the news that he'd reconvened the band and even more so that it was playing SXSW. This level of anticipation could have set me up for disappointment, but the show lived up to my expectations. The band (Eitzel, guitarist Vudi, bassist Dan Pearson, drummer Tim Mooney and, from Eitzel's solo band, Marc Capelle on keyboards and flugelhorn) was in fine form, the members playing together as if they'd never been apart. The group played a few new songs, including the overtly political "Ladies and Gentlemen, It's Time" (inspired, according to Eitzel, by George W. Bush's first post 9/11 speech) and "Help" and the uplifting (!) "Only Love." But the biggest applause of the night came for the classics, including "Sick of Food," "Challenger," a drastically reworked "Why Don't You Stay?" and a swelling "Johnny Mathis' Feet" as opener. The set ended with Pearson and Eitzel polling the audience as to what song to play next (Pearson: "Who wants to hear 'Nightwatchman'?" Eitzel: "Who wants to hear 'Dead Part of You'?") Eitzel won (it was the song he was going to play anyway) and the set drew to an emotional climax. It was a great way to cap off 12 hours of killer music (excepting Jesse Harris, of course).