Thanks to David Schultz for keeping us posted on the action at SXSW in Austin.
Saturday, March 17
There are several constants about the last day of SXSW. As it always falls on Saturday, the streets, especially Sixth Street, become mobbed with people that descend upon the downtown area because it’s the most exciting thing in town on a warm weekend night.
[The Roots at Mohawk – by @phillyinquirer]
Not only are the streets a congested drunken mess, the lines for every venue grow exponentially from the prior days. Compounding the issue, many of the more enticing acts that have populated the showcases over the past week have fled for calmer ground. Unless your tastes skew wildly eclectic, the probability of seeing something entirely off your radar is at its highest on Saturday night. If there was ever any doubt about the value of being a badge holder it is on the festival’s final night.
One of the other constants: the phenomenal lineup of the MOG Saturday afternoon party at Mohawk. Every year, the online music service books a show with the buzziest of bands and pairs them with high profile acts that sometimes forego any official appearances in favor of this one set. The doors for the event usually open at noon and when they do, the line has usually reached mindboggling lengths. To insure being in the building when the first act hits the stage, people lineup as early as 10:00AM and once people get in, they likely aren’t leaving.
For many years, Gary Clark Jr. has been one of SXSW’s hometown heroes. Since his days as the Austin guitar prodigy, Clark’s status has grown from local hero to burgeoning phenomenon; he’s held his own with Eric Clapton and drawn well-deserved raves from Rolling Stone and others for his Bright Lights EP. With a full beard and mustache, Clark no longer looks like the fresh-faced kid whose guitar skills played a pivotal role in John Sayles’ Honeydripper. His exceptionally large fingers prowling the strings of his electric guitar, Clark unleashed gale force winds of blues power in measured doses. Easing into one number with Hendrix’ signature phrase from Third Stone From The Sun, Clark vaulted to the other end of the spectrum, scratching his guitar like a DJ with two turntables and no microphone. When Clark sings that you will know his name by the end of the night, he’s not idly promises, he issuing a bona fide guarantee.
The hazy ambience of The War On Drugs made for a nice complement to the sunny Austin afternoon. Mining the synthesized soil of the late Eighties when British bands could do wonders with a warm, moody tone and the right guitar riff, the Philadelphia quartet never feel dated. Even as they manage to sound the closest to The Unforgettable Fire era U2, the songs from Slave Ambient sound very modern and of-the-moment. As at ACL the night before, their Mohawk set had pacific moments of beauty with the music ebbing and flowing like the tide. In the calm of Original Slave, a plaintive trumpet underscores the swelling mood and Bono’s whoo-hoos from Bad would be right at home on Come To The City.
For the third time this week, I am present for a Blitzen Trapper set. Does this mean that I am cool because I keep seeing Blitzen Trapper or is Blitzen Trapper cool because they keep playing the stage where I am at? While you ponder that question, just know that “you might find it cheap but you’re never gonna find it for free” is one truly great lyric.
If the Jesus & Mary Chain hadn’t broken one of my favorite senses, I suspect that the Cloud Nothings set on the indoor stage might have done the trick. Just a year ago, Dylan Baldi showed up at SXSW as a 19-year-old teenager with a startling set of simply-crafted indie-pop songs and a righteous complaint about the bouncer at Red 7 indelibly marking both his hands with “I’m underage” straight-edge Xes. Not only has Baldi filled out physically within a year, his musical maturation is jawdropping. Playing a furious thirty-minute set drawing solely from Attack On Memory, Baldi may be singlehandedly reviving grudge. On Wasted Days, Baldi howls angst ridden lyrics over the greatest eight minutes of music released this year. He’s one of the most intriguing musicians to come around in years and his potential is off the charts. One thing for sure, his promise on Our Plans that they won’t last long has no prayer of coming true.
The Nineties revival at SXSW had room to include Bob Mould performing Copper Blue, the album he released with Sugar in 1992. In leading his three-piece band through an unannotated version of Sugar’s debut, Mould made the album sound as vital and vibrant as it did 20 years ago. Upon its release, Copper Blue received a healthy dose of good ink (that’s how reviews were done back then) but after one follow-up stalled and another one came out sub par, it serves a the sole testament to a fine early ’90s band. Outside of the joy of hearing The Slim, Helpless, Good Idea and Man On The Moon one more time and Mould being in fine form, there’s not much else to relate about the set. By all accounts, Mould will be taking the album rehash out on the road later this year.
If Jimmy Fallon learned anything from David Letterman, it’s wanting the luxury of having a ridiculously excellent, malleable band by your side. Regardless of the quality of the show, the audience definitely got to hear a great band. The Roots closed out the MOG show by turning the event into a straight-up party, covering genres from rap, hip-hop, jazz and classic rock in one seamless flow. Mixing Sweet Child Of Mine, Immigrant Song, Apache and Jungle Boogie in with originals, From guitarist Kamal Gray, bassist Mark Kelley and tuba player Damon Bryson running circles and clowning around to the introduction and conscription of DJ Jazzy Jeff (of Fresh Prince fame), The Roots fun and adventurous spirit became infectious with MC Black Thought never let the energy wane.
Perhaps the funniest moment was one not evident to much of the crowd. In the midst of one song, ?uestlove directed Frank Knuckles to move from the electronic drums to the bongos. After receiving a blank stare from Knuckles in response to his second direction, ?uestlove threw a drum stick at him to get him to move, playing with one stick until someone brought him another one. Even if Jimmy Fallon’s legacy were to end up as a footnote on Justin Timberlake’s Wikipedia page with a clip of the Barry Gibb talk show, he can take credit as being that brought The Roots to mainstream network America.
Even people who have seen every episode of The Office respond with a quizzical look when you tell them that you are going to see Creed. Even though Scott Stapp’s maligned creation has receded to the back alleys of obscurity, its name lingers. Unsurprisingly, correcting their impression that you do not hate your own ears by telling them that you are going to see Creed Bratton doesn’t get the befuddled look to go away. Once the guitarist for The Grass Roots, Bratton’s set at The Palm Door didn’t aim for a nostalgic romp but drew from his solo albums. With songs that ranged from easy-going country to straight-forward rural rock and roll, Bratton showed off a nice repetoire but its easy to see why people never made the connection between The Office’s Creed Bratton and The Grass Roots’ Creed Bratton. With a big smile, Bratton closed his set by introducing himself as being from The Office and quipping “that’s what she said.”
[via @thatguytylor]
The handwritten schedule that had been scribbled on a piece of notebook paper and posted outside The Palm Door simply said “Donovan.” As this seemed odd, it bore asking at the door whether it was “that Donovan.” The teenager at the door had no clue but did relate that there was some old British guy that knew The Beatles playing tonight and asked me if that was “that Donovan.” Touche young’un. I have no idea whether Donovan knew The Beatles so I just said “yes – now stamp my hand kid.”
Promptly at 9, that Donovan from the Sixties walked out on stage with an acoustic guitar. For the next hour, Donovan regaled the audience with stories about songwriting and rolled through a barrage of hits like Sunshine Superman, Barabajagal, Mellow Yellow and Guinevere. In commenting on his enjoyment for playing for other songwriters as a music industry convention, Donovan drifted onto makes the event its own creature. It’s musicians playing for a crowd that truly appreciates and understands music. Hopefully, he didn’t wander down Sixth Street after the show and have that notion dispelled.
[Via @GibsonAustin]
In the middle of his set-closing version of Season Of The Witch, the surprise guest brought out another surprise guest: Eric Burdon of The Animals. If stories are to be believed, Springsteen’s mention of Burdon during his keynote speech on Thursday morning led to an impromptu career renaissance over the next three days. It’s unclear whether Burdon ever heard the song before attempting to sing it with Donovan as he just kept belting out “season of the witch” indiscriminantly in the voice of We’ve Gotta Get Out Of This Place. Time constraints make encores scarce at SXSW but with an unrelenting crowd, Donovan returned to the stage for a quick rendition of Hurdy Gurdy Man. Donovan’s over-the-top, medieval flower-power folk keeps him from getting his due as a songwriter and proper Sixties influence. Quite possibly, it’s not an unfair omission. Nonetheless, this is the man that soundtracked the Billy Batts beating. That’s got to count for something. Unquestionably, the Donovan set was a great surprise and ridiculously fun.
In an attempt to broaden my horizons, I decide to go see Blondes at Barcelona. Their name popped up on some site’s Must See In Austin list and it stuck in one of the mustier crevices. This was, hmmm, how to put this properly, a mistake. A basement club, Barcelona’s entire space is geared towards servicing a gigantic DJ set-up in the center of the room. My first clue that I was out of element should have probably been the bouncer asking me if I was sure I was in the right place. For some reason, that sailed right over my head. If Stefon from SNL were there, he would probably do a funnier job of describing the scene and I would likely be a punchline. (“Barcelona has everything: a confused guy looking for another stage; a guy hiding his badge cause he thinks college kids will make fun of him for being lost; someone leaning on wall trying to turn himself invisible like Burt Campbell from Soap and a grown man on the verge of renacting the Bronson Pinchot elevator scene from True Romance.”) In my ten minutes at Barcelona, I have no clue whether I saw Blondes. The moral of this part of the story – never, ever do anything unfamiliar. It’s scary and makes you feel old.
After the fiasco at Barcelona, I ducked into The Whiskey Room as a break from the madness on Sixth Street. On stage was Maren Parusel, who appeared to be a female rock guitarist. About two minutes after I arrived, the sound appeared to go terminally south on her guitar, leaving her without an instrument. She informed the audience that she can finish the set acoustic and then asked if anyone has an acoustic guitar. This would be my cue to leave. Tommy Stinson was playing there later. I hope he brought an acoustic with him.
In 2008, on the recommendation of Justin Ward, the owner, proprietor and CEO of the Live Music Blog, I went to see White Denim at Club Deville, an outdoor patio space on Red River. Not only was it band love at first sight, it’s one of the experiences that keeps me going back every year. Four years later, White Denim are rightfully on the verge of a proper breakout and somehow ended up on the JAKKED Stage by Doritos for their only publicized SXSW set.
[Photo via @NardsNards]
The disconnect between the large corporate spectacle of a parking lot being taken over by the Frito-Lay conglomorate who constructs a stage designed to look like a four story Doritos vending machine and then appearance on that stage of the greatest band going right now is still difficult to comprehend. Getting past the surreal surroundings, in an almost seemless 45 minute set, White Denim played much of D, their most recent album, a couple songs off of Takes Place In Your Work Space, their current EP, and worked Shake, Shake, Shake and I Start To Run into the set. During the latter song, guitarist James Petralli dropped his guitar and started doing laps around the stage.
The songs from D are now malleable works of clay on stage and White Denim seems to be enjoying seeing how they can be molded with different tempos and arrangements. They have cut any arms off the Venus de Milo yet but they are toying with the infrastructure. This band cannot be recommended any more highly. Miss out at your own peril.
In fact, the entire week (for me) ended with The Heavy at The Stage at Sixth, who energized the main room with their stylized brand of funk rock. After previewing songs from their upcoming album, lead singer Kelvin Swaby polled the audience as to whether they liked the new material. No matter that the foreshadowing was as obvious as a punchline in the Catskills, How You Like Me Know? is just a fun song and everybody jumped like Kris Kross and House Of Pain combined.
For the purposes of our narrative though, we are going to willingly suspend the time, space continuum and place our finale in The Stage at Sixth’s backyard tent where Jimmy Cliff played one of the many sets he offered in Austin this week that included an appearance at Rachel Ray’s annual fete and the commandeering of Springsteen’s encore at ACL Live. Looking hearty but slightly frail, the hardest working man in Austin this week, sat center stage with an acoustic guitar and played a veritable greatest hits set.
Unlike his larger stage show, Cliff was accompanied by only a lap guitar/electric guitarist and a drummer. This placed the focus squarely on Cliff, whose voice sounded a tad weathered by his tiring week. Opening with You Can Get It If You Really Want It, the reggae legend maneuvered his way through his catalog of uplifting hits, offering up renditions of I Can See Clearly Now, Wonderful World, Beautiful People and, of course, The Harder The Come.
The one political note Cliff struck was in changing his anti-war anthem Vietnam to Afghanistan, shifting the song’s focus from strife in Africa to the troubles in the Middle East. The narrator soldier’s desire to come home and be with his family remains a thoughful reminder that wars are fought by people not countries. The omission of classics like Many Rivers To Cross and Rivers of Babylon can likely be attributed to the status of Cliff’s voice. No matter, the see Cliff in a stripped down environment needs no qualification.
SXSW 2012 can now begin its slow fade into the warm recesses of the memory. On to The Allman Brothers Band where there is a theater…with seats, comfortable, comfortable seats.
One Response
hate to be “that guy” but the Roots guitarist is Captain Kirk Douglas; Kamal Gray is on keys.
Great rundown of the end of SXSW tho!! thanx