The sun is out, trees are gaining back their natural color, and a frail, scraggly man is swaying down Fifth Street in women’s pants. He looks like he could be Bon Jovi’s little brother. More likely, he’s just another wannabe rock star menacing SXSW XX, the 20th South-by-Southwest annual music festival in Austin, Texas.
I’m in my At the Drive-In T-shirt.
On the day before the music began, thousands of press people and musicians who have arrived early to claim their badges and wristbands fill Austin’s convention center. I’m denied a priority badge, so I line up for a wristband instead.
The cute Asian girl on wristband duty spots my T-shirt, then asks me if I like The Mars Volta.
She chuckles and even blushes a little when I wink at her. Then she says she likes The Mars Volta because of their Afros, and not necessarily because of their music. I shoot her a disturbed look and decide against asking for her number.
Because it’s about the music.
The first act I see is New London Fire. NLF sounds a bit like Flickerstick (of VH1 Bands on the Run fame) crossed with the Red Sparowes. The singer looks like a bastard version of Michael Rapaport and sings each song in the same key regardless of what key the song is in. He says the band has been on tour for months, which I find hard to believe because their set is so bland. Or maybe that’s why. The crowd of about 50 offers faint, scattered applause that makes their exit a little awkward. This is not the grand opening I expected.
The next show would cure that. As I walk in to a secluded spot called The Hideout, Jad Fair and Lumberob are stomping their feet on the stage like two kids throwing a temper tantrum, making noises into microphones and looping the sounds they create, one on top of the other. The “songs” are a cappella and create an effect I’m guessing can only be replicated by 10 or 15 schizophrenics.
“ATTACK!” yelled one while the other scatted. Or scut.
Highly satisfying.
But topped by the Japanese showcase I saw later at the Elysium.
Vasallo Crab 75, was led by a balding, hip-shaking guy who made up for what the band lacked in songwriting ability. The Rodeo Carburettor’s raunchy attitude matched its aggressive style. But it was Pe’z, a five-piece jazz act, that absolutely stole the show. Unbelievably, they sounded like a ska/fusion version of John Coltrane – and it worked.
The longest line of the festival was for Belle and Sebastian. I didn’t get in. And I never saw the guy in women’s pants again, either. But by this time next year he’s bound to have a record deal.
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Comments welcome.
Posted on March 21, 2006