Soldout By Southwest

If Meredith Grey were writing an article on SXSW, she’d undoubtedly begin it with something like “the thing about SXSW is that everyone hates it but everyone wants to go.” Never before this year, dear reader, had I found that sentiment to hold as true. It could possibly be that, prior to this SXSW, the Internet clamor about the yearly week-long cluterfuck convergence of bands in Austin, TX had just been too much, or about bands I was relatively unconcerned with. Sure, last year had Tori Amos debuting new material in one of those now-commonplace “secret” SXSW sets, where “secret” means “everyone knows and lines up outside of Stubbs BBQ for hours to see an artist who is going to go on a national tour in like a week”, but even that hasn’t been enough. I don’t know-despite like 10 years now of writing about music in various capacities, I’ve never felt compelled to make the trek-and this coming from someone who has done his fair sure of Winter Music Conferences and hates Miami with the fiery burning of a thousand suns. Flames, flames, on the side of my face…but I digress.

The noise around this year’s South By Southwest was a menagerie of Geolocation-based social media Apps and Holes of various sorts—or, rather, one Miss Courtney Love and her Holes, aka a bunch of folks who hadn’t been in the original band but who CLove gathered to spruce up material from her long-delayed Nobody’s Daughter record.

As previously posted, my phone’s a Sidekick-it comes in handy if I need to see what the 16 year old girls are doing on a Tuesday night-so the whole Geolocation/social media thing sort of bypasses me on a whole and so I wasn’t going to collect the “Hella Good” badge on 4square from checking in at Gwen Stefani playing at a taco truck. I also wasn’t going to see Hole (henceforth referred to as Courtney and The Holes, other than when they aren’t). I had a hunch going into my first SXSW that the purpose was to give over to the experience of being surrounded by bands I’d never seen, rather than lose a day standing in a line hoping to get in to the show of the conference.  I mean, everyone knows Courtney’s shtick—curse throw shit rock song rock song crotch shot curse puke—and my tickets to see her at Terminal 5 on the Nobody’s Daughter tour in late April made her appearance at SXSW even less vital to me.

I wanted to see new bands. I wanted to see what was going on in the music industry, if possibly. And, honestly I wanted to watch other people watch Salem. I mean, we’ve said enough about this band, right? It’s an obsession, but one that has me (and Kristin) wondering the opinion of the general music-consuming public.  So with interviews with Salem and Melissa Auf Der Maur, confirmed wristbands to Fader Fort, plans to crash the Biz3 showcase and a deep need for tacos and warmth, I went to Austin with soldout team members Kristin and Marley. 

 WEDNESDAY

By the time Marley and I arrived in Austin on Wednesday night,  SXSW was already in full swing. Andrew WK had played about 18 times, several college girls had puked and Spoon had managed to add the touches to the Health Care Reform bill that would later see it pass both House and Senate.  

Get this, though: there’s a bus that goes from the Austin airport to downtown and it costs a dollar. A DOLLAR. THINGS ARE LESS EXPENSIVE ELSEWHERE.

Once Marley and I ended up in downtown Austin, at about 10 P.M., and had our stuff unloaded into the hotel, it was time to see what this SXSW thing was all about.  We met up with Kristin outside Elysium, opting to be super-early for Andrew WK’s set at Buffalo Billiards then see the last few songs of You Say Party! We Say Die! (whose new album is slowly creeping on the come-up of my favorite things I’ve heard this year). After a few drinks and some confusion, though, Marley and I realized that, not possessing official SXSW registration and not being in the already-daunting entry line meant she and I would definitely NOT get in to see him, so we left Kristin to rock out with who she’d proclaim the next day was her new babydaddy while we headed to the nerdcore showcase at Karma.

Let me stop here for a second and say something: as a genre, I am super not into nerdcore hip-hop, or, rather, what my preconceived notions of it were. White guys rapping about video games has really never been my thing, unless, admittedly, it’s accompanied by a thick Brit accent (i.e. Mike Skinner of The Streets, anything on the Run The Road compilation, etc).

I was happily blown away by what I saw at Karma Wednesday night at SXSW. We walked into the club early on into a set by K-Flay, who became the first gem of the conference to my ears.  Her on-stage set-up was such that she was constructing live beats via sampling and splicing indie rock hits--The Gossip’s “Heavy Cross”, for example, which I’ll apparently forever mis-trackspot as “Silent Shout”—and then rapping on top of them with a well-paced flow. Honestly it’s way more impressive, she’s way more impressive, than I’m doing credit to, so your best bet is just to check her out.

We also caught nerdcore stalwart and mainstay MC Frontalot, whose stage presence completely blew me away. Dude moves like he’s made of rubber and putty, and his “I Hate Your Blog”, performed with Schaffer The Dark Lord, admittedly lodged itself in my brain for the rest of the conference.  

Drunk on $3 whiskey and diet cokes, I headed back to the hotel around 2 A.M. Not to spoil anything, but most of the evenings ended like that.

THURSDAY

Thursday, first morning in Austin=breakfast tacos, naturally.  Armed with a healthy, balanced breakfast of yummyness wrapped in tortillas, Marley and I, essentially and for lack of any better words, dicked around on the internet in the hotel lobby (wassup with no free in-room wifi Omni Austin?) until it was time for us to attend THE FINEST LUNCH WITH THE GERMANS at Park Lounge.

When I first received the invite to THE FINEST LUNCH WITH THE GERMANS, I’m fairly sure I audibly said “oh fuck yes”-free German food, free wine and beer, and hobnobbing with German techno legends, soundtracked by the likes of Tobias Tomas. The reality was even more impressive-the free Reisling was pretty damn great, Kompakt and Get Physical star-watching was prime, the music was impeccable (Superpitcher remix of “Evan and Chan”, anyone?), and, reportedly, the food was ace (my stomach doesn’t agree with German food).  

Since I myself was hungry, we adjourned for lunch of margaritas with Kristin. Hoping to find a quiet place to pre-plan for our interview with Salem later that day, we stalked out El Sol Y La Luna. Of course, given that it was SXSW, there were bands there too, thus making conversation pretty damn difficult. During our lunch Dearling Physique played and I was pretty fucking floored, wishing they had a set at, say, 8 PM in a real venue rather than noonish on stage at a Mexican place.

Midway into our aborted planning session turned tequila chugging contest, Stephen Elliott showed up. “Saw your check-ins” on 4square, he said simply as he pulled up a chair and drank a Sprite.  We proceeded to discuss SXSW, its point and purpose, our upcoming interview with Salem, and his ability to use his press credentials to see “one show guaranteed, but only one show, each day.” “What show should I absolutely go to?” he asked us. Kristin, Marley and I all looked at each other and answered in unison: “HOLE”.

Stephen wrote this down, the way he’s wont to do, in his ever-present notebook.

Eventually we all parted ways-the three of us to find a quieter place, with more drinks, to plan for Salem.

The interview with Salem is now the stuff of legend. At least, in our heads it is. We were pretty drunk, and also pretty terrified. Also exhilarated.

BUT WE SURVIVED.

(Kristin and I, immediately after interviewing Salem)

We rode the post-Salem survival high to the Fader Fort, got our wristbands and…didn’t go in. Coffee instead. Coffee and internet, actually, on benches next to JD Samson.  Eventually collapsing happened, and the fact that my memories end there say about enough.

FRIDAY

Friday was a trek to the American Apparel flea market, AKA the least impressive and scariest thing ever. Attached to the giant Mad Decent Carniville on actual carnival grounds, we ran through the AM APPY rejects (no, not the shoppers, the clothes) before popping into Carniville to catch my new favorite band, Sleigh Bells.

(Sleigh Bells at Carniville)

On their demo their songs are cutesy, catchy indie-pop thrash, and live…yeah. Live, Sleigh Bells are polarizing, if the Carniville crowd is to be used as a litmus. Singer Alexis Krauss is a tattooed Care Bear on a pogo stick on stage, commanding the crowd to have a good time whether they like it or not. I question how much of their performance is plugged in and how much is pre-programmed, but it doesn’t fucking matter. Even if all that’s happening live is Alexis, that’s enough: she’s the new face of real Rock Frontwoman with a capital R and a capital F. During my favorite of their jams (because all of their songs, rest assured, are jams), “A/B Machines”, Alexis repeated the song’s sole lyrics of “got my ‘A’ machines on the table/got my ‘B’ machines in the drawer” with the insistence of a punk, kick-ass 1^st grade teacher. “Put your pencil case on the desk/put your crayon box in the drawer!”

Sleigh Bells from russ marshalek on Vimeo.

Late in the day Friday, while everyone else was waiting to get into Muse and Metric at Stubbs, Marley, Kristin and I got in line early to bum rush the Biz 3 showcase to see Salem. The definition of “bum rush” here, though, means Kristin used her SXSW wristband to get in, and Marley and I paid $20. So not exactly sneaky-sneaky.

When Salem came on, it was obvious there was something up. The band seemed at odds with…something…and the introduction by DJ/Host Hollywood Holt of “MAKE SOME NOISE IF Y’ALL READY TO GET SCARED” (fuck is THAT? It reminded me of June D's embarassing intro for Patrick Wolf at Studio B years ago) followed by David Bowie’s “Modern Love” noticeably baffled Jack, Heather and John as much as it did those of us who were familiar with Salem.

(Salem at Biz 3 Showcase)

The rotation, also, was strange. Jack, 2 Heather songs, Jack, and…exit. None from John, who is arguable the voice that most people are familiar with from Salem, if only because it’s his garbled, deconstructed intonations that make the most appearances on Salem songs.

(L-R: Heather, John, Jack: Salem at Biz 3 Showcase)

The crowd wasn’t moved. Some chick was passed out on stage. This was definitely not what I expected-regardless, the four songs performed were spot-on, particularly Jack’s “Trapdoor”.

A few notes:

There’s an argument on The Fader that actually hearing Jack’s lyrics takes away from the Salem experience. I disagree-maybe if I knew what John’s down-pitching was covering it’d be less threatening, but with Jack setting up lyrics like “I don’t like your body/don’t think you should feed it….so why do you keep it/when you’re free to leave it”? Actually understanding, having the force of impact hit, only makes the humanization of Salem that much more frightening.

I took the weirdness of seeing Salem, this Salem, not the confident, crowd-owning Salem but a nervous, distracted Salem not playing by numbers, with a crowd partially unappreciative and partially confused, with me to chew on as we went to bed.   During this time, apparently the dude from Fucked Up pulled out his penis in our hotel’s hot tub.

SATURDAY

Saturday was tough, man, Saturday was tough.  Too much alcohol, too much sun, too much everything. Onset of a head cold? Probable. The last day at summer camp feeling was setting in.

To cut out all but the most important: while Salem was going on at Fader Fort (we never made it to Fader Fort, mind you), Kristin, Marley and I were sitting with soldout favorite Melissa Auf Der Maur. That video is coming, but suffice to say, despite being completely physically over being awake and functional, XMADMX was a thrill to talk to—she’s so impossibly into the art she’s creating.

(The response of The Fader Fort to Salem’s performance there that we missed while kneeling at Melissa Auf Der Maur's bootheels is now, also, the stuff of legend.)

 We ended up missing Chew Lips at Elysium, which was fine-they cancelled it, anyway. So we never saw Chew lips. So, open letter to Chew Lips: hurry up, get huge, tour the U.S. Thanks.

Saturday night goodbyes were said. Sunday morning was a rush to the airport, and a half-awake attempt to process everything that happened during SXSW. I came to the realization early on that South By Southwest, as an experience, is pointless if used to focus on the Holes and the Muses of the world. Honestly, catching K-Flay accidentally the first night was one of the best moments for me of my entire time in Austin, and it seems everyone I encountered was, at one point or another, bemoaning an amazing band's totally-unattended show. As a band, I don’t know how beneficial shit like SXSW is-I don’t make music, I write about it. From my perspective, it’s worth going, skipping the badge and being swept up in the tempest. I mean, let's take Salem (again): regardless of what anyone thinks, they're on the tips of tongues that would never have even thought about them, all thanks to the whirlwind of "southby" (as the kids call it). 

 I’m really interested to see what comes of Salem’s sudden internet ubiquitous presence (what even Salem's publicity team, Biz3, is referring to as "Salemgate" on twitter-hey WE came up with that, y'all). If the only thing to come from SXSW 2010 is an ongoing discussion amongst music writers about one of the most interesting (like them or hate them) bands in recent years, that’s enough for me. As the woman once sang, you can fight South By Southwest, but South By Southwest won’t stop, for the love of god.