St. Louis Music Blog

Just received word that Friday, November 6, is the last day that bands can apply for a showcase at next year's SXSW festival via Sonicbids. The link is here! $40 gets you applied and a free six-month subscription to Sonicbids. What a deal! If you have any doubt that SXSW is a blast, just take a look at any of our coverage from years past.

http://media.phoenixnewtimes.com

There aren't enough beefs in hip-hop anymore. I seriously miss the golden era-- back in the days of East Coast/West Coast feuding and Pac/Biggie rivalry-- when there was a new beef starting up damn near every week. Not only did that era inspire the best diss track of all-time, Tupac's "Hit 'Em Up," it was a real-life soap opera turned tragedy that gave people something to talk about.

Where to begin? I should start with the ornamental comb, like three white gleaming stakes from some Gnostic purification ritual, holding a jet-black stack of hair atop the fiery head of Polly Jean Harvey. She's never wanted for making an impression. Wrapped in white, backed by a hard avant-garde blues band (the warm up music was a Howlin Wolf mix) that looked like they'd just gotten away clean from an S & L hold up circa 1945, PJ approached her "showcase" (a ridiculous concept in her case) like she knew as well as anyone else that a landlocked date in the states is as rare as diamonds. Not everyone gets it. "What's going on here?" a 25 year-old neo-preppy with a press-credentialed badge asked as I waited in line outside of Stubb's. Informed it was PJ Harvey, dude says, and I quote, "Never heard of him. Doesn't sound like something I'd listen to. It's probably from a different era."

Roy Kasten

Otis Gibbs

Saturday afternoon at SXSW 2009 started early this year, with the second of the 10th annual Twangfest and KDHX parties at Jovita's (disclosure: I'm a KDHX programmer and Twangfest volunteer), and Nashville-based songwriter Otis Gibbs, whose protest sing-a-longs, earthy folk and best beard at SXSW have more of a following in Austin that I would have guessed.

The small crowd at the outdoor stage bonded with the singer, which only made me wonder how the relatively unknown Minneapolis band Romantica would fare. Fronted by Irish-born singer Ben Kyle, the group plays sly singer-songwriter country folk, sly because no one expected Austin-born violinist and singer Carrie Rodriguez to sit in, and I definitely didn't expect the band to hit the noise, Americana-style, as hard as they did for their final number.

Going into SXSW this year, I was curious to see how the economic meltdown was going to affect the festival. I had heard that fewer labels were having showcases, and fewer journalists and label employees were attending. More people I know personally went down to Austin on their own dime, with no plans to buy the badge or wristband needed to attend many showcases and events.

Despite such ominous portents, the festival rarely felt different than it has in years past. The main drag, Sixth Street, still teemed with partying college kids and drunk denizens of the music industry. If anything, it felt like fewer people decided to pony up for the expensive admission free-pass, and instead preferred to pay money to get into a show - or just cruise around the many free day (and night) parties happening in Austin.

 

Annie Zaleski

The Pragmatic

The St. Louis music scene was well represented at SXSW this year. On Wednesday night, the Pragmatic suffered through some serious equipment problems - a laptop and keyboards refused to cooperate with each other - but turned in a solid set of its Rubik's Cube electro. The band is always a pleasure to watch live, mainly because each member is having so much fun onstage; this show was no different.

Annie Zaleski

Liz Anjos, The Pragmatic

Magnolia Summer played the Twangfest/KDHX party, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon in Austin. Here's "The Wrong Chord," from last year's Lines from the Frame.

On Friday, St. Louis rapper Rockwell Knuckles opened up a day party called the Grand Ole Party of Bootleggers and Tastemakers, a show sponsored by the Smoking Section/Nah Right. Despite the early (1:30 p.m.) start time, he impressed an enthusiastic crowd of St. Louis pals and curiosity seekers with a typically high-energy set.

Here's video I took of "See 'N' Say" -- a diss on St. Louis Mayor Frances Slay available on this new mixtape, The Glow, which you can download here. Check the MP3 below too.

MP3: Rockwell Knuckles, "See 'N' Say"

Anyone with doubts about the '90s resurgence had them laid to rest at SXSW this year, where a long list of the decade's biggest acts tried out new material or trotted out old hits for kicks. The list of these performers makes me nostalgic for the simpler days of 120 Minutes and Doc Martens with dresses: Metallica, Marcy Playground, Dinosaur Jr, Crystal Method, Primal Scream and Tori Amos, with Peter Murphy and Echo & the Bunnymen on the margins of the decade's influence.

The latter half of the Saturday night lineup at Stubb's BBQ might have seemed like the most egregious example of retro rehash. Just before a set by folkies the Indigo Girls(!) and emo-kid patron saints Third Eye Blind (!!!) was a rare U.S. date from PJ Harvey and John Parish. However, anyone hoping for Harvey's MTV glory days would be disappointed, because the long-time musical foils stuck mainly to new songs from A Woman a Man Walked By, a collaboration album due in stores tomorrow.

Annie Zaleski

PJ Harvey at Stubb's

Anyone disappointed by Harvey's performance on Saturday is also, frankly, a complete idiot. Clad in a white dress with belts wrapped around it, a spray of peacock-like feathers and stylish black pointy shoes, the reed-thin Harvey was every bit the theatrical, mesmerizing performer. Although limited somewhat by an unorthodox stage set up - keyboards were on the far left and a wall of speakers/amps sat in the center where the drums usually are, with the kit set up on the far right instead - she obviously felt the music in a primal, spiritual way.

Imagine, if you will, the worst possible way to spend a day at SXSW, one that doesn't involve an emergency colonoscopy or a Marnie Stern showcase, and then imagine something even more tedious and despairing, a day of utter humiliation and loathing. And then it really starts to go downhill.

I should have spent the afternoon at Flatstock and the night shooting kamikazes in one of Austin's 43 slut bars.

On Sixth Street in Austin, it's Day One of SXSW 2009 (for Day Zero, go here) and the promotional and busking stunts are on: A couple of kids dressed in epidermally fused body suits to hype (sweetly) their outer space band Frontier Brothers, some Transformer mechano-dude on stilts, a posse with a sign for "Free Hugs," and more hippies banging on pickle jars than I care to recall with a hangover. Not bad, but I want fire next time. And Secretary Geithner, since you've thrown everything else at the markets, try this: Turn AIG into a bratwurst stand on Sixth.

(View more SXSW Day 1 photos in our slide show and here: "Live at the Red Eyed Fly and Stubbs BBQ")

Roy Kasten

Caitlin Rose

My day started at 1 pm in Emo's parking lot tent for the Swedish indie pop of Marching Band, whose album Spark Large was a sweet surprise last year. But with a pick-up rhythm section from LA and no horns or strings in sight, the group was merely charming, without the zing or zest of their record, though the hooks in songs like "No Plans" remained. Up the street at the Austinist party at Mohawk, Caitlin Rose was finishing a solo set of rather cloying folk twang (when will the tryouts for the next Juno soundtrack close?), but J. Tillman, Fleet Fox drummer and intense songwriter in his own right, was next, and he and his beard cut through the metal din grinding from the stage next door.

Roy Kasten

J. Tillman

In an unwashed undershirt -- rocker dudes, enough with the bogus aesthetic statements -- Tillman still sounded searing, his voice and lightly strummed Martin guitar rang resiliently. A dis of Kanye West -- who had just announced an appearance at South By -- might have been gratuitous but Tillman's songs weren't.

A to Z is hightailing it down to Texas for some delicious Mexican food, free beer and more music than you can even imagine. I'll be gone until Sunday, but I will be Twittering the festivities at www.twitter.com/rftmusic. Feel free to add us and follow along! Roy Kasten will be providing some posts here and over at KDHX's blog too, and I'll pop in every once in awhile with some St. Louis reports and photos. Be well, have fun and don't forget to check back in here, because we won't go dark while I'm away.

So, this year's model of SXSW snuck up on me: Two weeks from now, I'll be in Austin running around in eighty different directions, music surrounding me from the second I step off the plane. Accordingly, I'm a bit behind as to who from St. Louis is going this year. So far, my list includes:

Official showcases:
*Magnolia Summer
*Theodore
*The Pragmatic
*Teresajenee
*The Living Things

Unofficial day party appearances:
*DJ Trackstar, Rockwell Knuckles, Nato Caliph and Black Spade, at a day party
*John Henry and the Engine, at the KDHX/Twangfest/Billiken Club party (a two-day shindig that also features Exene Cervenka, Holly Golightly, Eli "Paperboy" Reed, Slaid Cleaves, James Intveld, Magnolia Summer, Theodore and others)

Are you in a band? Are you performing too? Get in touch with me ASAP, either in the comments or via email!

(I lied; here's the last SXSW post, by Roy Kasten. Find more of his musings at Living In Stereo.)

Let’s do the math: Start with four days, or 96 hours. Subtract 6 hours a day for sleeping, maybe 2 hours a day for eating, another 1 hour a day for blogging and hangover nursing, another hour (roughly) a day standing in line not seeing bands or standing in line to get Red Bulls and Vodka, maybe an hour a day going from one venue to the next. That leaves you with, what, 52 hours for bands at SXSW?

I feel gypped. I also feel like I’ve been hit by some band’s van, repeatedly.

But three nights ago I was getting hit by Okkervil River. I rolled with it along with the rest of a good-sized crowd at Stubb's -- better, at least, than the disappointing turnout for the Old 97s the day before -- and realized that Okkervil is that rare thing: a hand-clapping, indie uber-darling that doesn’t annoy the crap out of me. I'm guessing that owes to Will Sheff's unscripted exuberance, his IQ, his heart and his band's understanding of trad-rock forms even as they shred them as surely as Sheff ripped the strings from his Martin guitar on the final number. This wasn’t the same band I saw at the Way Out Club three years ago. This was rock.

Okkervil River:

And three nights ago I was smiling as Roky Erickson followed Okkervil; I didn't even care that the Great Gabardined Satan, Beatle Bob, introduced him. If you don’t know Erickson’s story, stop reading this blog and go order I Have Always Been Here Before and You’re Gonna Miss Me, the former containing some of the crown jewels of psychedelic and garage rock and the latter being one of the best rock & roll documentaries ever made. That Erickson was standing on stage at all is a miracle, given years of institutionalization and very bad drug trips; that he can still sing with a force that sends all demons, devils and two-headed dogs back down into the pit is a miracle x 666.

Roky Erickson:

With a Papa Noel beard, a hugely unironic mullet and a sparkle in his eyes, he was alert, focused and ass kicking -- as was his band, the Explosives, who recorded with Roky back in the day. He played most of his hits, leaving out only “I Walked With a Zombie,” but including a crunchy “Starry Eyes” (the definitive power pop song not written by a power popper), a fast “Don’t Shake Me Lucifer” (the definitive metal boogie) and a furious and melodic “You’re Gonna Miss Me” (the definitive Nuggets track). Erickson is planning a new album with ZZ Top's Billy Gibbons. If the producer stays out of the way, Roky will deliver.

Soundtrack of Our Lives:

Afterward, a stroll up to Club Deville made clear that '70s funk icon Darondo was sold-out, so I went for more psyche in the form of Soundtrack of Our Lives, who were rumored to be performing new songs from the forthcoming Origins Vol. 2 (album is essentially finished; release date not set) and who came through. The new songs are thicker on the groovy and lighter on the trippy, if a jammed-out, amps-at-eleven set at a comedy club on Sixth Street is any indication. Singer Ebbot Lundberg stalked about the stage in Dungeon master robe, jumping down into the crowd a few times, letting some dude shout, “Free Tibet! Free Tibet!” into the microphone. (I hadn't read the news, but apparently dude had and was right.) I would have gladly spent the rest of night with Lundberg, but wanted to catch one last band elsewhere. I don’t know if a video will surface of the Swedes' set, but if it does, the idiot nearly tripping over Lundberg's mic cable -- he had taken a seat in the dark of the club -- would be me.

Minipop:

That one last band elsewhere was San Francisco’s Minipop, by name and style – indie-groove pop -- a low-key end to the night. While I’m not sure they’re doing anything Mazzy Star or Bettie Serveert haven’t done much better, waifish singer Tricia Kanne and unruly guitarist Matthew Swanson have a weird chemistry that nearly makes up for a tepid drummer. If they keep sharpening their songs and focusing their rock bursts, they’ll deserve another South By slot -- and I’ll save half an hour, but no more, for them next year.

Guess what? This is the last SXSW post. I promise. Here's a quick run-down of future happenings/SXSW positives for some of the locals hanging in Austin.

*Pitchfork wrote up So Many Dynamos' show at the Twangfest/KDHX party (with pictures!) Here's also a video stream of the Jovita's set.

*The Undertow showcase was markedly better-attended than last year's edition. (I'm saving observations for a story, so stay tuned for more in the future!) Magnolia Summer enlisted the help of a violin player for the set, and it added beautiful, haunting dimensions to songs such as "These Days." The band will play a rare gig in town on Saturday, March 22, at Off Broadway with the Cush.

*Mathias of Earthworms met both Fab 5 Freddy and Perry Farrell. He was ecstatic (even via text message). The 'Worms will be playing the Bluebird on April 12 with their full band; Nato Caliph (who was also at SXSW) will also be there.

*I ran into three-fifths of Ludo, thanks to Dave Grelle of the Feed (who also played). Although I missed Ludo's showcase because of other conflicts, Tim Convy tells me the band's video for "Love Me Dead" is going to be played on TRL on MTV tomorrow. The show airs at 3:30 p.m. here in St. Louis; via MySpace, the band says you can tell MTV to play it again by clicking here.

*Gentleman Auction House found a booking agent -- which should equal more tours.

-- Annie Zaleski

RFT freelancer Roy Kasten helped us blog from SXSW. For more coverage visit Living In Stereo. All photos by Roy Kasten.

In their eighth year, the Twangfest day parties (now co-presented by KDHX) have built their own momentum and following. (Full disclosure: I’m a Twangfest volunteer and KDHX programmer.) They’re always a South By highlight, and this year drew label reps from Anti-, No Depression honcho Grant Alden and NPR critic Ed Ward. It really is true you can go to Austin every March, skip the wristband or badge expense, hit the free shows all day long, and still see and hear more bands than ought to be humanly possible.

Down at Jovita’s Mexican restaurant on Thursday the line-up included Amy Lavere, Th * Legendary Shack Shakers, Deer Tick and St. Louis’ own So Many Dynamos and Gentleman Auction house; Saturday was the better-attended day, however, with the Waco Bros., Chuck Prophet, Kevin Gordon and Blue Mountain drawing ridiculous crowds inside.

Tim Easton:

I hung and “stage-managed” outside, where unknown-to-me alt-country band the Whipsaws (from Anchorage, Alaska) kicked off the afternoon with pure Bad Co. and Skynrd southern rock, then backed up Joshua Tree-based troubadour Tim Easton, who looked weathered in shades and graying hair. It’s hard to think of Easton becoming one of the wise old veterans of alt-country, but such is time, and Easton can still churn through Dylanesque blues as well as anyone of his generation.

Tommy Womack:

Tommy Womack followed, looking even more grizzled and more spaced-out than usual, and seemed just a little bit tired as he led his band through a 40-minute set in the sunshine. (As the weekend progressed, the climate in Austin just got sweeter and sweeter.)

Sacramento’s Christian Kiefer and band took their time setting up (apparently he couldn’t see his tuner in the sunlight), and though Kiefer’s Undertow debut Dogs and Donkeys gets by on poetic ambition, the meandering tunes don’t really translate live. Kiefer lost the crowd after about 10 minutes.

Jon Hardy and the Public:

But St. Louis’ Jon Hardy and Public, in their usual sharp suits, pulled the audience back just as quickly. This was the band’s first Austin gig, and they didn’t mess around. Even without the horn section so vital to last year’s Working In Love, Hardy delivered every song like it would be last time he’d sing them in the sun.

Sarah Borges:

After a quick back-line changeover, Boston’s Sarah Borges & the Broken Singles quadrupled the crowd on the patio, churning through their slightly twangy pub-rock until a speaker cable blew in mid-set. After a failed attempt at an instrumental, Borges stepped into the crowd and sang-out sans microphone. The frazzled sound guy finally fixed the PA and she wound up her set with a smart Tommy Womack cover and a version of the Reigning Sound’s “Stop and Think It Over.” If the crowd had its way, she would have played til sunset.

From Nashville, Aaron Robinson (another Undertow artist; if you’re sensing a pattern here, thank Chris Grabau) followed as a last-minute add. Although only a handful of folks stuck around for his folk-pop set, he played with both wit and grace, even if it was rather late to get much, if anything, out of the tip bucket.

(All photos and video by Annie Zaleski; click on photos for larger versions. Text by Shae Moseley)

As a first-timer this year at SXSW, I attempted to check my own preconceptions and the critiques of hardened festival veterans at the airport and just try to take in all that the four days could offer (sans important person all-access badge or the somewhat-less-expensive-but-probably-still-not-worth-it wristband).
Upon taking my first step through the airport sliding doors into the intoxicating spring air, I immediately realized that I could probably be perfectly content to spend the following four days sitting outside the terminal counting blades of cool green grass while listening to smooth jazz versions of Barry Manilow songs. It’s hard to imagine having a bad time when greeted with eighty degree, sunny weather after the schizo-winter we’ve experienced this year in St. Louis.

But, alas there were bands to be seen. So. Many. Bands. I mean, I was seriously pretty conservative and planned to save energy, trying not to over-extend myself too much on any one day -- and I still managed to see nearly 50 bands over the course of the festival. This didn’t mean I caught one or two songs by 50 bands: I’m talking that I ordered a Lone Star tallboy, a Shiner Bock, or whatever was free (usually Southern Comfort, a liquor that I’m pretty sure no one has ever paid money for), found a good sightline and absorbed the entire set of at least 50 bands.

Rolling to SXSW without any credentials for gaining admittance to the official nighttime showcases had me a bit concerned going in. But the free day parties gave me the chance to see nearly every band I was excited about -- and a few lucky breaks, connections and several unsanctioned free night-time events never left me outside in the evening crying to the curb. I mean, I’m sure that I missed out on some really great shows at night; however, most of the lines I saw outside of those clubs led me to believe that most would have turned out be one of those “at least I can say I was there” situations more than being something I would have actually enjoyed.

Here’s a rundown of some highlights from each of my four days mooching free concerts in beautiful Austin, Texas:

Wednesday: My first day in Austin ended up being the biggest surprise of the four days. Thanks to what amounted to a miracle, I was able to gain access to the VIP area at Stubb’s for the big first night kick-off show featuring R.E.M. The Athens, Georgia, college-rock godfathers tore through a set favoring up-tempo numbers from its new album Accelerate but also handled back-catalog selections like “Fall On Me” and “Auctioneer (Another Engine)” with precision. Michael Stipe’s voice was in great shape, and he immediately connected with the shoulder-to-shoulder sea of fans, hipsters and industry types as he would occasionally stand on the vocal monitors near the edge of the stage and launch a confetti of set lists into the crowd. (First two pictures of Stipe.)

Also definitely worth noting is Dead Confederate, a bit more of a novice Athens band that had no trouble warming up the crowd immediately before R.E.M.’s headlining set. I can’t recommend these guys’ live show enough; it was the perfect combination of mystery and familiarity. Bringing more genuine energy than any other band I saw the entire weekend, they sold me on a brand of heavy, bombastic loud/quiet rock that I had resigned myself to thinking I would never be interested in buying again. If you’re a fan of Mogwai, Explosions in the Sky, Failure and Nirvana, you’ll like Dead Confederate.

Thursday: Rain threatened but never came on day two as the skies cleared in the afternoon and the temperature found its way into the upper ‘80s. We took a cab away from the downtown madness to an authentic Mexican restaurant and music venue called Jovita’s for the KDHX/Billiken Club Day Party. It’s always exciting to see people from your hometown when you’re traveling, as it always feels like you’re a group of bandits who split up after a big score and planned a rendezvous south of the border.
So Many Dynamos vocalist Aaron Stovall:

Locals Gentleman Auction House and So Many Dynamos proved that they belonged among the showcasing talent in Austin. Both brought tight, high-energy sets to the sun-drenched outdoor patio that had the crowds chattering and trying to wrap their heads around the idea that these awesome bands could actually come from St. Louis. (Picture of GAH vocalist Eric Enger below.)

Thursday night found me back downtown for the Undertow Music showcase at the lovely Habana Calle Patio, a venue situated a little below street level, across a bridge with a stage embedded in a formation of giant boulders. The solitary and romantic setting was a perfect backdrop for Caleb Engstrom’s set of gently emotive acoustic indie-folk. Joined by the once semi-local and now Chicago group Berry as a backing band, Engstrom held the small crowd at attention with tender vocals chants and solemn acoustic strums.

Later in the evening the Murfreesboro, Tennessee, sextet Glossary laid down a very solid set of soulful Americana. With a rotating cast of lead vocalists it almost felt like a Nashville songwriting circle that decided to become a band but with more honky-tonk barroom grit.

The last band I caught at Undertow was Austin’s Monahans. The only tag I can use to describe this mysterious trio is goth-twang. Singer Greg Vanderpool’s deep, throaty vocal style painted cinematic, noir-like pictures that called to mind lonely desert landscapes; simple, trancelike arrangements and the occasional pop hook kept me enthralled.

Friday: The temperature rocketed into the ‘90s on Friday and the sun’s rays felt intense on my pasty Midwest skin. The afternoon was spent at La Zona Rosa for the Village Voice Media day party. (The food was great at this place and the drinks were free so I can’t complain in that department either.) I missed the first two bands (Health and the Cribs), which was disappointing because the other bands on the bill I had either already seen (…And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead and Soundtrack of Our Lives) or I didn’t have much interest in (The Black Keys). Overall though, it was a fun party and the air-conditioning provided a nice sanctuary from the heat for a few hours (and probably saved me from a sunburn).

The Soundtrack of Our Lives were about how I remembered them, a high-energy blend of ‘60s psychedelic blues and power-pop hookiness. But I was unsure why the band made the trip to Austin, considering it doesn’t seem to be doing anything new and has no new record to promote. …Trail of Dead were loud, bombastic and muscular (as usual), but would have done better to stick with its more raucous material, like the set’s opener from 2002’s Source Tags and Codes. The band tends to get stuck in the epic, overdramatic piano ballad realm all-too-often these days and loses its audience’s attention as a result.

After a pedi-cab ride back down to the Sixth Street action I stopped off at Emo’s and stood in line for a bit to have my face melted off by A Place to Bury Strangers. (Video here.) I missed the band’s set here in St. Louis at the Bluebird last Monday because I was sick, but I’m glad I made it a point to work them into my SXSW itinerary. The combination of thick smoke machine fogginess, strobe lights and mysterious back-wall video projections perfectly set the mood for the band’s goth-industrial shoegaze onslaught of enveloping noise bursts.

Later in the evening I was lucky enough to get on the guest list for the official Smallstone Records showcase at 710 Red River which featured local riff-rock preservationists and face-melters in their own right, Shame Club. The band seemed to be even louder than I’ve ever seen them in St. Louis; you could tell they were there to turn some heads and make an impression. But the set didn’t seem forced or contrived, as the band ripped through several numbers from its new full-length Come On making a pretty damn convincing case that the guitar solo is in fact not dead. (See our other coverage, with video, here.)

Saturday: It’s always bittersweet to face the final day of an excursion from the toil of everyday life, but I started my Saturday with plenty of energy to spare, determined to make the most of my last day of shows. The weather was the best of the week with sunny skies and a high in the mid-‘80s, and I ended up in a perfect place to spend the afternoon: a garden party at the French Legation Museum thrown by Press Here Publicity. This historic setting was east of I-35, a bit removed from the intensity of the downtown clubs.

Sons and Daughters @ French Legation:

After securing a couple of one dollar PBRs, I was just in time to catch the beginning of Sons and Daughters’ ambitious set of rockabilly-infused, crunchy Britpop highlighted by Adele Bethel’s skill as a front-woman, as she succeeded in bringing the crowd’s energy level up despite the laid-back surroundings.

After Sons and Daughters I was lucky enough to have a great spot near the stage for an acoustic set by grunge innovator J Mascis of Dinosaur Jr. (See pic above.) The silver-haired guitar legend, known for sheer decibel level and ear-piercing, fuzzed-out guitar solos, showed that he could hold his own with just an acoustic guitar a loop pedal and his instantly recognizable warbly croon.

Following Mascis, another seminal figure in alternative rock -- Sonic Youth’s Thurston Moore (pictured above) -- took the stage performing an enthralling set of solo material with his band the New Wave Bandits. With drummer Steve Shelley behind the kit it felt like a pseudo-Sonic Youth set, but with a more stripped-down feel. Two acoustic guitars, a violin and bass filled out the instrumentation and showed that Moore’s musical style doesn’t rely on volume or ethereal guitar effects but stands on its own by continually redefining “melody” and challenging the accepted standards of pop song arrangements.

Although the event could have used more drink vendors and more bathrooms -- and some people were very rude about crowding into the tent and blocking people’s views later in the afternoon -- overall it was a great place to spend the majority of my final full day in Austin.

Remember when I posted here about the amazing Simian Mobile Disco and Thurston Moore shows I saw? Here's video proof, courtesy of Shae Moseley.

Thurston Moore and the New Wave Bandits, "Silver Turns to Blue":

Simian Mobile Disco, "Hustler":

-- Annie Zaleski

These snaps were just too hot not to post.

photo by Jaime Lees
PHOTO: Dead Confederate
WHEN: Wednesday, March 12, 11p.m.
WHERE: Stubb's BBQ, big outside stage
NOTE: This band opened for R.E.M. (Athens represent) and might have been the best surprise of the festival. Read our coverage here.

photo by Jaime Lees
PHOTO: AA Bondy
WHEN: Thursday, March 13, about 9:30p.m.
WHERE: The gorgeous poolside rooftop stage of a heavily sponsored free party.
NOTE: This was one of 12 AA Bondy shows in a 3 day time span in Austin.

photo by Jaime Lees
PHOTO: downtown Austin, TX, view from the AA Bondy rooftop show
WHEN: Thursday, March 13, late night
WHERE: at 3rd Street and Guadalupe looking East
NOTE: There should be more rooftop shows. Always.

photo by Jaime Lees
PHOTO: Autolux's Eugene Goreshter
WHEN: Friday, March 14, afternoon
WHERE: Red Eyed Fly backyard venue
NOTE: Goreshter's amazing vocals on Autolux albums? Not studio magic. Dude actually sings like that.

photo by Jaime Lees
PHOTO: J Mascis of Dinosaur Jr, solo show
WHEN: Saturday, March 15, mid-afternoon
WHERE: Garden Party (read: gorgeous yard), the French Legation Museum
NOTE: J Mascis is a God among men (who just happens to use a baby pink Razr as his preferred cellular device.)

photo by Jaime Lees
PHOTO: Thurston Moore and the New Wave Bandits
WHEN: Saturday, March 15, afternoon, slot after J Mascis
WHERE: East Austin, French Legation Museum
NOTE: Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore stole the show with his expansive talent and boyish charm. Read our coverage here.

PHOTO: The Breeders
WHEN: Saturday, March 15, about 9p.m.
WHERE: Waterloo Park, north of downtown, 2nd stage
NOTE: Two Deals are always better than one. Read our coverage here.

photo by Jaime Lees
PHOTO: Kid Sister at the Fool's Gold Showcase
WHEN: Saturday, March 15, 1a.m. (after Flosstradamus, before Chromeo)
WHERE: Volume nightclub, next to the Emo's on 6th Street
NOTE: Kid Sister claimed she was crunk but she still held down her raps with a little help from brother Josh "J2K" Young (of super-fly duo Flosstradamus) as back up.

RFT freelancer Roy Kasten helped us blog from SXSW. For more coverage visit Living In Stereo. Liam Finn picture by Dana Plonka; Joseph Arthur photo by Roy Kasten.

Though not without hazards, my Friday at SXSW wound up as revelatory as any day. After early party sets from the young and promising soul-rocker Black Joe Lewis and former country superstar Deana Carter (more about those over at Living In Stereo), I began the night at the Ale House (and no, they still have no ale), where I secured a couch on a balcony overlooking the small room (joint is the size of the average Soulard dive) for a Yep Roc showcase featuring the Golden Dogs, Heloise & the Savoir Faire and Liam Finn.

I’d heard the Golden Dogs (from Toronto) on record, but the psych-rock, smart as it seemed on my headphones, only took me slightly past the borders of Meh. On a cramped stage, however, they’re as wild, fun and unpredictable as a crate of bottle rockets tossed on a punk rock bonfire. Knowing they were largely unknown, they displayed song titles on cue cards and ripped through a great cover of Paul McCartney’s “Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five,” keyboard hooks fully intact.

From NYC, Heloise & the Savoir Faire did their best to out-shtick even the ridiculous Tim Fite or hipster-clatter of Man Man or any number of shtick-rockers that sometimes seem to dominate SXSW, if not the universe. With two parasol-twirling geisha dancers (a guy and a girl), Heloise did a reasonable Donna Summer impression over the non-hetero club grooves, but pace the name, the band doesn’t know how to do much with said grooves. Aiming for the indie diva disco niche doesn’t give you a pass on originality.

(Liam Finn)

But I was hanging up in the balcony to see Liam Finn, son of Neil and father only to a good, little lo-fi, art rock record called I’ll Be Lightning. He’s 23, I gather, and his song constructing, drumming and guitar wrecking seem as spontaneous and carefree as they do considered and finely envisioned. EJ Barnes added delayed-out autoharp strums and spectral vocals as Finn leapt back-and-forth between drum kit and looped guitar, and what the set lacked in continuity, it made up for in heart, inspiration and some excellent circuit-bending freak-outs.

Just around the corner on the infernal Sixth Street, I spent a futile hour in line for the She and Him (a.ka. Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward) set at The Parish, but if badge-toting Britt Daniel barely got in I wasn’t going to make it. Back up was Austin’s alt-country band the Gougers at a posh hotel bar just up Congress (tip: if you’re going to do four full days of South By, schedule at least one venue a night with couches). They sounded just fine, if somewhat indistinct, covering moody-twangy originals and standards like “Wayfaring Stranger.”

The night ended with the druggie-surreal-folk of Joseph Arthur solo at the poorly a.c.ed Buffalo Billiards. Even if Arthur didn’t work the heroin rock star look to perfection, he’d still be some kind of icon, if only for the honest, uncynical mileage he gets out of his trips, whether good or nightmarish. And his $100 rosewood harmonica sounded like a bargain at twice the price. He covered the hits (“Black Lexus” and “In the Sun”), but it was a new song, “King of the Pavement,” that I hummed all the way back to my hotel at 2:00 a.m.

(Joseph Arthur)

So, I'm sitting here in the Austin airport (flight delayed) after having spotty Internet access (read: none) for the past few days in the hotel. I have a ton of videos and pictures to post in the next few days (I threw down for a hottt camera), but until then, here are some other observations besides what we've already posted:

Simian Mobile Disco
(photo by Annie Zaleski)

*Simian Mobile Disco. The U.K. act headlined Mess with Texas vs. the Breeders yesterday night, and they absolutely blew the Deal sisters away. Vertical light displays in red, white and multicolors (reminiscent of Daft Punk) matched the duo's rave-y techno-pop, which they mixed in perfect discotheque ebbs and swells. "It's the Beat" especially created a groove -- and kept it.

*No Age. I'm in love with the LA duo's upcoming Sub Pop debut, Nouns; it's like Wire meets the Jesus and Mary Chain. But its set yesterday at Mess with Texas was rather awful. What's nuanced, primal and charming on record came off as a screeching, off-key racket live. Was it the outdoor festival setting -- I get the feeling they would be much better in a small, contained room -- or simply show fatigue (the band played an insane amount of shows)? Not sure, but I was disappointed.

*Chromeo. Also disappointing last night were these guys, headlining at Volume. While technically proficient and polished, the Vocoder-laden b-boy '80s funk/disco was just...boring. Perhaps this was because they were too polished and let their shtick (i.e., covering the Outfield's "Your Love" in brief and adding a snippet of Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" -- the ultimate cheap ploy at the end of a bar night) dominate. I'm not entirely sure how the set managed to be just meh, considering it was 1 a.m. and I was a few drinks into the night at this point, but I was completely underwhelmed.

*Sons & Daughters. These charming Scots have improved mightily since I saw them opening for Franz Ferdinand years ago. Now much more confident, the group's distillation of American rockabilly and country (it even covered Johnny Cash, with a bit of the Stooges thrown in for good measure) and Britpop was high-energy and totally mesmerizing at an outdoor garden party thrown by Press Here Publicity. The new record This Gift was recorded by Suede's Bernard Butler, and the '90s melodic-rock nods came through loud and clear ("Gilt Complex"). Bonus points for singer Adele Bethel's totally bitching gold lame boots, which I coveted.

*Thurston Moore and the New Wave Bandits. Sonic Youth's Moore was in a jovial mood at the same garden party, cheerfully announcing drummer Steve Shelley as being "from the Crucifucks" (and not, you know, Sonic Youth) and introducing the band's name as "Bromance" -- and then expounded on the concept of "dude love." Aw. His set of solo material was also awe-inspiring; of course his distinctive guitar style made the set seem like a mini-Sonic Youth set, but with contributions from Come's Chris Brokaw and others onstage, the material sprang to life in its own distinctive way.

-- Annie Zaleski

photos by Jaime Lees

The Breeders played an unofficial South By Southwest show in Waterloo Park last night and gave the audience a small preview of its upcoming tour. The band dished out a long set of classics from its albums, plus selections from the Amps (Kim Deal's other, other project). Instead of serving as a nostalgia act, the Breeders seemed fresh, well rehearsed and enthusiastic about the show. Surprisingly, even songs off of the forthcoming Mountain Battles went over well. As usual, Kim and Kelley Deal were gracious, dorky, sweet, smiling and sang in perfect angelic harmony. Kelley, especially, seemed into the performance. On stage wearing her "Dayton, Ohio" t-shirt, she picked up the bass and joked "I wish I knew a Korn song." Their parents really should have had more kids.

Setlist (from picture):
Overglazed
Bang On
Tipp City
No Aloha
Huffer
Walk It Off
We're Gonna Rise
Pacer
Shocker in Gloomtown
Night of Joy
Divine Hammer
Cannonball
Happiness in a Warm Gun
Iris
Saints
Safari
Here No More
-encore-
Fortunately Gone
German Studies
Regalme
Note: pictured setlist isn't entirely accurate, "Regalme Esta Noche" wasn't played and I remember rocking out to quite a few songs that weren't listed ("Doe," "Hellbound," "It's the Love," etc.)

-- Jaime Lees

A Place to Bury Strangers -- who slaughtered at the Bluebird on Monday night with an unholy mix of Jesus and Mary Chain-style fuzz, Cure-grey riff storms and Bauhaus-dark scrapings that was truly goth-artic -- was just as impressive at the Pitchfork party yesterday. Playing to a packed crowd at Emo's, the NYC trio matched the hot, sweaty atmosphere with sweltering noise of its own. Video by Shae Moseley.

"I Know I'll See You":

-- Annie Zaleski

Whenever my fellow St. Louisans asked if I liked local favs Shame Club, my standard response was "I like them as dudes, but I just can't hang with their tunes." I'd last seen the band a couple of years ago and wasn't impressed. It wasn't at all bad, I just didn't *get it*. And you know what's a damn shame? That I had to come all the way to Austin to find out that my hometown band is bitchin' after all.

I went to see the band at the Small Stone Records showcase last night and was not at all prepared for the bombastic blast. Each band member is electrifying and the dynamic combination produces everything you could want in a hard rock band: shredding guitar licks, thumping bass grooves, evil drum beats and wailing vocals. Holy shit, I've seen the light.

Andrew Elstner, singer and guitarist for fellow St. Louis band Riddle of Steel was along for the trip as roadie/groupie/merch dude, and it was his band that gave me a revelation about a year ago. Let's call it the Revelation of Steel. I'd also filed his band in the "cool, but not awesome" section in the list of local bands in my head. After not seeing the band for years, I accidentally caught it at a random bar show and they blew me away. Much to my delight, practice does, indeed, make perfect and the Riddle prompted me to go back to bands I'd previously avoided and give them a second listen.

So now the same thing has happened with Shame Club. A band that was previously alright is now super tight. Man, do I feel like a tool. Hey, Shame Club, I'm down with you. And I take back any smack I've ever spoken about any local band ever. Don't disregard your hometown superstars, kids. They might just rock you.

-- Jaime Lees

Shae Moseley adds, "St. Louis' loudest band and riff-rock preservationists Shame Club meant business from the first note of its tinnitus-inducing set on Friday night as part of the Small Stone Records showcase at SXSW. The Detroit label just released the band's new full length Come On." Here are two videos he shot.

Shame Club:

Shame Club, Part Deux:

.

U.K. dreampoppers Secret Shine -- who have returned after nine years for a tour and new music, the April 8-released All of the Stars -- made a ton of shoegaze dorks very happy at Habana Calle on Thursday night. Playing a mix of new songs and old, the quintet used co-ed vocal harmonies, bristling guitars and swirling storms of sound to create beautiful chaos. Think Slowdive, Lush and the House of Love. For St. Louis folk, good news: The band plays at aPop Records on Tuesday, March 18, with Tears Run Rings.

(band asked the video to be removed, sorry!)

-- Annie Zaleski

St. Louis' own Gentleman Auction House -- recently signed to Emergency Umbrella records, home of Foundry Field Recordings, Witch's Hat, Bald Eagle and others -- performed at the KDHX/Twangfest party on Thursday. The band's Alphabet Graveyard CD comes out in June; a new EP is available now. The septet's on tour now, and you can tell: Its grooves are much tighter, and the new songs -- and a cover, like the one below -- are incredibly fun and danceable.

-- Annie Zaleski

(Our Internet access has been down at the hotel; apologies for late posting!) RFT freelancer Roy Kasten is blogging from SXSW. For more coverage visit Living In Stereo. Raveonettes picture by Dana Plonka; Jens Lekman photo by Roy Kasten.

Having missed the Raveonettes by five minutes on Day One, I resolved to start Day 2 at the their gig at a free party at the Red Eye Fly. Sune Rose Wagner and Sharin Foo fought back the assault from Motorhead playing next door and the crackle of a blown channel for a true-to-record, low-gloss, blur-rock that sometimes sounded like the Sundays, sometimes like Loaded-era Velvet Underground. The back yard patio groaned under the weight of a triple capacity crowd. I’m usually fairly aggressive about weaseling forward—I’ve got stories to file, I rationalize—but decided to hang back, sip a free Dewar’s and ginger, and let the chime and buzz stream over me.

(The Raveonettes)

Afterwards, I headed way south on Congress for Trophy’s, a good pool hall and rock dive, where Land of Talk was loading in for another free day show. Apparently the blogs haven’t been exerting their power on behalf of this fine, power-poppy Montreal trio (though props to KDHX’s Darren Snow for spreading the word), as there were only 30 or so kids in the audience. Lead singer Elizabeth Powell has a fine, sweet moan and the good sense to run a Gibson SG into a Marshall stack. For the first three numbers their fingers and spirits seemed coated in some invisible paste, but they quickly warmed and tightened up, especially on the long, squalling, Yo La Tengo-ish tune “Yuppie.” Theirs was a sweet if never over-powering surprise of a set.

(Jens Lekman)

After some writing at Jo’s Coffee, with Lil Cap’n Travis paisley-painting “Wichita Lineman” in the San Jose Motel parking lot, and then dinner at Guero’s (always worth the wait), I headed back
downtown for Emo’s and the first official showcase of the night: a solo Jens Lekman set. I’d seen photos of and heard about the Swede’s vestal virgin orchestra at Pitchfork fest, but never having caught him before (non-shocker: he’s never played St. Louis), I had few expectations. Dressed in a white tunic with embroidered roses, the frail, sincere singer stood with an electric guitar and no band in sight. “I have a request,” he said to the packed room. “If you could not video tape this show. I want this to be special, and it’s less special if a million people see it on YouTube.” Cue the applause and the sound of a hundred gadgets turning off. He opened with an a cappella cover of Scout Niblet’s “We’re All Gonna Die,” into a whistle-along take on the
second catchiest tune from Night Falls Over Kortedala, “That’s No Way to Say Hallelujah,” and into “Postcard From Nina,” the sweetest, funniest and somehow saddest song from that record. There’s much to admire in Lekman: As savvy as he is with sampling and song construction, dude can play, knows his jazz and pre-war pop music melodies, and writes and sings as if every word counts. He could get by on fey affectation; he doesn’t. With just a clear tenor and clean guitar tone he makes his native Sweden, the towns of Kortedala and Gothenburg, become a kind of magically real, honestly felt Macondo. He dipped into pre-Kortedala material with the softly peeling “Black Cab” and then closed the set with his catchiest song “Bingo,” and the crowd singing “bomp, bomp, bomp” for every sentimental heart-beat. He pulled the microphone down and aimed it straight at his aorta: a tableau that needed no explanation.

(Our Internet access has been down at the hotel; apologies for late posting!) RFT freelancer Roy Kasten is blogging from SXSW. For more coverage visit Living In Stereo. All pictures by Dana Plonka.

I would be remiss if I didn’t begin this post about the Domino Records showcase at Antone’s on Night One of SXSW 2008 with a mention of how I loathe “guerrilla performances.” And I especially loathe those that take a captive audience—in this instance, all of us saps waiting two hours in line outside the club—and submit those prisoners to tedious, tuneless, pseudo-funk jams. Wednesday night the torture came courtesy of a Venice Beach, California band called People’s Party (and I decline to link their myspace). Seriously, fuck them and their $50,000 mobile-stage-in-a-truck polluting the street and pissing off the unwilling and uninterested. I was cranky enough watching the smug badge-people file past all night.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t further disseminate a new word in the English lexicon: badgey, an adjective meaning the attitude expressed by certain possessors of South-By privilege, who may or may not go so far as to wave said token in your face. Common usage by SXSW bouncers:
“Don’t get all badgey on me, dude.”

But after hours in line, I entered Antone’s during the middle of the slot assigned to Lightspeed Champion (a.k.a. Devonte Hynes). The former singer and songwriter behind the dismal and defunct (I hope) Test Icicles has garnered a bit of buzz, at the very least with a 19-year-old
from Seattle who proclaimed Hynes the next Weezer. OK, now I understand where the bar is set. I heard little in Hynes’ tunes, lyrics or voice, and even less, if that’s possible, in his furry hat. Decent Takamine licks though, and a good violin player, but surely if one is going to try what’s essentially a solo acoustic set at a primo slot at the primo music event (cough) on the planet, you probably should have a few songs that rise above the level of the average open mic. Hynes didn’t.

(Sons and Daughters)

Next up was unknown (to me) Glasgow, Scotland band Sons and Daughters, fronted by dominatrix in-training and gold-sequins Adele Bethel. This was a rock band, or more precisely, a left-of-center rock band, not that far from early Pretenders or even, occasionally, X, if those bands had grown-up under the sway of electronica. Not that S&D had any non-trad guitar rock instruments, but they shifted between straight rock rhythms and high RPM ferocity, and seemed to have a taste for a hook or three. And when Bethel cracked her microphone cable like a whip, I straightened up and submitted. Best discovery of South By Day One, easy.

The same could not be said for The Kills, who, yes, I was warned were “over-rated,” though saying that about a band performing at the epicenter of over-ratedness isn’t saying much. Alison Mosshart and Jaime Hince took the stage behind a heavy electro beat (no drummer, no bass) and some staggering Vox over-drive. Mosshart looked a bit affected in felt-and-feathered hat and Cousin Itt hair (thanks Dana!) and sounded like nothing so much as a pitch-shifted Jack White—only, and this is important, without discernable songs. The set was all psycho-drama posturing, and the beats sounded cloned, the shrill emotiveness unbelievable and, to this listener, unmoving.

(The Kills)

With his lanky frame, bad posture and soulful, angst-tinged vocal howls Dead Confederate lead singer/guitarist Hardy Morris is bound to draw more than his fair share of Kurt Cobain comparisons. But his band’s opening set for R.E.M. at Stubbs on Wednesday night was nothing short of mesmerizing and proved that the Athens, Georgia, quartet is so much more than some hollow attempt at grunge revivalism. The epic song commenced as a slow-strummed minor key dirge that gradually built into a wall of thick, masculine shoegaze etherealness that called to mind the dissonant dreamscapes of Failure -- or your favorite Mogwai song with the addition of a well-placed heart-wrenching vocal melody. The band exuded a level of energy that was unmatched by the other opening acts largely due to drummer Jason Scarboro’s violent bashing and the solidarity in the heavy wall of effects-laden guitars. Attention to dynamics and well-timed crescendo’s of noise though is what held the crowd at attention and gave credence to the onslaught.

-- Shae Moseley

(video by Shae Moseley; posted by Annie Zaleski)

[In weeks leading up to and after SXSW, bands route their tours toward and away from Austin. One of these groups is St. Louis' own So Many Dynamos, a band whose spiky keyboard-rock, gnarled riffs and complex time signatures call to mind everyone from Q and Not U and Pattern Is Movement to Battles and Broken Social Scene. The quartet is playing house parties over the next two days; message 'em on MySpace to get more info. Guitarist/Riverfront Times freelancer Ryan Wasoba was kind enough to keep a diary of the band's first few weeks on the road to Austin. Here's the final installment.]

(photo by Jaime Lees)

"Search Party," from Flashlights

Visalia, California, is as close to the Midwest as you can get in California. There is nothing intrinsically cool about Visalia, but there's a pizza place and a bar and a promoter with the ingenuity to bring indie rock bands there. People like us more than they should in Visalia, and I will never understand why, unless we are appealing to their secret Midwesternhood. We play two shows, one at the aforementioned pizza place and one at the aforementioned bar, and they are both fun and are both free and are both filled with very good people and very good beer.

We are set to play two shows in Los Angeles. One is at the Knitting Factory, a reputable venue that we have played before, and one is at a place called the Purple Loft, which we know nothing about and were invited on by another band. The Purple Loft show is a private party thrown by a girl who plays drum machine party girl music (see: M.I.A., Fannypack). There are DJ's, kegs, a VIP room, bands, security, and port-a-potties. It is, as far as my perception goes, a very blatant attempt at L.A. cool. The bands are intended to be more trophy-like background music than attention-deserving performances, more "check out how cool I am for knowing these bands" than "check out how cool these bands are." Eventually two girls dance for us out of either pity or the influence of ecstasy (or perhaps both).

Earlier in the evening, a car and a van pulled up with ten mostly Asian kids in it, driven by two of their parents. They run up to our van, we roll down the windows, and they say "So Many Dynamos? We drove two hours to see you guys!" The show is 21+ and they can't get in. We feel bad, so we invite them to get food with us. We end up at a fried chicken restaurant, hanging out with these kids and eating Yuca fries. It's the fifteenth birthday of one of the kids, so his mom (who works for fucking NASA) drove him and his friends down to see us. These kids are cooler than anybody we met at the very-L.A. party we played later.

Today is our day off. We will play the Knitting Factory tomorrow and will travel to Austin for South By Southwest and will continue our tour. We are staying with Michael Davis, a former St. Louisan who now has an apartment in the Fairfax District. It's Saturday night, and we're tourists in Los Angeles. I think we should be partying or barhopping or trying to climb up the "W" on the Hollywood sign on meth or something like that, but we're not. We're sitting in an apartment, drinking Tecate, watching Saturday Night Live, discussing albums and eating pasta. We're being our little Midwestern selves, and I am very cool with that.

(posted by Annie Zaleski)