Eats and beats: Bob Motown of Two Rabbits Studios, N. Hollywood.
Who says the so-called rock poster is dead? A bevy of bright talents in full effect at SXSW’s Flatstock 20 at the Austin Convention Center.
Dan MacAdam’s Crosshair, Chicago.
LeDouxville.
Thrill them all: Metallica at Stubb’s at SXSW. All photos by Kimberly Chun.
“All my heroes are weirdos,” to crib the title of a !!! number – and Guitar Heroes, beloved weirdos, and pop party kids were out in force Friday, March 20, at South by Southwest.
I started the day with sweet tea and a conference panel, “Great Expectations: Artist Development Meets Economic Reality,” including Dan Mackta of Jive, Pete Ganbarg of Atlantic, Tony Kiewel of Sub Pop, and Michael Goldstone of Mom and Pop Music Co.
That’s their name – don’t wear it out: The Audacity take to the streets.
Funky love: Brazil’s Garotas Suecas seduces at Emo’s.
SXSW memories – fading now, but hey, it’s only Friday. Among the highlights yesterday, March 18: Brazil’s Garotas Suecas – the bright-eyed, fun ‘n’ funky heirs to Booker T. or at least Sharon Jones. My Portuguese is a bit nonexistent, but we got the picture loud and clear, thanks to the ensemble’s hyper-expressive vocalist.
Even more mind-blowing: Flower Travellin’ Band at Smokin’ Music. The band sometimes best known for its nekkid, motorcycle-riding album shot finally made it to the states for the last of five shows on its first U.S. tour. Previous sojourns have been scuttled for various reasons, but wow! Deeply eccentric power-centered psych-stoner rock – Hideki Ishima’s huge sitarla is only part of the story, generating resonant, almost boomingly bass-like sounds. Have to see more of them if/when they get to SF.
Massive massive: Hideki Ishima wields his mighty sitarla.
Chapel of the chiming guitar: SF’s Girls fill the Central Presbyterian Church March 19.
Impressions – watercolor, guyliner-streaked, skinny jeans-clad impressions – of SXSW. Here are a few from the frontlines on what turned out to be a stellar Thursday, March 19: I may have missed the Jane’s Addition reunion with Eric Avery at the Rock the Bunny after-hours bash at an old Safeway, but who needs the LA grunge-era implants when there’s so much happening elsewhere?
Rumor has it that Kanye West will be headlining the last Fader Fort show Saturday – a sweltering mecca of lines and bees drawn by the spilled fruity cocktails, out on the other side of I-35 – and that Neil Young is in town. Otherwise the vague official word round the Austin Convention Center is that attendance is down about 10 percent, though artist attendance is up. “Not bad, considering” – the new buzz words?
Charm (in)offensive: Quincy Jones gives the SXSW keynote.
Back to the basics: The Bronx whip it out March 18. All photos by Kimberly Chun.
Get away from the grip-and-grin events and rambles through parties that offer free drinks and barbecue (though Jackpine Social Club’s Nick Tangborn supposedly threw an ace bash yesterday for ex-Parkside honcho Sean’s Batter Blaster pancake spray product) – there’s music out there if you seek it out. The corporate sponsors may be relatively absent, but there’s still plenty of intrigue, sonically, if you seek it out: PJ Harvey and John Parish, J. Tillman of Fleet Foxes going solo, the Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Blk Jck, We Have Band, et al.
One great budding band of women: Portland, Ore., trio Explode Into Colors. An all-power two-drum approach draws from the Slits and Gang of Four to fashion impassioned, sinewy primal punk. Fully formed and in full possession of their own voice. The group played March 18’s Finally Punk-curated all-ages music-made-by-women show at Ms. Bea’s, which also included Pocahaunted, Yellow Fever, Micachu, and the East Bay’s Splinters.
Boy meets girls: Explode Into Colors.
More Mochi: 215 the Freshest Kids hurl some words at Daly City Records’ Pre-SXSW/St. Patrick’s Day Party at Beso Cantina March 17. All photos by Kimberly Chun.
Or is a whimper more accurate. Yes, the signs are in the air and in the program, as we scan the pages of the official guide and the unofficial day party lists. Welcome to South by Southwest on the downlow, rocked by the turbulent winds blowing off a global economic meltdown.
The big conference keynote names like Pete Townshend, Neil Young, Robert Plant, and Lou Reed? This year we get the uber-talented and esteemed but nonetheless much less sexy – sorry, Quince – Quincy Jones. Instead of the Stooges and Morrissey, we will have onstage interviews with Carlene Carter and the Hold Steady. The corporate banners are still here, but with a not-quite-as-splashy, diminished presence – just where is that MySpace South By Party Bus? The major labels and glossy publications are quieter than usual – whither the Vice party? Is there a Vice party?
Instead Rachael Ray – wholesome indie rock fan incarnate – is serving up the New York Dolls and the aforementioned Hold Steady at her showcase. Hey, after all, we’re all eating in these days – we can use some new recipes. This is SXSW on the cheap, forced onto a low-budg diet by a still-suffering music biz. Yes, music continues unabated, but can its makers afford to make it out here this year? The underground bashes around SXSW appear to slowing down or maybe they just aren’t on the public radar – in any case I still want to make Todd P’s Ms. Bea free all-ages shows and the French Legation outdoor bills – now Arthur-free (R.I.P.). We’ll see if there’s anything as fun as Dan Deacon and Fucked Up’s guerrilla throwdowns shaking up the university campus and the bridge, after hours.
By Marke B.
Fine, yes, we’re all wearing out our French tips awaiting Borat comic genius Sascha Baron Cohen’s new Austrian thuper-gay fashion disaster epic flick, Bruno: Delicious Journeys Through America for the Purpose of Making Heterosexual Males Visibly Uncomfortable in the Presence of a Gay Foreigner in a Mesh T-Shirt — and after a wee hits-reel preview at SXSW in Austin and a couple of test screenings deep in the bowels of Harvey Weinstein, the press is picking up on every juicy detail it can squeeze out of attendees.
Like this tantalizing and/or vomit inducing piece just posted by Christopher Beam to Slate, in which one of the test screeners describes a near miss of giant-hairy-backed-dude-nude-wrestling proportions. In the Bruno movie, Cohen wheedles Libertarian leader and noted gerbil Ron Paul into an potentially compromising situation:
@@http://www.sfbg.com/blogs/music@@
Haunted ‘n’ flaunted: Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti.
This in from the Ariel Pink people:
“On paper it wouldn’t really seem like these two bands, Ariel Pink‘s Haunted Graffiti and Vivian Girls, would have that much in common, but the two bands have struck up a friendship that has resulted in a 13-date tour this spring, which will end with both bands making their first appearances at Coachella. Both bands have other upcoming tour dates, Vivian Girls will open a string of dates for M. Ward, including an appearance at the Apollo, and will be playing SXSW. Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti will tour in March with Canadians Duchess Says and have a couple one-off shows in L.A. with Animal Collective and Gang Gang Dance.”
Theory of devolution: Ariel Pink’s “Politely Declined.”
› a&eletters@sfbg.com
Pitchfork Media has sort of become synonymous with junk-food news in recent years, sensationalizing almost every aspect of the independent music world for the hungry masses through dirt-dishing bites on the latest breaking headlines and scale-tipping — or dipping — album reviews. While some may see the Chicago online music publication as a rock-snob tabloid, there’s no denying the influence it’s had upon some independent musicians: artists such as Animal Collective and No Age have collared a kind of A-list celebrity status almost overnight thanks, in part, to the site of music sites.
But when I met with San Francisco group Nodzzz at drummer Eric Butterworth’s Upper Haight apartment, the three seemed averse to any hype they may garner from Pitchfork. When I mentioned that the publication had just reviewed the band’s self-titled, 10-song long-player on What’s Your Rupture? that very morning, the three met my remark with silence. Then Butterworth opined: "Pitchfork is lame, and it doesn’t even matter because that shit is stupid. If you base your musical interests on Pitchfork — fuck yourself."
Fair enough. While Nodzzz managed to capture an above-average 7.6 rating for its efforts, the outfit agreed, as vocalist-guitarist Anthony Atlas put it, that "[Pitchfork] reviews are always kind of contradictory" and "a positive review would be just as problematic as a negative review."
"It’s pretty fucking crazy how many people that goes out to," guitarist and backup vocalist Sean Paul Presley added. "It makes you feel pretty nervous because you already hold your own material pretty close to yourself and you wonder what’s gonna happen when you get a review like that, because Pitchfork is single-handedly responsible for making bands, what bands do well, and what bands sell records. It’s been an auspicious day not knowing what it actually means. I’m on the fence about whether it means anything more than just another review."
This review does come at a point not long after Nodzzz’s "I Don’t Wanna (Smoke Marijuana)" single, issued on Butterworth’s Make a Mess imprint. That release ended up on quite a few best-of-2008 short lists. But while the group’s name has amassed a wave of chatter on the blogosphere, Nodzzz have obvious convictions concerning the objectification of its image and the commercialization of its sound — even going so far as to turn down an opportunity to play at this year’s South by Southwest festival.
"I like pop and punk music when they cater to an audience and to fun," said Atlas, who formed the band with Presley and original drummer Pete Hilton in the fall of 2006 after relocating from Olympia, Wash., to the Bay Area for school. "Something about SXSW seems too market driven — kind of like a rock ‘n’ roll tradeshow. There’s a ton of fantastic bands playing, and I’m sure it’s a fun time, but I don’t feel like asserting ourselves in this broader rock ‘n’ roll market is what we’re all about."
Released in November 2008, the album channels the slapdash garage-pop urgencies of ’80s groups like the Feelies and Great Plains. "Is She There" opens the recording with a burst of amp crackle and drum jolt that’s over before you know it. On songs such as "In the City (Contact High)" and "Controlled Karaoke," the bright-eyed harmonies of Atlas and Presley bait you with nagging, sing-along choruses that get lodged in your skull for days on end, while "Highway Memorial Shrine" and "Losing My Accent" smother you in fuzz and chaos with a scrappy, twin-guitar assault of chiming hooks and jangly lo-fi, as well as Hilton’s trash-can rumble.
As Atlas sees it, his band’s fortunes can be chalked up to simply "tunneling through the fog" as each of its "little goals" are accomplished.
"I have no agenda with this band, but I do have goals, and I just see them as they become possible," he explained. "I feel like we have to have a healthy relationship with it because it can just end quickly. It’s so rewarding, but yet it’s a rock ‘n’ roll band — it’s a project with three people. You can’t stake a life on it."
On the loose: Los Llamarada.
Another in a series of year-end picks from Bay Area musicians, writers, scene-makers, and music lovers.
HANK IV’S TOP 10 OF 2008
-Los Llamarada at Cake Shop, November
-Newbridge Mayor-Elect Philly Boy Roy appointing Hammerhead as P.I.G. (Pit Inspector General) on the Best Show on WFMU
-Bassist Chris P. getting propositioned/accosted by a persistent lady superfan in the middle of playing a song at Budget Rock VII
-Los Llamarada ordering Pat’s cheesesteaks in Philly slang
-Mission of Burma’s road manager (and Clint’s brother) Jimmy Conley’s story about, as a teenager, being dressed up like a girl by Clint and taken to a mid-1970s New York Dolls show in NYC
–The Shield‘s final season
-Mayyors live
–In Bruges screening at the Shill Building
-Outdoor day party show at SXSW with Ross Johnson
-Buttholes Urfers live on the seventh floor of a Financial District office building at 4 a.m. for Donny Wyatt’s birthday
HANK IV
With Wooden Shjips and E-Zee Tiger
Jan. 22, 9 p.m., call for price
Eagle
398 12th St., SF
(415) 626-0880
A little bit o’ London Souls.
By Kandia Crazy Horse
A SXSW diary concludes…
SATURDAY, MARCH 15
As mentioned before, other than an in-and-out at Brush Square Park for a Japanese lineup, I simply did not make it to day parties, including the Frank 151 one where I had hoped to catch Game Rebellion again on Friday since they’d so courteously invited Kimberly and I en route to the Ironworks for ‘cue (did catch them rush the stage during N.E.R.D.’s disappointing non-starter of a late-night set at Stubb’s). Thus I missed Harp’s own shindig at the French Legation (and thus the chance to commiserate with my fellow contributors), the ‘ting of NYC-based Kemado Records for which I actually had a lam, and my annual Sunday trip down South Congress for western wear and eats (sorry Andy!).
Last minute, I did make the scene at Jelly NYC’s rooftop thang down West Fifth in the vicinity of Town Lake. And I am glad I did, as this foot-hobbling sojourn off the beaten track enabled me to let some ghosts go while hip-switching through the sequential, heavy volume-dealing sets of London Souls (actually from Brooklyn also, and fronted by a palpably Hendrix-loving brer) and Earl Greyhound. Before a rickshaw took me back to the Hilton, I made and re-met some friends, was hailed by some cool new folks (like sometime Rolling Stone lensman Michael Weintrob) and finally scored a decent drink.
The afternoon was enjoyable due to a very satisfying morning during which I arose early, 9 a.m., from the groggy swamp to breakfast at the soon-to-be-defunct Las Manitas on Congress with NYC friend Tim Broun and his Oaktown musician bud Paul Manousos – all in order to see Daryl Hall’s official SXSW interview at noon. Not only were Tim and I first in line, but we had a great front row view of Brother Hall being interviewed by my colleague Ann Powers of the LA Times. Seeming to be aloof behind shades, seated next to his compadre T-Bone Wolk and their six strings, the sometime 50 percent of Hall and Oates was actually very engaging and sharp, and it was clear from his responses that he never suffers fools gladly.
“Engaging and sharp”: Daryl Hall and Kandia Crazy Horse.
› kimberly@sfbg.com
SONIC REDUCER Carla Bozulich is a force of nature. And nature in all its sweetest Central Texas manifestations — crisply twittering songbirds, spring sun glinting off the tin-sided porch, a slight breeze blowing in from the Colorado River — responds gently in kind, encircling the half-renovated cottage where she’ll be playing a small house show on the outskirts of South by Southwest. The former Geraldine Fibbers leader piles out of the van along with the rest of her virtuosic, dusty, somewhat road-dazed ensemble Evangelista. We’re a long way — more than a decade — from the time Bozulich’s disintegrating ’90s alt-rock combo opened for Iggy Pop at Austin, Texas’s largest intersection for thousands of SXSW onlookers.
"I have a potential with my voice of — I don’t know how to say this without sounding really ridiculous — but I’ve frightened bears away from attacking," Bozulich says, laughing slightly, tucked into a porch a few weeks back and tackling each question with the driving eloquence of a woman who’s spent plenty of time behind the wheel of her passions. "Wild dogs at another time when I was with Tara." She imitates the hounds barking meekly then crawling away, whining. "I just consider it something that I was born with, and a lot of times when I sing, I’m kind of holding it back because it’s sort of too much. So I just kind of decided when I started doing Evangelista that I was going to sort of work on a project where I didn’t hold back and I would try to use it to really inspire people to blow off the kind of trendy, lethargic, like, boundaries — you know, the boundaries you don’t cross in terms of not embarrassing yourself!"
We’ve ducked onto the porch as Scary Mansion plays in back to talk about Evangelista’s new album, Hello, Voyager, Bozulich’s second on the great Constellation imprint — her first, titled Evangelista (2006), was the indie’s first non-Canadian release — and the stunning show she gave the other night. It was likely one of the best of the fest, with Bozulich howling into her mic, pacing the stage during the new LP’s title opus, uncoiling sharp, eloquent shards of noise, and hopping in place with a contented smile as her band — a relatively new incarnation that includes longtime bassist-collaborator Tara Barnes, cellist Andrea Serrapiglio, and guitarist Jeremy Drake — generated a moving, glorious din. "The west is the best and the wind knows my name," Bozulich told the heavens — and you believed her.
Unfortunately the heavens opened up and poured down misfortune last November while Evangelista toured Europe. "I got hurt really bad in Paris. I was hit by a random madman on the street, who broke my cheek," Bozulich recalls of the incident, which occurred while she was singing and being interviewed on the street. Her face still feels shattered. "It was completely random. In a nutshell, he hit everybody, but he broke my cheek." But instead of crawling home to a friend’s couch and recuperating, she decided to stay on the road. "It was a weird decision, but looking back I’m really glad I did," she says. She saw Pompeii, Rome, and Tuscany, though her face was purple and swollen, and it was, she allows, "hard to sing." Yet, she adds, "I was having the adventure of my life."
Bozulich’s tactic in the face of disaster perfectly parallels her desire to venture out on a limb in every way. "I don’t take drugs or drink and haven’t for many years," she confesses. "So for me the ultimate high I’ve discovered after all these years is really — I have to say — embarrassment, doing something that might not be supercool. It separates a room, and there will be some people who will be like, ‘Yeah, fuck it! I’m sick of this, too. I really want to express who I really am.’" And in a sense Evangelista’s music is a very specific response to wartime disenfranchisement, written by an artist who describes herself as a "really, really far-left progressive, politically, and I feel like music is one of our only ways that we can organize. Fundamentalists still have that leg up on us. They aren’t afraid to join together."
Bozulich has done it before: fronting her old group Ethyl Meatplow — during which the shy girl who once sang behind drum kits "really learned to be a badass" — she changed lives: "People still come up to me saying really great things like, ‘We conceived our child in the bathroom at an Ethyl Meatplow show.’ And there’s several people who have said, ‘I came out of the closet just from listening to Ethyl Meatplow’ — and that’s political. That’s great!" She stares out at the fast-food drive-throughs that surround even this tiny show, and the sweet recording deals, massive crowds, and Iggy Pop opening slots don’t seem like much after all. "I’ve just been very lucky, you know."
CARLA BOZULICH’S EVANGELISTA
Thurs/27, 7 p.m., free
Amoeba Music
2455 Telegraph, Berk.
Also Fri/28, 9 p.m., $10
Bottom of the Hill
1233 17th St., SF
FILL ‘ER UP
Channeling Joni Mitchell and even dreamier Laurel Canyon lasses alongside hand-drummer Andres Renteria and bassist Joshua Abrams (Prefuse 73), Todd has bewitched the Arthur mag crowd with her seventh full-length, Gea (City Zen). With Jose Gonzalez. Thurs/27, 8 p.m., $25. Fillmore, 1805 Geary, SF. www.ticketmaster.com
The SXSW smoke clears as the Texas hip-hop odd mob mess around in San Fran town. With Vital, Ryan Greene, Chris Lee, DJ D, and Jamie Way. Sat/29, 9 p.m., $15. Mezzanine, 444 Jessie, SF. www.mezzaninesf.com
The SF singer-songwriter serves up "tea metal" backed by Erase Errata drummer Bianca Sparta. With Ora Corgan, and Gabriel Saloman and Aja Rose. Mon/31, 6 p.m., $5. Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. www.hemlocktavern.com
Saw your baby, lady: Kimya Dawson.
By Kandia Crazy Horse
A SXSW night-and-day diary continues…
THURSDAY, MARCH 13, AND FRIDAY, MARCH 14
The day began with my first IHOP run, and the late rising set me permanently behind on the day-party trail. In fact, I ultimately only made the scene at one on Sixth with our fearless leader/SX roomie Kimberly Chun, wherein we were irritated by “free” drink tickets that only provided low-shelf liquor.
It was fun to make the scene in the upper reaches of the Convention Center, catching up with such friends and colleagues as Manhattan cultural instigator Jim Fouratt, NC-born upstater Holly George-Warren at her trade show book signing for Punk 365 and her fine Gene Autry bio, Perfect Sound Forever honcho Jason Gross, veteran esteemed rock critic Dave Marsh, and (erstwhile) Harp editors Fred Mills and Randy Harward who, alas, came bearing bad tidings about the music magazine’s demise. I also met rock scribe/wife Laurie Lindeen, rockbiz vet Danny Goldberg (whose account of apprenticing to Led Zeppelin’s famed manager Peter Grant was thrilling), Hanson vox Taylor, rockwrite/rock orbit luminaries Jaan Uhelszki and Danny Fields, and played text tag with some other folks before and after dropping too many ducats at Flatstock for posters of the Black Crowes, Stevie Wonder, and the great Alejandro Escovedo (who I was saturated with in ’07 but very sadly missed this year).
The Day Stage tended to be dull or between bursts when I breezed through from the trade show, but I did see Kimya Dawson and her man keeping up with their toddling baby girl. That’s not to say there were no good-to-great performances provided within the Convention Center’s walls: in succession, I saw Hanson, the Noisettes, and (an amazing set by) X, all mercifully recorded for DirectTV.
Learning to love again with Ra Ra Riot. All photos by Kimberly Chun.
O SXSW, what a mixed bag thou art. Good-looking from across a crowded Kiwanis Hall, good-looking (if somewhat huge-pored and flushed with Lone Stars) close up, and even better-looking receding in the distance. Yes, I’m waving, not drowning, with this, a last, lingering, photo-centric dispatch from Saturday, March 15.
Just breathe: Inca Ore.
Solo artists (from Portland, Ore. by way of the Bay) Inca Ore and Grouper stole an intimate house party, organized by Guardian contributor and Club Sandwich mastermind George Chen. A nice alternative to Todd P’s day-shows at Ms. Bea’s – on the sleepy, leafy, chill side of the Colorado River. Chen’s combo KIT also tore it up, following up their Upset the Rhythm showcase earlier that week.
Meow! KIT.
Off-kilter harmonies from the twins of Scary Mansion.
The race is on: Earl Greyhound made an appearance at the Afro-Punk/Matrix showcase at SXSW.
By Kandia Crazy Horse
In the wake of my man John Edwards’s withdrawal from the current presidential race and subsequent taking up the torch for our fair music editor’s fellow Punahou alumnus Obama as Negro First, I officially became old. So I lacked sufficient energy and brain cells to take on SXSW 2008 – but, music ‘ho that I am, I did it anyway.
Clearly, Barack Obama’s sustained ascent as the most dissected American presidential candidate has by now confirmed his superfly rock-star status, crowding and overshadowing the field pursued by artists with recent/forthcoming new releases such as Jack White of the Raconteurs, the brers of Gnarls Barkley, Union Jack black singing cowboy Lightspeed Champion, and Saul Williams, a.k.a., Niggy Tardust – the latter two made the South By scene all around hip Austin (and Gnarls appeared via tacked-up Odd Couple lampoons, courtesy of Atlantic). I hesitated to fly down into Bush Country, considering the volatile political climate at present and the specter of terrorism making every airport visit unpleasant at best.
And, too, I had personal reservations: at the last three South By festivals, my life has fallen apart by degrees: in 2006, with the diagnosis of my late Mother’s pancreatic cancer and decision to divorce being the absolute worst. Still, I was invited to speak about press and, whether SXSW has completely devolved into “hipster spring break with bands” in recent years, the festival retains the possibility to offer exposure to unheard-of music and/or reconnect with rarely seen friends from the Left Coast and abroad.
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 12
Rising before cockcrow at 3 a.m., I saddled up in bespoke hat, denim and black leather to hit a too-early flight out of NY LaGuardia and made it to Austin’s Bergstrom already dazed and confused via Houston connection from George Bush Airport. After a swift check-in at the Hilton Garden Inn downtown where I happened to run into my panel mate, Nick Baily of Shorefire Media, and we concurred that we were in the dark about how to express ourselves (one of last year’s highlights was meeting O.G. Expressor Charles Wright), it was off to run the Convention Center gauntlet in pursuit of festival badges, assorted data, schwag and making it to the panelists’ green room on time. No surreys nor press satoris available. So Nick and I jes’ winged it (wung it?) before a surprisingly full room, and tried our best to respond to the artists trailing in our wake all the way back to the hotel.
Oh you’re not so silent, Jens. Photo by Kimberly Chun.
If imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, then Swedish indie pop maestro Jens Lekman must be feeling pretty swell: by his own estimation, he’s accrued an army of faux MySpace and Facebook followers-poseurs since he took his own MySpace site down. The 27-year-old singer-songwriter – currently based in Melbourne, Australia, though not, he claims, for long – is embracing both the love and fictitious narratives being spun by his Jens puppets/impersonators, and likewise, he encouraged me to make up more outta-hand tales when I spoke to him at the eerily generic, brass ‘n’ business-class Omni Hotel in Austin, Texas, during South by Southwest.
We’ll see how wild it gets – and how crazy Lekman will be tonight, March 23, at Bottom of the Hill, when he plays solo, sans band, and full of, he promises, surprises.
SFBG: What have you seen at South by Southwest so far?
Jens Lekman: Tough Alliance – it’s really interesting because they’re such a Swedish phenomenon in one way. I think they’re the most influential band in Sweden right now. But it’s so hard – the crowd there at that place, I think, were a bunch of bloggers, who were like, “Hmm, what should I think about this,” you know. And they got so frustrated because they’re very much about energy. They play for 10 minutes and they just go offstage.
SFBG: Do you get that tough blogger crowd?
JL: No, when I play in New York, maybe. I think I’ve always had those people standing there smiling. That’s my favorite reaction.
SFBG: Any superfans?
JL: I met this guy last night, this 45-year-old guy. Well, I dunno if he’s 45 but he’s in his 40s. He’s going to see eight shows, I think, on this tour, with his whole family, and they’re organizing this big barbecue party in Madison when we get there.
SFBG: So the last album, Night Falls Over Kortedala [Secretly Canadian, 2007], is a collection of older songs? What made you want to put them out in an album format?
JL: Yeah, I think all my albums have been like that. They’ve always been a collection of what I’ve been doing in the last three or four years. I just write songs – that’s all I do. I can’t put them together into an entity. So this time I had a bunch of friends pick them for me. I gave them about 30 songs, and they called me up and had a little bit of a Eurovision song contest. They’d say, “Song number eight – that’s definitely 10 points, yeah, and song number seven, that’s seven points.” I think I’ll do that in the future as well. It works so well. They saw the golden thread through the songs that I couldn’t see myself. I always had a problem with putting things together like that. I couldn’t see the connection myself.
Landland of Minneapolis, Minn.
South By Southwest ain’t nothing but loud, loud music; industry speakers; white-bread-bedecked barbecue; protein bar giveaways; soused UT students; and lil’ pools o’ puke if it weren’t for the American Poster Institute-sponsored Flatstock show, presented every year for the last five years alongside the music conference. I checked the state of the art – and came away with an eyeful of music posters that popped.
Leia Bell of Salt Lake City.
Status Serigraph of Knoxville, Tenn.
Get an earful of what everyone at SXSW was yapping ’bout: longtime Oaklander Darondo performs, backed by Nino Moschella, at Shattuck Down Low tonight, March 21. Low-ridah soul – with vanity plates, sho – and R&B comes to town once more in the form of the Ubiquity artist who once opened for James Brown and hung with Fillmore Slim.
DARONDO
With Nino Moschella
Friday/21, 9:30 p.m., $12
Shattuck Down Low
2284 Shattuck, Berk.
It’s all Santogold. All photos by Kimberly Chun.
South By – why, a week later, the wrap-up keeps coming. Here’s what was on the plate Friday night, March 14 – in addition to the beef rib barbecue and banana pudding with Nilla wafers at Iron Works.
Soft sweat: Kim Hiorthoy.
I was glad to catch a few songs by Kim Hiorthoy in the SXSW day stage at the convention center’s cafeteria. The Oslo, Norway, knob-twirler headed up the Smalltown Supersound showcase Wednesday night – here he performed with a percussionist pal, making more meditative, ambient sounds than the house-tinged music he ended up delivering at the Boredoms SF show on March 18.
Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful – hate me because of my bad band name: the Ting Tings.
The evening started out at Stubb’s for the Ting Tings, art-pop duo from Salford, UK – the twosome has been surprising listeners with their infectious, dancey sass. Spunky, model-esque Katie White managed to hold the stage on her lonesome, thrashing away at her guitar.
Baby wants to wear their White Shoes.
Too tuckered out by South By Southwest? Hey, I saw you at the Boredoms the other night! Surely you’re not too pooped to pop for these indie-rockers.
WHITE SHOES AND THE COUPLES COMPANY
Brimming with silky retro charm, this ultra-cute Indonesian combo on Minty Fresh scored a spot as one of Billboard‘s “12 Acts to Watch at SXSW.” Do they remind you of UK space-pop revivalists of the past ala Stereolab and High Llamas? Find out for yourself before the band hoofs it back to their homeland: these are their only other North American shows besides SXSW.
White Shoes and the Couples Company perform tonight, March 20, 6 p.m., at Amoeba Music, 1855 Haight, SF. Free. (415) 831-1200. They perform with Foxtail Somersault tonight, May 20, 9 p.m., at Make-Out Room, 3225 22nd St., SF. $12. (415) 647-2888.
HEADLIGHTS
The Champaign, Ill., indie-pop fivesome have played more than 300 shows a year since their 2004 inception. So you know they gotta have it down at this point: winsome is as winsome does on their new full-length, Some Racing, Some Stopping (Polyvinyl), which shows off Headlights‘ love o’ ’60s pop hooks.
Headlights appear with School of Language and the Evangelicals Friday, March 21, 9:30 p.m., Hemlock Tavern, 1131 Polk, SF. $10. (415) 923-0923.
› kimberly@sfbg.com
SONIC REDUCER Date night, March 15, the closing Saturday eve of the South by Southwest music conference, and I swear, the biggest thrill around is my offroadin’ pedicab ride on my way to the Diesel:U:Music bash atop Mount San Jacinto, through the remains of the Mess with Texas 2 music-comedy day-party in Waterloo Park. How sad is that?
"I do yoga, so that helps," explains my "driver" Liam (his name changed to protect the innocent). The spines of his spindly, highly waxed mohawk shiver like excited mushrooms beneath a forager’s greedy digits and his wire-rimmed spectacles gently mist as he steps up and pedals hard, climbing the park’s slopes as the Texas Capitol shines reprovingly above. "Hopefully it’s not all blocked off — this is my favorite shortcut."
Some shortcut: we career down too-tight paved paths, nearly get decked by a hat vendor stand, then head off onto the grass and through the woods, plunk down a curb — with minimal lady-passenger spillage — and then get back on a path and through a parking structure and finally, somehow, we’re on San Jac. Saint Jack ‘n’ Coke be praised. Liam glances back, mildly beatific: "Wanna smoke a bowl?"
Hey, I’ve only downed a few gratis cans of Lone Stars and a tall sweet tea ‘n’ vodka so far tonight — and with only a giveaway energy bar to absorb it all. Welcome to Austin, Texas, and SXSW, the now unfailingly polite, organizationally fine-tuned, and increasingly disappointing group-grope-n-grip for the increasingly somber, not-so-extravagantly partying music biz. Sure, the numbers are there — the fest appears to be doing well, with more than 123,000 attendees and 1,500 showcased acts, while pouring more than $77 million in expenditures into Austin coffers, according to 2007 stats — and the nontoiling gawkers and stalkers still filled the streets for what has become the nation’s fave musical spring break. But how to quantify the new wave of malaise? Roughly parse the leavings in the tea cup: where were the conference heavies when Dolly Parton bowed out due to health issues, as did, ahem, the Lemonheads? Was 60-ish ex-Oakland R&B elder Darondo’s much-talked-of Ubiquity appearance the best of the fest — or was it Yeasayer or Vampire Weekend? Does Ice Cube really wanna forsake Friday for the rap game? Can all the Euro and overseas showcases sub for the dampened-down US major label presence due to layoffs and cutbacks? At the troubled heart of 2008’s decentralized music biz, few could be heard whooping it up or mourning over at the fall of New York Governor Eliot Spitzer, who as the state’s attorney general oversaw the uncovering of $50 million in unpaid royalties to musicians and served subpoenas against labels while investigating payola. Is it true, as so many I spoke to at SXSW have said, that "everything I’ve seen that I’ve liked, I’ve already seen before"? My, South By, how lame you were this year. (Can this trend bottom out? See Sonic Reducer’s 2007’s judgment: "But for a three-time SXSWhiner like myself … the fest generally underwhelmed this year," and 2006’s description of "the ground-level, vaguely dissatisfied vibe at this year’s fest — one studded with sentiments ranging from "there’s too many people here" to "everyone I’ve talked to is complaining about working too hard and not having any fun.")
Sure, there were plenty of free shows and oodles of guest-list jockeying, but when the most talked-about soirees were Perez Hilton’s hush-hush hoedown, Rachael Ray’s bid for day-party indie cred ("There better be good food!" one warily groaned), and natch, the Playboy after-hours warehouse rave — complete with more empties and Porta-Johns than you can shake a Hefty bag at — you can just toss the teacup and throw up your multi-wristbanded hands. The truth: do these brands, celebs, or marketing pipe dreams have anything to do with music? The sonic sustenance of SXSW has become secondary to product placement, relegated to background noise amid a recession-jittered hard sell. No surprise that my extremely random sampling of music lovers were uniformly disgruntled. They weren’t hearing the sounds that made it worth braving the yeehawing and puking hordes, risking podiatric agony for five whole nights.
Sure, there were revelatory moments: the grinning electro-diva Santogold, the crowd-entrancing the Whip, and teased blonde soulstress Duffy (dimpled Kate Bosworth-like everygirl to Amy Winehouse’s trouble-lady) were fab, as were Sightings and Evangelista. Lou Reed cracked mordantly wise even while hawking his new concert doc recreating Berlin (RCA, 1973), shades of Neil Young and Heart of Gold two years ago. SXSW organizers oughta take a cue from the packed "Vinyl Revival" panel, the teeming unofficial shows off the beaten Sixth Street path, where Monotonix raised the roof — and drum kit — at the Typewriter Museum, and where experi-punks screeched under sunny skies at Ms. Bea’s at shindigs hosted by Brooklyn party-starter Todd P, who was given his own official showcases this year. You can already make out signs of the next-gen underground filtering into Moby’s Girl Talk–like Playboy finale and folkie Liam Finn’s noise climax on DirectTV. Is the life-support-via-corporate-sponsorship worth the tourist buck, South By? Next time bring the focus back to the truly smokin’ sounds.
Also glad I saw: Black Moth Super Rainbow (spewing glitter and piñata), Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong (let the nouveau-mod boy-band revolution begin), Ra Ra Riot (kids love Arcade Fire!), High on Fire and Motorhead, Blitzen Trapper with Adam Stephens on harmonica, Justice and Moby’s DJ sets, Torche, High Places, Half Japanese (with a wiggly David Fair and Yo La Tengo’s Ira Kaplan on sax), Deer Tick, Scary Mansions, Inca Ore and Grouper, a musically unimaginative but enthusiastic Carbon/Silicon, Goat the Head, Lightspeed Champion, Sons and Daughters, the Kills, "Body of War," Yacht, Does It Offend You, Yeah?, Smalltown Supersounders Lindstrom and Kim Hiorthoy, Naked Raygun, the Dicks, the Ting Tings, Paper Rad, Samara Lubelski, and Black Helicopter.
Regret I missed: the Rascals, the Wombats, Barbara Mason, Jaymay, Bun B, the Bo-Keys, Game Rebellion, These New Puritans, Robyn, Pete Rock, Ruby Suns, Napalm Death, the Touch Alliance, Snowglobe, Kayo Dot, Ola Podrida, Bowerbirds, Dark Meat, White Rabbits, White Rainbow, El-P, Herman Dune, Holy Ghost!, Digitalism, Arp, Juiceboxxx, Supagroup, Daryl Hall, Meneguar, Black Ghosts, the Mirrors, Van Morrison, 17 Hippies, Afrobots, Working for a Nuclear Free City, Boyz Noize, Peggy Sue and the Pirates, Death Sentence: Panda!, Christian Kiefer, Megafaun, Salvador Santana Band, Psychic Ills, Devin the Dude, Passenger, the Morning Benders, the Tennessee Three, the Switches, Sera Cahoone, Little Freddie King, A-Trak, Kid Sister, the Clipse, Headlights, Los Llamarada, Pissed Jeans, Rob G, Wale, Dax Riggs, Neon Neon, These Are Powers, WILDILDLIFE, Clockcleaner, Look See Proof, the Cynics, Dusty Rhodes and the River Band, Rahdunes, Stars Like Fleas, and Cheveu.
Pigeon vs. Fuck: Pidgeon, the Pigeon Detectives, Pigeon John, and Woodpigeon go up against Fuck Buttons, Holy Fuck, and Fucked Up, umpired by CunninLynguists.
BLACK MOTH SUPER RAINBOW
Wed/19, 9 p.m., $12
Bottom of the Hill
1233 17th St., SF
www.bottomofthehill.com
Culture editor Molly Freedenberg hits SXSW for the first time to explore the festival’s extracurricular aspects. For Music Editor Kimberly Chun’s take on SXSW’s tunes, click here.
I made it onto my new friend Rachel’s blog at KCRW! Check out “Best Non-Musical Moment.” I can assure you, the feeling’s mutual.
Me and my new SXSW BFF Rachel Reynolds, closing out the weekend with Chromeo.
