South By Shut Up
Dispatches from a SXSW neophyte
4:30 P.M., LUCKY LOUNGE
Raygun magazine and Luaka Bop's party on a Brazilian theme. Label honcho David Byrne spins background music for networkers who know that their contact-making hours are dwindling.
9 P.M., STUBB'S
Could the explicit Brit-politics of London's Asian Dub Foundation be lost on the crowd? I don't wait to find out.
9:30 P.M., SCHOTZ BEER GARTEN
The patio is full of Latino kids, and nary a laminated orange badge in sight. Mexico City's Guillotina thrill with their Black Sabbath en español, but my magic SXSW moment comes when El Gran Silencio burst into a jaw-dropping, stupid-grin-inducing punk/rock/hip-hop/folk/ska/polka barrage. How did David Byrne miss these guys? Amazing. Robert Christgau does the goony famous-writer bop.
12:55 A.M., 522 CONGRESS AVE.
After fairly thrilling sets by country singer Neko Case and Los Lobos' Cesar Rosas, I join the line down the block outside an anonymous office building for the much coveted Spin party, theSXSW swan song. It's a tough ticket even for professional scammers. With no invite in hand, I have major doubts about getting in, but show up to see if the Weekly pulls any weight with the doorman. Even Cary Baker gives up. But leave it to Fred Kane, my wily Weekly colleague from the parallel universe of advertising, to adroitly communicate to the doorjerks that we're doing them a favor by showing up, and, like magic, the ropes are opened. I immediately buy Fred a free drink.
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As for next year, how about fezzes instead of badges?
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