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| Photos by Mark the Cobrasnake |
MY EYES ARE BLEEDING!
Attending SXSW is like having sex, running a marathon or smoking pot: The first time is never the best. Gaffe#1:I forgot earplugs. Austin’s soundmen are stone deaf, and the noise levels in the dive bars here will make your eyeballs ache. This was fine on Thursday, my first day, when I was young and the world was new. That day, it felt right to be drunk and walk the streets in a throng of teetering indie rockers, dropping into random bars to pee. One pit stop presented a full-bodied mixture of metal and punk with a melodic core that said, “We’re humans, too” — which turned out to be Helmet, shooting a documentary. Thursday also offered a winning Q&A with RobertPlant,who said he’d donated to a Portland NPR station that promised never to play “Stairway to Heaven.” Stopped in to see my L.A. friends Tsarat the TVTRecordsparty at the HardRock,where decibels matched the band’s just-got-signed, arena-rock/punk-pop shock-and-awe agenda in a pleasing way: Thisisgonnabeagreatfestival!I thought. Labelmates TheBlueVan,from Danmark (that’s Denmark to you and me), were also impressive, with Zombies-style organ, McCartneyesque bass and all kindsa harmonies. And sorry for all the nepotism, but at the VillageVoice/L.A. Weekly party, a dark-haired boy-girl guitar duo with a drum machine made everyone stop and go, “Who’s this band?” (It was the U.K.’s TheKills.Watch out, Karen O: This girl is just as hot, just as bothered — and she’s got an ax!)
Gaffe#2:Instead of seeing Robert Plant perform, I opted for TheFrenchKicks— who made a soothing lullaby for me and another girl crashed out on an incredibly fluffy couch. This fortified me for my mission: TeganandSaraat 1 a.m. Alas, even the wonder twins seemed SXSW-weary by then: After “Walking With a Ghost” Sara remarked, “Thank you — I think.” The crowd lacked proper respect for the alien-orchid rarity of T&S: With the acoustic/electric guitar fulcrum, the sibling harmonies, the new-wave organ, the pop hooks and dark lyrics — these girls have it all. By Friday afternoon, the street vibe had switched to post-debauched. At the AussieBBQ,ThePandaBandwere clearly pouring out heartfelt power pop, but many festivalgoers were pooped out on the grass. I tried to watch BenLee,but couldn’t get through a minute of his sugar-folk before a dark and cynical voice from within declared: icky sticky. While watching Radio4,that same voice bitched: trendy bullshit. Drums from The Strokes, clothes from The Knack, songs from Gang of Four and bongos from T. Rex — is there one single original thing about this band? Is this how it felt to watch the Swinging Blue Jeans in 1966?
Gaffe#3:I peaked too soon. Eventually, physical exhaustion destroys musical appreciation. I couldn’t bear another Strat, but craved samba, jazz, African music — anything played with animal parts. Three options: Beer, coffee or hotel bed. I chose the last, missing IanHunter,TheCrimea,TheNewYorkDolls,TheFrames,TheMaeShi,DiosMalos,TheLikeand NonaHendryx— all people I would pay to see on any other night. Sometimes, you’ve got to say no to live music, and yes to VH1’s “100 Most Metal Moments.”
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