SXSW Home > South by Southwest Scene Reports > Archives > 2006 > March > 18
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Can you hear me now?
Best outdoor club stage sound? Gotta go with Redrum Annex (at Fourth and Sabine streets) whose wall of amps sent the metal and stoner rock that was mostly played there well into Interstate 35 territory. It helped that the most they were competing with was traffic and the inside of Redrum. …
Psychic Ills seemed to gain more and more fans whereever they played. A fairly new and underknown act played exactly the sort of space rock that native Austinites adore, everyone’s reaction to them at their showcase and various parties was the same “Who are these people and where can I find their album?” …
Perhaps smarting from poor buzz about her live performance skills, 20-year old London grime MC Lady Sovereign kept her set at the Fader day party Saturday to a mere three (or was it four?) songs, a number that more than one person was heard to remark was just perfect: enough to give you the flava, not enough to remind you that she’s still really nervous up there. Also, she’s 5-foot-1, so most of the crowd could only see her Sporty Spice-esque pony tail bobbing up and down. …
Tough to nail down exactly who was coolest, most obscure band at the festival, but I have to cast my vote for Crom, the 12-year-old Los Angeles metal/punk/doofus band who never tour and rarely play L.A. anymore. They rocked the Vice Kills Texas day party, which was the skeezy toast of East Austin for the entire festival. Me: “I can’t believe I actually just saw you guys?” Them: “I can’t believe you’ve heard of us.” …
Best impression of Tim Kerr’s hairline circa Bad Mutha Goose? Human Eye singer (some of us in the back of Beerland thought it WAS Tim).
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Well, it’s official
With 10,000 registrants and 1,400-plus bands and who knows how many wristbanded exhibitors and sponsors, South By Southwest has finally jumped the shark. Many of this year’s attendees spent a lot of time grumbling in frustration at just how ridiculous the situation has become in terms of lines and simple logistics. Even “exclusive” parties were nearly impossible to get into at times, invites be damned, and badges were no guarantee of admission to anything, not even the speakers at the convention center.
When they have to have overflow rooms with video screens for conference attendees to hear the main attractions at the conference, that’s out of hand. When you can’t drive from point A to point B — not because of the traffic and the 45 minutes it could take to traverse a 2-mile distance … in the afternoon … but because you can’t risk giving up the parking space you have and not finding another — that’s out of hand. It’s time to put a cap on registrations, folks. Last year was bad enough, and supposedly, the badges-sold figure was only around 8,000 then. We get that SXSW is a cool event everyone wants to attend … that’s why some of us are on our 11th Southby, or 13th or 19th or 20th. But when registrants can’t achieve what they came here for — enlightenment and entertainment — without major hassles all around, something needs to be fixed.
It doesn’t matter what beat goes on at South by Southwest. What does matter is authenticity, the one pervasive aspect of the entire event. Watching the Ponderosa Stomp legends of swamp pop at an Opal Divine’s gathering Saturday, and every other act caught during the past several days, the realization came that one thing we’ll never see at South by Southwest is manufactured pop. No Britney Spears. No American Idols. And that, above all, is what keeps it cool.
There’s room for old vets living on past glories, still respected as long as they can still groove (and most of ’em still can, whether their heyday was in the ’80s or the ’60s or the ’50s). There’s room for 6-year-old drum prodigies, à la Classie Ballou’s great grandson, who played during Ballou’s Stomp set Saturday and signed his first autographs afterward. There’s definitely room for brash future rock gods, either wannabes or the real deal, coming to lap up as much attention as they can while the getting’s good, as well as architects of entire genres, such as Neil Young and Ray Davies, who come to impart their wisdom for generations who knew them when, and those who wish they did. At SXSW, there’s always someone who wants to hear what you have to say or sing or spin, as long as the music you’re offering doesn’t have the scent of product handlers all over it. As long as it comes from — clichéd as it might sound — your heart and soul.
