Austin Music
XL on ACL: Staff Reviews Old 97's, Capital Metro Stage, 1 p.m. Who'd have thought the biggest news about an Old 97's set would be a special guest . . . dancer? During the encore of the band's Saturday show, they were joined by famous rambling scenester Beatle Bob (named for a haircut that's looking more Ramones-y than Beatle-ish these days), who did an odd little dance to "Streets of Where I'm From" that made him look like a squirrel. Nothing else was news: Despite much hiatus-ing, the group is still one of the tightest twangrock combos working. They pleased old fans by sticking mainly to songs from their first few discs — one exception being "Question," done at the request of fans who ran across singer Rhett Miller at breakfast and insisted on paying for his pancakes. Highlights like "Melt Show" and "Doreen" were just like old times, even if the personal chemistry between bandmates seems to have weakened since they stopped living in the same city and Miller started focusing on a solo career. No mention of a new record was made; instead the mood, 10 years after the 97's formed, was nostalgic. Which, given the number of listeners on the packed lawn, didn't seem to bother anyone at all. — John DeFore Dandy Warhols, H-E-B Stage, 2 p.m. Zilker Park probably seemed pretty homey for Portland's Dandy Warhols, who took the stage amid a thick cloud cover and steady sprinkle. "Do you guys know what this is?" frontman Courtney Taylor-Taylor asked. "It's called rain. Oregonians have more than 100 words for 'rain.' " Perhaps inspired by the conditions, the Warhols, who have been trafficking in glossy, disposable dance rock and electro-pop of late, spent the first half of their set mired in the moody, swirling fuzz that distinguished their earlier material. Taylor-Taylor's Jim Reid impersonation is better than most; indeed the entire band brought the gauzy drone-rock like it was playing a Jesus & Mary Chain tribute. It was music to nod thoughtfully to, and most in the crowd, from your average black-clad undergrad to the oldster in the straw hat beside me, were happy to oblige. Things got peppier as the Warhols moved through their catalog. The dreamy epic "Godless" sparkled, and "We Used to be Friends," the slick first single from the band's latest, "Welcome to the Monkeyhouse," sounded almost as ridiculously catchy as it does on record. However, it wasn't until the impeccably snide power pop hit, "Bohemian Like You," that the nods turned to impromptu pogos — though my gray-haired sidekick thankfully remained earthbound. — Jeremy Egner Johnny Cash tribute, Cingular Stage, 3 p.m. When the word came down that Rosanne Cash had canceled her ACL gig after her father died, word quickly spread that the slot would be filled by a tribute to the great man. Yesterday afternoon, word proved true. Hosted by Ray Benson of Asleep at the Wheel, Austin country's toastmaster general, the set opened with the award-winning video to Johnny Cash's remarkable cover of Nine Inch Nails' "Hurt," projected onto the Cingular stage screen. The images of days gone by, juxtaposed with footage of Cash as he looked last year, were all the more powerful for their massive size. Things didn't let up when the live music started. Benson and up-and-coming belter Tift Merritt glided through a strong version of "I Still Miss Someone" that set the tribute's casual vibe. Then Merritt announced she would pay tribute to Cash by "honoring his daughter" with a lovely cover of Rosanne's "Seven Year Ache." The ringleaders of the recent Southern rock revival showed up to pay tribute as well. At the start of his band's set, Drive-By Truckers' frontman Patterson Hood talked about envisioning June Carter Cash and Johnny sitting down to have dinner in heaven. Then guitarist Jason Isbell provided his own version of celestial music: a moving version of "I Walk The Line" that was marked by his plaintive vocals. Guitarist Mike Cooley followed with a deft reading of "Give My Love to Rose" and then Memphis' North Mississippi Allstars played acoustic versions of "Home of the Blues" and "Big River." Dallas' Old 97's all but stole the show with "Let the Train Blow the Whistle" a song they covered on an early 7", and "Ring of Fire," which brought everyone back on stage for the tribute's most heartfelt moment. "ACL" producer Terry Lickona introduced the final part of the tribute — Johnny Cash's 1987 appearance on "Austin City Limits" shown on the stage's monitor — by decrying "the plastic pop that passes for country" these days. About five minutes after the screening started, it began to pour. Which was somehow totally appropriate. — Joe Gross Los Lobos, Capital Metro Stage, 3 p.m. A light drizzle didn't scare many Los Lobos fans away from the festival's largest stage Saturday afternoon, where the band dipped deep into its 20-year-old back catalog for a ruggedly enjoyable set. Getting into gear on "Don't Worry Baby," singer/guitarist Cesar Rosas belted out the chorus with a fire that belied his customary deadpan stance. The unflappable David Hidalgo followed a little later with "The Neighborhood," and listeners who had never seen the band may have wondered how such body-shaking music can be made by men who rarely move a muscle. Easy: The band knows its business so well that showmanship is superfluous. From the baritone sax riffs doubled with electric guitar to the explosive percussion on "Mas Y Mas," they reminded the crowd that the word "jam" didn't always mean "bloated and self-indulgent." Cumbias and other Spanish-language numbers peppered the performance, but the group put an Appalachian spin on "One Time One Night" by inviting Nickel Creek fiddler Sara Watkins to sit in. The rain returned, but only as the band began the second song of their encore; predictably, Rosas and Hidalgo seemed unfazed. — John DeFore Drive-ByTruckers, Heineken Stage, 4 p.m. The Drive-By Truckers turned a slew of heads in 2001 with "Southern Rock Opera," an arresting double album song cycle about a young guitar ace wrestling with his Southern heritage. Lead Trucker Patterson Hood knows a little about the material — his father David was a notable Muscle Shoals session musician — but he and his band had something more tangible to contend with Saturday. The rain, which toyed with festivalgoers for most of the day, was falling freely by the time the band hit the stage. Even so, the Truckers brought their A game Saturday, spurring on an increasingly soaked crowd with an onslaught of twangy, though anthemic riff-rawk. Songs such as the raspy "Ronnie and Neil," the boozy, woozy "Marry Me," which owed as much to the New York Dolls as to anyone south of the Mason-Dixon, and the goofy, stomping "18 Wheels of Love," all dazzled. "Decoration Day," the title track from their latest album, exemplified the Trucker vibe perfectly, unfolding as an airtight Southern Gothic story tune — complete with lyrics about spitting on graves and the like — before melting down into a cathartic wash of pealing guitars. The song was a stunner, and guitarist Mike Cooley's tone when he asked "so do you still wonder why we have three guitars?" suggested that he already knew the answer to his question. Of course, the fact that the crowd had actually swelled in the inclement weather probably told him all he needed to know. — Jeremy Egner Jay Farrar, H-E-B Stage, 4 p.m. Poor Jay Farrar. Despite being half of the songwriting duo behind seminal alt-country band Uncle Tupelo, he's had to languish in relative anonymity, making like Stu Sutcliffe (or is it Paul McCartney?) as former partner Jeff Tweedy went on to bigger and better things with current flame Wilco. Unfortunately for Farrar, his Saturday afternoon ACL show did little to prove it should be otherwise. Besides a couple of guaranteed crowd-pleasers ("Tear-Stained Eye," "Windfall") from the earlier — and better — days of his post-Tupelo band Son Volt, Farrar drew almost exclusively from his more recent — and not-so-better — solo material. Which wouldn't have been a huge problem, if he had only let his band draw with him. As it was, he seemed to rein them in just when they got cooking, letting the song dictate the performance instead of the musicians. Case in point was "Voodoo Candle," which could have been as combustible as it sounds. Instead, when Farrar got to the part of the chorus that goes "Don't wanna be, don't wanna be fenced in," you had to wonder if his band wasn't thinking the same thing. But in a happy ending for the legion of patient fans, things finally came together at the very end, when all three guitarists (Farrar included) pooled their resources for a tempestuous cover of Neil Young's "Like a Hurricane." Farrar, it was clear, is one of those musicians who sounds a lot better when he's not the sole focus of attention. — Josh Eells Patty Griffin, Cingular Stage, 5 p.m. Local favorite folk-pop singer-songwriter Patty Griffin emerged a couple of minutes past 5 p.m. before pretty much the entire city of Austin. At least that's how it seemed. Griffin herself mouthed a stunned 'wow!' when she saw the size of the crowd, but her shock didn't keep her from turning in a set that retained a surprising intimacy even as it reached out past the hordes on the lawn. Griffin and band missed nary a note as they ran though a set thick with selections from last year's acclaimed "1000 Kisses" and her forthcoming record, slated for release in 2004. The heartbreaking strummer "Long Ride Home" lost none of its poignancy in the large-scale performance, and the extended mountain jig jam in the middle of "Chief" elicited impromptu cheers from the audience. "Mil Besos," the accordion-driven title track (sort of) to "1000 Kisses," was another crowd-pleaser, but really, Griffin could have played a bossa nova interpretation of "London Bridge" and received a heartfelt ovation. The grass before the Cingular Stage seemed like the world's biggest love-in, as Griffin's remarks that "Times like these make it all worth it" and "You guys are just great" were met with impassioned cries of "We love you, Patty!" The whole thing was so darn sweet it just about gave you a toothache. But as impressive as ACL's list of imported talent is, it was unexpectedly heartwarming to see the locals reserve the mad love for one of their own. — Jeremy Egner Robert Randolph, Capital Metro Stage, 5 p.m. Sensational pedal steel guitarist Robert Randolph didn't need a radio DJ to introduce him. Saturday afternoon at Zilker Park, it would have been more fitting for the New Jersey flash to be preceded by flight attendants, pointing out what to do when the cabin pressure gets to be too much. Randolph and his Family Band took off like a jet airliner on "Going In the Right Direction" and the audience didn't touch down for an hour. Randolph, who stole the show at last year's inaugural ACL Fest, isn't afraid to share the stage. In the course of a mere hour, he called up Cody and Luther Dickinson from the the North Mississippi Allstars to play "The March" and then traded solos with Jeff "Skunk" Baxter of the Doobie Brothers, who looked genuinely surprised when his name was called, to jam for 20 minutes on Led Zeppelin's "Trampled Under Foot," which segued into "Purple Haze," which morphed into "Voodoo Chile." Wearing a Sammy Sosa jersey, the 26-year-old Randolph, who played his first concert just over three years ago, solidified his reputation as the most exciting young guitarist on the scene, with his slicing, soaring licks. He was raised in the House of God Church, a Pentecostal sect where the steel guitar is a sacrament used to whip congregants into a frenzy; seeing him apply the same mindset to a festival crowd was a thing of wonder. When Randolph and his hard-hitting band ended with the Sly Stone-ish "I Need For Love," they passed the mic through the crowd, the strained townie vocals adding to the communal groove. Randolph in Austin in September: A tradition is born! — Michael Corcoran Ruthie Foster, American Original Stage, 5:45 p.m. The wayfaring stranger, wandering the damp grounds of Zilker Park on Saturday afternoon, might have reasonably wondered what could possibly follow the supersonic gospel/R&B fusion of Robert Randolph and the Family Band. The answer, as it happened, lay close at hand in the relatively dry confines of the American Original stage, where Ruthie Foster was bringing things back down to earth. To wit: "You ever notice that everybody at church always has a recipe for green bean casserole?" Foster was taking her crowd to church, too, albeit at a considerably lesser volume than Randolph. But no less successfully. A delightful raconteur, as well as a singer whose voice seems endlessly (and effortlessly) supple, Foster — along with her longtime percussionist-harmony vocalist Cyd Cassone and bassist Glenn Fukanaga — conducted a service that was part blues/folk/reggae, part gospel and partly a retrospective of civil rights-era anthems. "Woke Up This Morning" and a heartfelt cover of Terri Hendrix's "Hole In My Pocket" (both from Foster's album "Runaway Soul") set the tone, followed by a long and hilarious extrapolation on keeping in good with the Lord in her childhood church ("My aunt would sing one note that had nothing to do with whatever song was being sung. Then she'd sit down and say, 'Y'all go ahead and sing — Aunt Cora needs some rest.' "). It was a potent sermon. Foster accumulated standing ovations like she was ordering them up from room service. By the time she closed her set with the traditional "Death Came A-Knockin' (Travelin' Shoes)" — Foster, ironically, was performing barefoot — her audience was one big Amen Corner. — John T. Davis Bright Eyes, H-E-B Stage, 6 p.m. Ladies love Conor Oberst. The crowd in front of the H-E-B stage at ACL wasn't as relentlessly gynocentric as the bunch at his last Austin show at La Zona Rosa, but all you needed to hear was that high-pitched scream that went up from the crowd to know some serious Conor groupies were in the house. Oberst, who for all intents and purposes is Bright Eyes, plied his mopey folk to a crowd that wanted to love him, but couldn't help but feel a little restless during his 50-minute set. 6 p.m. is a tad late in the day (or early in the night) for gentle, near-acoustic tales of romantic woe. For this set, Bright Eyes included Spoon's Britt Daniel and Jim Eno, songwriter/guitarist Matt "M." Ward, and British singer-songwriter Beth Orton. Orton sang backup for a few songs, including "Motion Sickness," a newer tune whose dreary vibe matched the gray skies that were about to open up. Most of the set focused on Oberst's gentler tunes; the only flash of energy came on "Spent on a Rainy Day," a song Oberst co-wrote with Daniel, who played bass and guitar throughout the set. End-of-set crowd pleasers such as "You Will," from last year's breakthrough album "Lifted or the Story Is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground," got the crowd singing along, but unless you were a serious fan — and there were plenty there — if was too little energy too late. Oberst's wounded man-child shtick may seem intimate in a club, but after a long day of walking around Zilker Park, it just felt sleepy. — Joe Gross The North Mississippi Allstars, Heineken Stage, 6 p.m. As part of an afternoon tribute to the Man in Black, the North Mississippi Allstars paid a visit to Johnny Cash's "Home of the Blues." Later that evening, they took up residence there. Or rather, they gave the rest of us a tour, given that the North Mississippi Allstars have been living with the blues nearly all their lives. Cody (drums) and Luther (guitar) Dickinson are the sons of noted Memphis producer Jim; guitarist DuWayne Burnside, of Mississippi bluesman R.L. But while their bloodlines may make them veritable Southern rock royalty, their basslines are what really make them rock. Bassist Chris Chew is a hulk of a man with the hands of a surgeon, and on Saturday those hands anchored an hourlong set of a dozen pulsating, careening original blues. Toss in a Junior Kimbrough cover or two and a couple of red-hot instrumental jams (one featuring the funkiest washboard solo since . . . well, ever) and you've got a pretty good idea of why these guys were one of the biggest second-stage draws of the entire fest. If only they were astute enough performers to, say, bust out their cover of "Mississippi Mud" when the heavens opened up 10 minutes from show's end, they might have been playing the main stage. And if they keep this pace up, next year they will be. — Josh Eells Nickel Creek, Cingular Stage, 7 p.m. Returning to the scene of last year's acclaimed set, Nickel Creek returned to the ACL Festival on a drizzly Saturday evening and demonstrated that they have lost nothing in either virtuosity or audacity in the ensuing 12 months. Applying a jazzy improvisational sensibility and a jam band-like taste for abrupt swoops of mood, melody and tempo, the young trio of Sean and Sara Watkins and Chris Thile (accompanied by bassist Mark Shatz) managed to pay homage to the acoustic intricacy of bluegrass without ever being ensnared by its rigid conventions. One might argue that the enormous feature stage, and the accompanying throng (some of whom may have been tapping their cowboy boots impatiently in anticipation of Pat-Blankin'-Green, who was due to follow on the same stage) might have overwhelmed such delicate constructions as "House of Tom Bombadil," "Itzinay" and "Trouble," but the crowd's rapt attention indicated otherwise. More uptempo numbers, such as "Reasons Why," "The Lighthouse 's Tale," the so-far-unrecorded "Empire Falls" and the bulletproof crowd-pleaser "Smoothie Song" helped prevent the set from languishing, making the furious instrumental coda at the end of the closing "Jacksmith" that much more exhilarating. In an understated way, of course. — John T. Davis Café Tacuba, Heineken Stage, 8 p.m. The crowd waiting for Mexico City's Café Tacuba may not have been the festival's largest, but they packed an enthusiasm per square foot that rivaled even the Al Green showcase. From shouting the pre-show announcer offstage to chanting lyrics and cheering at singer Élfego Buendía's Spanish-only stage banter, they acted as if no other acts had been booked at the fest. Which was fair enough: Tacuba played like a half-dozen bands thrown in a blender and set on "hyper." Their set borrowed from funk and hip-hop, flirted with metal, disco and even Tejano, but rocked hard throughout, allowing a brief interlude for the more introspective "Eres." Buendía, a Prince-sized man with a mop of curls and a powder-blue, eyeball-covered suit coat, was a dream frontman — strutting, jerking, and jumping his way through songs, leading his bandmates in a line-dance disco routine, and eventually donning a homemade Lucha Libre-style mask. That's saying nothing about his voice, a subversive whine that demanded constant attention. Instrumentally, there may have been nothing stranger onstage than the keyboard blow-toy known as a hooter, but the group's manic arrangements and delivery made the show seem completely weird and fresh. When Buendía lamented that the festival had scheduled them to play a mere 45 minutes, the crowd howled indignantly; but even if they bought a day pass for this set alone, fans got their money's worth. — John DeFore Michael Franti & Spearhead, H-E-B Stage, 8 p.m. At first I thought I was in the wrong place. Sure, Michael Franti's Spearhead records — while sometimes angry and always socially conscious — are also fresh, organic and, OK, occasionally even fun. But this was something beyond fun. This was Franti singing joyous songs about rainbows and "The Sound of Music," punctuating hippie-hop raps like, "All the freaky people make the beauty of the world," by kicking beach balls into the crowd. In short, this was the String Cheese Incident. As if to remind us that this wasn't the case, Franti made sure to squeeze in a couple of none-too-subtle jabs at George W. and our current foreign policy. But even street-corner philosophizing that usually would have sounded trite and simplistic ("We can bomb the world to pieces/But we can't bomb it into peace") managed to pass muster if only because they were so sincere. And so well-received. The essence of Franti and Spearhead's show was a diversity of self but a communality of spirit — a crowd of 5,000 bouncing together as one. It was the towheaded 8-year-old shaking her hips to the beat. It was the sixtysomething couple locking lips in the shadows. It was the Pat Green fans (and there were several) who walked away from the beginning of that set so they could hear the end of this one. At first, I thought they were in the wrong place. — Josh Eells Pat Green, Cingular Stage, 8:45 p.m. Pat Green, Austin's countrified answer to the Dave Matthews demographic, wants you to have a good time, and his audience, thousands and thousands of them, just loves him for it. They love him for his obvious devotion to his wife, Cory (who got "Three Days" dedicated to her, as today was their first Lamaze class). They love that Green's music will never make any demands of them. They love the fact that his songs are about good old-fashioned faith, love and kickin' back with a cold one. He just wants to play his fans some feel-good, mainstream, uptempo country music, professionally performed and totally heartfelt. Throughout his 75-minute set — along with String Cheese Incident, he was Saturday night's closer — Green and his seven-piece band just bled regular guyhood, which at the Austin City Limits fest translates as "authentic." In fact, authenticity was something of a theme, as it is throughout the festival. "I hope that we're making music for you people that feels real," Green said after "Texas on My Mind," a zippy ode to his home state that he sang as a duet with Django Walker (son of Jerry Jeff) "Live music is the marrow of life," he said after "All the Good Things Fade Away." "I want you to want me," he said . . . oh, wait, that was a Cheap Trick cover. Never mind. Green's music is spotless collegiate country, a perfect cap to a festival devoted to having a good time But if this is our idea of authenticity, we may want to rethink that whole "Keep Austin Weird" thing. — Joe Gross | ||||
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