South by Southwest band reviews
Saturday, March 19, 2005
- John Butler Trio (Stubb's, 8 p.m.)
- Petty Booka (Elysium, 11 p.m.)
- The Wallflowers (Stubb's, 10:30 p.m.)
- Saul Williams (Emo's, 10 p.m.)
- Jim & Jennie and the Pinetops (The Parish, 11 p.m.)
- Aimee Mann (Stubb's, 9 p.m.)
- Apostle of Hustle (Momo's, 8 p.m.)
- Sek LoSo (The Drink, 10 p.m.)
- Kings of Convenience (Antone's, 8 p.m.)
- Ignitor, The Sword (Room 710, 8 p.m.)
- Los Super Seven, Calexico (Las Manitas)
- Schoolyard Heroes (Mt. Fuji showcase)
- Coachwhips (Monitor Records party)
John Butler Trio soothed soaked spirits
John Butler Trio
Stubb's, 8 p.m.
Matted with bleach-blond dreadlocks and acoustic-tangled melodies, the John Butler Trio is spreading its Earth-friendly message across America, from San Francisco to David Letterman's "Late Show." Luckily, the Australian triad made a quick stop in Austin first. After jamming a Waterloo Records chock-full with fans, the trio took a trip to Austin's down under — that is, our Red River district — and soothed the rain-soaked spirits at Stubb's.
Much like Hawaiian neighbor Jack Johnson, John Butler sings just above a whisper, strums his artsy 12-string with a gentle touch and includes his funky drummer and laid-back bass player in the fireside fun. Sitting to the left of his band, with drummer Nicky Bomba in the center and bass player Shannon Birchall flanking the other side, it was clear that Butler knew his music is a group effort. Butler's efforts, however, were not overlooked. His stringwork glowed with a folksy outback sunburn, and his soloing was made more impressive by the fact that he was picking on a 12-string. Finishing their set with "Treat Yo Mama" off of its new album, the trio tipped their hats to Austin with a eurhythmic "g'day."
— Jeff McCrary
Chirpy Petty Booka goes to heaven on ukuleles
Petty Booka
Elysium, 11 p.m.
Love their records, love the concept, but because of a series of unfortunate events I've missed Tokyo-based ukulele duo Petty Booka at South by Southwest for four straight years. And then, on Saturday night at Elysium: contact! Backed by Austin's Meat Purveyors, playing their fingers to the bone, Petty and Booka were even more charming live than I had hoped for. Their shtick, playing chirpy covers of songs such as opening number "Don't Rock the Jukebox" and doo-wop classic "Speedo," was validated by adventurous, trusting harmonies. And the little skiffle groove these nonstop smilers gave to Mungo Jerry's "In the Summertime" was beyond infectious.
The set was marred by problems miking Cherilyn DiMond's upright bass, which spewed distortion on "Sea Of Heartbreak" that was like listening in your car to a great Everly Brothers song and then having someone pull up next to you blasting D.J. Screw. But they got it fixed four songs in, and the rest was heavenly.
At the end came "Born To Be Wild," with fiddler Darcie Deaville leading the charge. A perfect capper to an experience long overdue.
— Michael Corcoran
The Wallflowers give reason to be beloved
The Wallflowers
Stubb's, 10:30 p.m.
Jakob Dylan is lucky. He didn't have to go to Rock Star 101 class to learn that hooks, chops and looks are essential ingredients for a successful rock career. He just had to listen to Dad, choose his own direction and look in the mirror. It took him a while to attain star status on his own terms, but about nine years ago, he succeeded, with a terrific batch of hits. And now, three years since his last album, he's about to release another disc full of pleasant alterna-pop with a rock edge.
During an hourlong South By Southwest set with the Wallflowers at Stubb's on Saturday, Dylan unveiled a few songs from "Rebel, Sweetheart" — the titles of which relay his sardonic nature: "Nearly Beloved," "Beautiful Side of Somewhere" and "Here He Comes (Confessions of a Drunken Marionette)." A slightly muddy vocal mix made it hard to hear all the lyrics, but those that came through indicate his writing chops have not dulled (nor have his guitar skills or looks; at 35, he could still pass for 25).
But of course, he also knew that fans expect to hear the hits, and he wasn't shy about delivering the crowd-pleasers. "I think this song might sound a little bit familiar," he said before "Three Marlenas." "6th Avenue Heartache" and "One Headlight" were equally familiar. And his new stuff didn't sound much different. But, with guest guitarist Brendan O'Brien, who produced the new disc, and his longtime band, Dylan let us in on a little secret: That's OK. If the formula's not broken, why fix it?
— Lynne Margolis
Saul Williams waxes poetic with crowd in tow
Saul Williams
Emo's, 10 p.m.
"African people — that means everybody," Saul Williams offered helpfully from the Emo's stage, but nobody seemed to need the explication. Although most of the crowd was white, they were as in tune with the hip-hop poet as any SXSW artist could hope. The crowd eagerly embraced Williams' message, whether the sermon was about the need for reparations or the degraded state of commercial hip-hop, and the singer returned the favor with an Austin-centric gesture: Underneath his hooded sweatshirt he sported a burnt-orange Longhorn T-shirt.
Williams, joined by a violist and the sample-manipulator Adlib, delivered a fiery set that fearlessly mixed the personal and the political, as on the crowd-pleasing "Black Stacey," a high-school memoir about the fear of being "too black." The politics were more overt on "List of Demands" and "African Student Movement," and if the words weren't pointed enough, Williams underlined them with anxious fiddling and heavy-metal samples. The mood was more aggressive than in Williams' Waterloo instore the previous day, and he was more open to digging back beyond his latest album; but in a night full of hip-hop showcases, there was no denying that Williams has the potential to become a star.
— John DeFore
Jim & Jennie fight crowd noise with harmony
Jim & Jennie and the Pinetops
The Parish, 11 p.m.
As it turns out, purity of sonic production is no warranty against technical difficulties. Jim & Jennie and the Pinetops began their set the old-fashioned way, with their quartet huddled around two vintage mikes. Still they suffered some feedback, a problem that might have been more distressing had the room been listening: Perhaps suffering from last-night-itis — or were they just camped out for a later set? — the large crowd treated the Parish like a social hall, and the resultant din drowned out the band.
That was true even when, midway through, Jim got behind a drum kit and the banjoist picked up an electric instrument. It was clearly a dramatic move for the band, which until now has been known for way-traditional bluegrass, but most of the crowd barely noticed. For those who paid attention, the new-fangled tunes stood up to more traditional songs such as "Who'll Rock the Cradle" — with singers Jim Krewson and Jennie Benford plying high lonesome harmonies that were well worth hearing.
— John DeFore
Somebody save Aimee Mann from mediocrity
Aimee Mann
Stubb's, 9 p.m.
Starting 20 minutes late, Aimee Mann muttered, "I've been in this town for two hours and it's already driving me crazy." Her many fans who made the soggy trek to Stubb's back yard were not the only ones to be disappointed by Mann's greeting. Her mediocre performance tested the limits of melodic sleep inducement. Mann's moody pop is what gives her such a widespread following (I even spotted single guys in the audience who weren't dragged along by their girlfriends). Her temperamental wailing and therapeutic melodies make her the thinking woman's Alanis Morissette.
Reputation aside, cold-faced Mann refused to invest emotion into her songs. Perhaps she just wasn't ready to make a long-term commitment to her Austin following. Her overbearing pink bass burdened her vocals, but maybe that was because she hardly opened her mouth. Hit songs "Wise Up" and "Save Me," evoke a hypnotic desperation on Mann's albums, a major part of the reason she was this critic's pick for the night. But here they seemed faxed in and as monotonous as the rest of her limp lineup. Perhaps she should have used a fax machine — that would have made Saturday night easier on both of us. Longtime Mann fan Holly Fenske agreed. "I was just expecting something stronger," Fenske said, "It's OK though. Austin has a lifetime of good bands to get over this."
— Jeff McCrary
Oh, Canada, Apostle of Hustle does our neighbor proud
Apostle of Hustle
Momo's, 8 p.m.
The old-school Canadian contingent was out in full force at Momo's to carry their lesser-known champions, Apostle of Hustle, through a fifth show in three days, and in the process declare a victory over the Japanese in the Battle for SXSW. "If there are any ounces of tequila or sweat left in us, we're going to use them up now," Broken Social Scene guitarist Andrew Whiteman said of his side project's plan for detoxification. The starting point was a no-brainer: "Folkloric Feel," a dynamic, multipassage, near-instrumental, title-track borrowing from BSS's homage to J. Mascis, "Cause = Time." It was as good of an illustration as any of the collective's ollie-on-a-dime precision and their affinity for one another. Somewhere in the swirl of crescendos built upon cow bells and fuzzy, thick, guitar plucks, tape loops, a rising trumpet and trombone, and clickity-clacks from the unknown, the musicians arrived at a serene place. Torquil Campbell of Stars, another BSS offshoot, sang softly and passionately, "Eeeeeeee-verything's in place, iiiiiiii-t's on."
Again. Once more.
And so a voice set the tone for the sultry, nuanced manifestations of the diary entries Whiteman made in his head while vacationing in Havana and Barcelona, and immersing himself in the native music. (How often do you see musicians organically incorporate an exotic tap dancer into the percussion section?) But it was a trip of a different kind on his mind come closing time when he dedicated the last song to what he called the Texas tradition of psychedelic-rock, adding, dryly, the following preconceived notion: "Everyone here rides on armadillos and eats sheets of acid." And?
— Michael Hoinski
Sek LoSo warms into Thai rock god
Sek LoSo
The Drink, 10 p.m.
Considering the press release described Sek LoSo as Thailand's answer to Jimi Hendrix, expectations were high that "the messianic rocker from the East" would sound more acid rock than English pop rock. Maybe it was the influence of Oasis guitarist Bonehead that kept his band from rocking out until the seventh song. But for the first six, the foursome was too reserved and pleasantly pop. Emotions didn't seep through, even when LoSo dedicated "Into the Air" to his father, whom he said died recently. The set's finale finally inspired him to tear off his shirt and start wailing, a freshly minted rock god with a luscious black mop and pouty Mick Jagger lips. The video screen behind the band switched from Asian schoolgirls demonstrating kick-boxing techniques to shots of LoSo noodling on a double-neck guitar in a large arena. (He's big in Thailand.) He finished by throwing his pale yellow Strat into his amp, and then his amp into the drums. Apparently, bad behavior is a universal language.
— Margaret Myrick
Kings of Convenience quiets Antone's with a sensitive set
Kings of Convenience
Antone's, 8 p.m.
I have seen the future of rock 'n' rock and its name is Dan Fogelberg. Actually, that's not fair — the Norwegian duo Kings of Convenience don't claim to be the future of rock 'n' roll, even if the duo gave its second album the manifestolike title "Quiet Is the New Loud." And Lord knows, the Kings are a heck of a lot better than the '70s schlockmeister Fogelberg. Still, Erlend Øye and Eirik Glambek Bøe play very hushed, very sensitive music — just two young men, hearts on their sleeves, acoustic guitars in their laps. Antone's was jam-packed for the gig — the decibel-to-band ratio was definitely lower than at any other SXSW show — and remarkably well behaved. (The band's occasional request that we keep quiet was honorably respected.)
The Kings played 12 songs — 11 of the duo's own and a sing-along version of Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'" — and though not every song was as tuneful as Erlend and Eirik might like (the audience knew the difference; the genuinely hooky songs such as "Toxic Girl" and "I Don't Know What I Can Save You From" got biggest applause), their almost monastic fingerpicking and subdued vocals offered a lovely respite from the usual SXSW Saturday night hurly-burly. The high point, though, was a guest appearance by the duo's Canadian friend Feist, whose lovely soprano voice cut through the gauze without tearing it.
I have seen the future of mellow, folk-based pop, and I picked up her CD on the way out.
— Jeff Salamon
Ignitor, the Sword honor metal's past glory
Ignitor, The Sword
Room 710, 8 p.m.
There's a difference between nü metal and new metal — the latter is worth preserving and the former is not. That said, the Relapse Records showcase at Room 710 was the place to soak up the "new" variety. The two opening bands are Austin's best at paying homage to metal's past decades. Ignitor recalls the flashy, leather-clad, fantasy-oriented '80s, while the Sword goes further back to the '70s, with its heavy, stoner vibe. A husband and wife duo serve as lead guitarists for Ignitor; they are joined by a voluptuous blond singer who trilled about historical subjects such as Russian death camps and ghosts ships, while sounding a lot like Judas Priest. The two Sword guitarists, playing through Orange and Laney amplifiers, squealed and chugged their way to the top of the heavy metal mountain with all the majesty of Black Sabbath before Ozzy got old and turned into a cartoon. A little less stoned than an all-out stoner band, but they still looked like extras from "Dazed and Confused." Incorporating elements of new metal — as in Mastadon, rougher and more intelligent than the corporate nü type — the Sword also managed to remind us what was so great about classic metal days. Hopefully it inspired any Linkin Park fans in the house to explore their roots and take a new direction.
— Margaret Myrick
Los Super Seven sound super at intimate show
Los Super Seven, Calexico
Las Manitas
Los Super Seven is back — and definitely back in form. At "Sunset on the Border," an intimate concert at Las Manitas restaurant on Congress Avenue Saturday, the mutating conglomeration of musicians lumped together under that numerical moniker performed a set that was an unquestionable South By highlight.
Joe Ely, Rick Trevino, Raul Malo and Ruben Ramos — all veteran Seven-ers heard on the new album, "Heard it on the X" — performed knockout versions of their cuts as well as those from absent contributors Delbert McClinton, Lyle Lovett and Rodney Crowell. They were backed by "X" players Augie Meyers, Max Baca, album co-producer Charlie Sexton and the Tucson band Calexico.
Malo started it off with "The El Burro Song," a mariachi tune, and his ballad, "The Song of Everything," his silky voice setting the bar for the evening. But the other performers had no trouble meeting his level of quality with the aid of about 10 instrumentalists so tightly crammed onto the stage, the horn section had to stand next to it. Ely rocked his acoustic guitar so hard on his song, "Let Her Dance," that the other players simply had to get out of the way and let him go.
"Before Calexico, James Brown used to be the hardest-working group. Now Calexico is," quipped the ever-dapper Ramos before his delivery of the ZZ Top-penned title tune. These guys were obviously having way too much fun performing for an equally packed room of concertgoers, all of whom knew they were darned lucky to see the show in that environment, instead of the less cozy format in which the group was to perform hours later at Stubb's.
— Lynne Margolis
Schoolyard Heroes, bright beneath dark skies
Schoolyard Heroes
Mt. Fuji showcase
Where were you when the skies got black? I was at the Longbranch Inn, checking out the relatively laid-back east-side scene after taking a crash course on misanthropy the previous two days. The band onstage at this showcase, sponsored by Seattle's Mt. Fuji label, looked as if they were going to be as dreadful as their Schoolyard Heroes name. They were all wearing black and looking like At the Drive-In, and then a female singer, wearing red crinoline and Chuck Taylors, bounded onto the stage like the Disney Channel's idea of a punk singer. Uh, oh. I was trapped. The rain came down like Moses just signed a demo deal, and my car was a few blocks away.
But the band kicked into their first song, a hard-core "Out In the Streets," and they completely rocked. When, on the Saturday of South by, you notice that the bassist and drummer are a cut above, that's really saying something about the lock they had on the groove. "Panic In Year Zero" kept up the intensity, as the deluge gave way to sunshine. I'll probably never see this band again and will not remember their name a week from now, but for an ominous few minutes Saturday, they made me happy I was where I was.
— Michael Corcoran
Coachwhips show maniacal, wise-guy sides
Coachwhips
Monitor Records party
The great thing about bands that set up on the floor as opposed to onstage is that there's no wait between sets, which was especially a blessing at Saturday afternoon's Monitor Records party of eight bands at the Terrible One Bike Ramp in East Austin. Mere seconds after the Wives finished their whacked-out, full-contact drill, San Francisco's Coachwhips started wailing away, with singer/guitarist John Dwyer's ragged amp situated on top of an inverted trash can and Val-Tronic playing her (barely audible) keyboard on top of the beer counter.
Using his tongue as a percussive instrument on a duct-taped mike, Dwyer's a maniac, taking his musical cue from such primitives as Hasil Adkins and Jon Wayne's "Texas Funeral," but adding a couple more layers of feedback-laden fury. He's also a bit of a wise guy; when he spotted the only badgewearer in the crowd of about 125, he said, "Howdy, fella. Welcome to Austin," but I didn't feel insulted because he was messing with everyone in a good-natured way.
— Michael Corcoran