2004 Austin City Limits Music Festival

Day 1 Reviews — Friday, Sept. 17

Arc Angels

(Late Friday, Continental Club)

By the time Charlie Sexton, Doyle Bramhall II, Tommy Shannon and Chris Layton hopped onstage at the Continental Club Friday night, the clock was ticking toward 1 a.m.

When the reunited Arc Angels finally left the stage, it was nearly 2:30 — way past regular bar closing time. If legalities hadn't gotten in the way, there's no telling how long this very last-minute, one-off gig would have lasted. They may have been playing for just under a couple of hundred fans in town for the ACL Fest, but if Sexton's opening comments were any indication, that's exactly how he likes it.

"This is my favorite place in the world to play. And recently, I just had my 24th anniversary of playing at the Continental Club," he announced. (Now in his mid-30s, he was a pre-teen when he first performed there.) Accompaniment by Sheryl Crow on a couple of tunes, including Led Zep's "Rock and Roll," certainly intensified the celebration.

These musical siblings of Austin favorite son Stevie Ray Vaughan, formed in the wake of his untimely death, couldn't overcome the weight of egos, addiction and grief the first time around. But on this night, Sexton grinned his nearly nonexistent butt off, and as he and Bramhall traded licks and looks, it was obvious they were diggin' this chance to help out Continental Club owner and friend Steve Wertheimer, who was left scrambling the day before when Crow canceled a planned private gig there. Even Layton seemed to crack a smile now and then, though the ever-stoic Shannon, the other half of the famed Double Trouble rhythm section, simply concentrated on getting it done, playing some of the cleanest bass lines in the business.

Since it had been two years since their last reunion show — at the inaugural ACL Fest in 2002 — the Angels started out sounding slightly ragged on "Paradise Cafe" and "Carry Me On." But once Bramhall pulled out his slide and made his guitar strings whine on "The Famous Jane," it all fell into place. When they pulled out the funky "Good Time," the Angels started to fly. And when Bramhall did "Dimples," he raised the ghosts of both Stevie Ray and the song's composer, John Lee Hooker.

Crow came out for the appropriately named "Sent by Angels." When she returned to do her Robert Plant thing, she called for her guitarist, Peter Stroud, who definitely knew his Jimmy Page. After they exited, Sexton remarked, "Stuff like this only seems to happen at the Continental Club."

Amen, brother. As they ended the show with "Too Many Ways to Fall," the point seemed obvious: These are no fallen Angels at all, and with each dose of their funky blues, they fly another fan toward heaven.

— Lynne Margolis

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Los Lonely Boys

(Friday 8:45 p.m., Cingular Stage)

In my estimation, there are three types of fans at this years Austin City Limits Music Festival: Those who opted to see Sheryl Crow, those who opted to see Los Lonely Boys, and those who took off after dancing to Franz Ferdinand's imported sound.

Those who experienced Los Lonely Boys' showcase (my guess: at least 20,000 strong) witnessed a revival of the ghosts of Texas' musical past. Each guitar note, bass line and drum fill echoed legendary Texas giants such as Arc Angels, the Fabulous Thunderbirds, and, of course, Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble. The Brothers Garza wasted no time diving into their brand of hard-hitting Texican rock 'n' roll, and expanding upon the heritage of their Texas music forefathers.

The San Angelo trio blazed through tracks from their self-titled release, and kept the energy at high levels throughout. Henry's intricate guitar licks see-sawed between Stevie Ray and Santana, without sounding necessarily contrived or forced.

JoJo expanded upon traditional blues bass lines by adding clean and articulate sidenotes. But the driving force behind the band's all-encompassing sound was undoubtedly Ringo (destined to be a great drummer with a name like that) who nearly obliterated his poor drum kit while adding pounding rock fills to traditional blues backbites.

The set culminated with a five-minute guitar solo that led into an intergalactic melody driven by an relentless rhythm section. After thoroughly exploring the basic rhythm, guitars and bass sounds dropped off, exposing Ringo's pounding drums, much to the delight of the audience. After working the crowd into a frenzy, the boys continued into their huge hit "Heaven," forcefully causing the majority of the audience to sway with the subtle breeze.

Everybody seemed satisfied by show's end. My minor gripe is that the Boys employ the same groove over and over. The good thing is, the groove rocks. I couldn't help thinking that if Texas could sing, it would probably sound like Los Lonely Boys.

— Adam Longley

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Sheryl Crow

(Friday 8:45 p.m. SBC Stage)

The knock on Sheryl Crow is that she makes good records but doesn't really come off in concert with much personality.

That perception didn't change with Friday night's closing set, even though, unlike Thursday's snoozer at the KLRU gala, Crow came out blazing with "Steve McQueen" and concentrated on material that aped Stones riffs, such as "You're An Original."

With at least 25,000 eager fans in her face, Crow seemed on a mission at the outset, but the problem with her live performance is that her voice is too tinny and her songs rely on singsong choruses that make you think of other things, such as what you're going to wear tomorrow. Coy doesn't play well outdoors.

Her band was competent, but unadventurous, scruffy, but in a predetermined way. There's no real connection when they play, just four guys doing their parts at the same time. In other words, exactly the band you'd think Sheryl Crow would have.

— Michael Corcoran

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Franz Ferdinand

(Friday 8 p.m. Bank Of America Stage)

Musical revival movements don't usually last very long — remember those Gap ads with all the swing dancers, kids? — but they sure get a lot of attention while they're with us. Glasgow, Scotland's, Franz Ferdinand are the standard-bearers of the return of post-punk, the late-'70s subgenre that wedded punk's brutal sense of economy and just as brutal sense of politics to the rhythms of funk and disco and reggae. And their playing does their predecessors proud; they're clean and tight and understand the uses of chicken-scratch guitar as well as anyone who ever hailed from Scotland.

They're popular, too. ACL placed the band at a mid-sized stage, and it really wasn't enough to satisfy the throngs who showed up for their 8 p.m. set. This band needed bigger amps; 100 or so yards from the stage, the sound had almost no presence — a real problem given that the audience extended out three or four times farther back than that.

On record, Franz Ferdinand make their schtick work — they're tuneful and energetic enough to make you forget, at least for a moment, that it is schtick. And in a club, they can, reportedly, rock your world. But out in the open, with not enough ampage and no walls to send those angular rhythms bouncing off each other, the music just kind of drifted off from the stage. At which point you noticed how little there is going on in the songs. The music may be post-punk, but the lyrics are barely post-adolescent — these guys have little more on their minds than girls who won't pay any attention to them (a situation that presumably rectified itself when they started playing in a world-famous rock band).

The result is music that's expert but that has forgotten — if it ever knew — the sense of adventure and daring that fueled the original post-punk wave. Standing next to me at the show was a kid trying to photograph the band with his cell phone. But he kept getting the same error message over and over again: "Not enough memory for higher resolution."

Exactly.

— Jeff Salamon

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Gomez

(Friday 8 p.m. Heineken Stage)

A cigarette-puffing, possibly drunk bearded guy approached the fringes of the improbably large crowd watching Gomez's show wind down. "These guys are from Liverpool, right?" he asked. "Do they sound anything like the Beatles? What about Flock of Seagulls?"

That's no on all three, mate, but you get points for optimism. Although the band has recently moved toward more conventional pop structure, nothing in tonight's set even tried to be as catchy as a Lennon/McCartney tune. Instead, undramatically moody vocals alternated with tight, heavily percussive interludes, each song sounding largely like the next until the "la la luh luhhh" lullaby that closed the set.

It wouldn't have hurt if the guys in the A/V booth had thought to either turn off the huge video monitor to the side of the stage or use it to show the band. Listeners were treated to a soundless short film by "Waking Life" animator Bob Sabiston (very cool, and almost appropriate for the music) and ads for one of the fest's numerous corporate-sponsored product tents (not quite as cool).

In between tunes (such as "Get Miles") from their award-winning debut disc and tracks ("Nothing is Wrong") from their latest, the band plugged an after-show gig at La Zona Rosa and said little else. After the surprising number of people gathered for their set at the smallish Heineken stage, maybe they could actually fill a non-festival show.

— John DeFore

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Ryan Adams

(Friday, 7 p.m., SBC Stage)

During part of his Friday night set, court jester Ryan Adams was in fine form, showing off his recently regained guitar-playing skills and making bad puns such "Whatever I was doin' for the last eight months, I probably should have stuck to the set wrist."

Ouch — to both the joke and the broken bone that kept him from performing for so long. Admitting he'd had too much time on his hands, he flung a few more groaners he wrote during his down months. He also made plenty of references to getting high — an activity he recommended before launching into a "Beavis and Butt-head"-like parody of metalhead stoners.

His stage humor was in direct contrast to his songs; though he did a couple of rockers, including "Love is Hell," he leaned mainly on expressive, slower tunes, such as the exceptional "When the Stars Go Blue," one of his most beautiful compositions. Singing with his eyes closed, he seemed lost in the gentle melody.

Adams gave an equally moody read to "La Cienega Just Smiled," though he interrupted that one to imitate the annoying helicopters that kept flying far too close to the stage. He remained in soulful mode for "Oh My Sweet Carolina," one of several tunes that featured Austinite pedal steel/dobro player Cindy Cashdollar, but inexplicably broke the mood with a plodding version of the Grateful Dead's "Wharf Rat," on which he occasionally sounded like Jeff Buckley. Adams broke out of his lull — and woke the audience right up — with "New York, New York," but even that lacked its usual energy, and he dragged it down further with a little too much guitar noodling. Maybe he was just happy to be playing again, but he wound up ending his hour-long set with more of a thud than a bang.

— Lynne Margolis

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Toots & the Maytals

(Friday, 7 p.m., Cingular Stage)

When the sun went down Friday night, showing some mercy at last, the pressure dropped and the reggae rose with Toots and the Maytals, perhaps Kingston's greatest soul band. Dressed in a white suit with gold adornment, Frederick "Toots" Hibbert came out swinging with "Pressure Drop" and "Sweet and Dandy" in quick succession, pleasuring a crowd that looked to be about 30,000 strong. As is the wont of so many "hardest working men," Toots leaned on the crowd early and often, offering up overlong singalongs on "Time Tough" and "Reggae Got Soul," which broke the intensity. The set peaked at about the two-thirds mark with a rousing version of "Funky Kingston" that had fans dancing more than two football fields away. In the end, there was a little too much jive in Toots' stride, and a keyboard player can't make up for a missing ho

— Michael Corcoran

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Broken Social Scene

(Friday 6 p.m. Bank Of America Stage)

Man, Canadians are so cool. We make fun of them for their dull politeness and their willingness to withstand the cold, but we're just "player hating," what with their socialized medicine and disinterest in policing the world and all. Broken Social Scene fit right into this idea of the communal Canadian on Friday. There were between seven and 10 people on stage at any one time, including four guitars that seemed to blend into a fine mesh screen. Organ and tambourine faded in and out, the drummer looked like he was going to pass out… and yet it all worked.

De facto lead singer Kevin Drew looked like a country rocker but sounded like the world's most polite (or is that Canadian) lefty punk. "You have a choice coming up," he said at the top of their set. "Please make the right choice. Only you can save the world, America."

BSS is ostensibly a pop band, but there are so many of them that melodies don't stop and start as much as rise and fall. They even dedicated a song to "Dick Cheney's lesbian daughter," then sent out a screaming feedback guitar solo to the Vice-President himself. Vote Broken Social Scene!

— Joe Gross

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Solomon Burke

(Friday 5 p.m. SBC Stage)

It didn't take long at all: By midway through the first day, ACL had topped — by a wide, wide margin — the high water mark of last year's soul offerings, Al Green.

Solomon Burke may not have quite the name recognition of Green, but unlike Mr. Let's-Stay-Together (who last year was too focused on loving up the crowd to croon) Burke came to sing. He used the full hour, and left the stage begging "please, next time give me more time."

Burke is a soul giant figuratively and literally; the very large man needed a wheelchair to get on and off stage, and held court from a six-foot gilt throne. But he made a liar of any high-school choir teacher who claimed that you can't sing well while seated: Burke was in fantastic voice on songs such as "Spanish Harlem" and Tom Waits' "Diamond in Your Mind."

The repertoire was medley-heavy — he paid tribute to "Soul Clan" members such as Otis Redding and Ben E. King in one long string — but Burke was not one to start a chorus and let the crowd sing the rest. He sang a third of his fantastic comeback album "Don't Give Up On Me" and only really dipped into his past once, with a fast, New Orleans-inflected version of his old hit "Cry to Me." But from new covers to old chestnuts, everything was invested with passion.

Before leaving the stage, Burke made what will surely be the most unexpected political statement of the weekend. After introducing "Don't Give Up On Me" with a shout-out to those suffering disease and hardship worldwide, he exhorted the crowd: "Come November second, you're the ones that will make the difference — please make a change." The crowd went wild with approval, and laughed when Burke derisively attributed some of the song's lyrics — "it's always tomorrow" — to George Bush. Solomon Burke claimed it had been 25 years since his last Texas appearance; judging from his performance and the reception this crowd gave him, he'd do well to return very soon.

— John DeFore

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Roseanne Cash

(Friday 3 p.m. SBC Stage)

Rosanne Cash's Friday afternoon set was bound to have a bittersweet tinge, coming as it did a year after she missed her Austin City Limits festival appearance because of a death in the family.

She acknowledged that loss at the outset with the song, "I Still Miss Someone," written by her late father. At its finish, she said, "That's all I need to say. God bless you."

Johnny Cash's spirit — and that of Rosanne's stepmother, June Carter Cash — could be felt throughout her 55-minute set. "September When it Comes" was a little more poignant because she had to sing it solo — without the deep, if wavery, baritone accompaniment Johnny provided on the album version.

Later, she talked about a new album she and her husband, John Leventhal, are about to record, called "Black Cadillac."

"It's about loss and memory and personal history," she said, "and about how relationships founded on love don't end when one person leaves the planet."

The song, "House on a Lake," seemed to tug a little at her heart — and the audience's. She also mentioned how touched she was to learn that her vacant time slot last year was filled by a tribute to her father.

But Cash didn't allow the mood to become maudlin. She got a big laugh when she introduced "Seven Year Ache" with the comment: "This is a song that I wrote when I was exactly half as old as I am now. And I was a very precocious 16-year-old!" (She's actually 49.)

One wave of intense afternoon heat provoked the crack, "It's not a hot flash for a change!"

With a growling edge to her voice, she boogie-woogied her way through the rocker "707" as keyboardist Brian Mitchell and Leventhal, "playing the part of Pete Townshend," traded killer solos. And when someone yelled out, "Tennessee Flat-top Box," another of her father's tunes, she snapped her fingers and said, "OK!"

The year's wait was worth it; Cash did her father — and her fans — proud

— Lynne Margolis

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Sloan

(Friday, 4 p.m., Heineken Stage)

Sloan's 12-year-old catalog covers a lot of bases, from a poppier version of Sonic Youth's proto-grunge (the '92 debut, "Smeared") to glossy, Beatlesque pop ('94's "Twice Removed") to lo-fi garage pop ('96's "One Chord to Another"). But Friday afternoon, though they played songs old and new, ranging from "I Am the Cancer," from the debut, to this year's "False Alarm," they made everything sound like their latest record, "Action Pact" — an album produced to sound as big and bright as a Boston greatest hits collection.

Big and bright is actually a good strategy for Sloan at a festival like this. Most of the people gathered at the Heineken stage didn't seem to know much about this hey-they're-stars-at-home Canadian quartet — only one guy in my immediate vicinity was mouthing along to the lyrics (though the Johnny Knox lookalike next to me was whaling away on his air guitar from the word go). So the big gestures they've been borrowing from '70s rock lately — boogie rhythms, anthemic choruses, handclap-alongs, shredded guitar solos, wah-pedal action — were a smart way to pull in an audience that wasn't there to shout out requests or appreciate the band's not inconsiderable lyrical wit.

And it worked, too. By the end of the set, the crowd, which started out noncommittal, was roaring its approval. They had come to realize that this, surely, is the greatest Canadian band since Rush.

— Jeff Salamon

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Bob Schneider

(Friday, 2 p.m., Bank of America Stage)

Even though Austinites can see Bob Schneider perform nearly twice a week, he and his bandmates managed to pack the area surrounding the Bank of America stage during the heat of the day. The set was appropriately laid-back and suited the fans enduring the sweltering conditions instead of spending a Friday afternoon at work or school.

The quintet arrived adorned in mega-gallon cartoon cowboy hats and sunglasses, and wasted no time getting into the acoustically driven "I'm Good Now," of the somewhat recent release bearing the same name. The group's use of keys helped magnify the sometimes watered-down musical layers that backed Bob's impressive vocals, which ranged from soft and sweet to strained and aggressive. Perhaps the most impressive aspect of the show, especially for fans who are accustomed to Bob's unpredictable and broad musical catalog, is the selection of songs that rounded out the set list. There were a number of "Lonelyland" songs such as "Round and Round," "Big Blue Sea" and "Metal and Steel." The musical diversity, too, was notable in intermittent bursts of country, all-out rock, funk, reggae and salsa.

Perhaps the highlight came toward the end of the set when Bob enlisted the help of a brass section for perennial fan-favorite "Tarantula," which induced much movement from the packed crowd. The guys even briefly tackled the Peanuts-piano-driven theme song, proving the old adage "all hat and no cattle" didn't apply on this day.

— Adam Longley

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Marc Broussard

(Friday 3:10 p.m. BMI Stage)

The first sleeper hit of the ACL Fest was Marc Broussard, a nouveau soul singer from Lake Charles, La., who obliterated a mid-afternoon crowd, surprisingly full of teenaged girls who mouthed the words to every song. (I inquired and found that local radio station Mix 94.7 has been playing his debut record.) Although the 22-year-old Broussard and his crack three-piece backing band made a couple of ill-advised forays into funk, this was otherwise a wall-to-wall journey into the sweet rockin' soul that defines Tex-La border music. "Where You Are," which displayed more soul than the past 10 years of Lenny Kravitz's career, slayed. "So Into You" was a slow-burner that built the tension for a couple of flat-out rockers that sent the crowd out into the rest of the afternoon blissfully satisfied.

"Not the Man I Used To Be" seemed an odd lyric for someone just starting out in the music biz. Look for this rising star to be on a bigger stage than the BMI "songwriter hut" next year.

— Michael Corcoran

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Blind Boys Of Alabama

(Friday 3 p.m. Cingular Stage)

"Ain't God good?"

Rumbles of affirmation from the teeming masses, most of whom were sweating through their shoes by 3 p.m., and none of whom could understand how the old man on stage could have so much vigor, especially when dressed in pressed khakis, tan vest and black shirt.

"I said ain't God GOOD?"

"YEEAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!"

When Jimmy Carter (not the President, but the Blind Boy of Alabama) asks you if God is good, you say yes.

The Blind Boys can bring it. Led by lead vocalist Carter, the Boys' set was gospel at its most ecumenical and broadly aimed. The crowd contained everyone from frat guys in white baseball caps to a gal in a "Jesus is my homeboy" hat. Yet everyone walked away floored by the Boys' precision-tooled harmonies and air-tight band.

Carter mentioned an upcoming album with Ben Harper (which Carter said he was hoping would nab the Boys their fourth Grammy). Many in the crowd thought Harper, who closes the fest Sunday night, might appear on stage, but no. (Carter even threatened to bring out Asleep At the Wheel's Ray Benson, who never met a stage he didn't like; but he didn't show either.)

The Boys broke out the wonderful "Run On for a Long Time" and covered Harper's "I Shall Not Walk." But the biggest cheer was for "Amazing Grace," set to the tune of "House of the Rising Sun," which is one of the Boys' signature moves. But nobody expected Carter to wade out into the crowd (with some help) during a rousing version of "Someone Watching Over Me." The band vamped like the Spirit was in the house, as Carter moseyed into the crowd, jumped up and down and generally acted like a man less than half his age. It was a fabulous moment from one of ACL's most beloved acts.

— Joe Gross

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The Killers

(Friday, 1 p.m., Cingular Stage)

Can new wave circa 2004, dressing in pricey jeans and sportcoats, work in the blazing Austin sun? The kids at ACL Fest seemed to think so. With the possible exception of Asleep at the Wheel fans, most of the festivalgoers who were paying attention to music at 1 p.m. were watching the Killers at the Cingular Stage. The foursome from Las Vegas did their level best to bring a smoky club atmosphere to the outdoors. In front of thousands of fans furiously fanning themselves, the Killers ran through most of their debut album, playing tune after tune of sprightly guitar rock. But you had to ask yourself: Just how hot — as in overheated, not attractive — were these guys?

Singer Brandon Flowers, in his violet long-sleeved shirt, vest and jeans, looked like he hadn't quite realized just how steamy it was going to be. But he soldiered on, ripping through tunes such as "Mr. Brightside" — you know, the one with the guitar lick that sounds like it's gonna break into "Ode to Joy" — while notorious, festival-going DJ Beatle Bob hung out offstage, doing his patented Beatle Bob dance, hands poking the air. As one young fan remarked, "Is that guy their manager? It's like he's directing the band or something." The Killers didn't seem to need any direction. Every generation gets the Duran Duran it deserves, and the ACL generation gets the Killers.

— Joe Gross

Kacy Crowley

(Friday, 11:30 a.m., BMI Stage)

Austin's Kacy Crowley thought no one would be in the audience when she kicked off the third annual Austin City Limits Music Festival from the tiny BMI stage at 11:30 a.m. Friday. But the petite charmer with the lovely, passion-drenched voice played in front of about a thousand early birds. It was a delightful way to open Heatfest 2004, as Crowley sang her big local radio hit "Kind Of Perfect" while fans felt they had stepped inside some sort of musical paradise. The park was as pristine as Crowley's vocals on "Nameless Town," from her upcoming album "Tramps Like Us."

When Crowley brought up her friends Trish Murphy and Renee Woodward, the mammoth music fest felt a little more like the site of a front-porch hootenanny. Soon the crowds would be filing in, for hours without a let-up, and the park would be transformed into a musical monster. But the pandemonium would have to wait until Crowley closed with "Barely Hangin' On."

— Michael Corcoran

Tea Leaf Green

(Friday, 12:15 p.m., Heineken Stage)

Right after Crowley scented the scene with songwriterly perfume, San Francisco's Tea Leaf Green established the weekend's groove. What sets this jam band apart from the other Grateful Allman Brothers spinoffs was the guitar playing of Josh Clark. The opening instrumental "Garden Two" drew in the milling crowd, with Clark finding a cool guitar tone and exploiting it, like the Dickey Betts solo from "Whipping Post." Alas, there's not much here in the way of innovative songwriting — lots of songs about freedom and how things don't come easy, but on a hot afternoon in the park, who's listening to lyrics?

— Michael Corcoran

Dayna Kurtz

(Friday, 12:50 p.m., Austin Ventures Stage)

Poor Dayna Kurtz. Here she comes all the way from Brooklyn with her sultry, string sliding songs about fixed fights and broken hearts, and after about 10 minutes her set becomes completely drowned out by the frantic new wave sounds of the Killers on the gi-normous Cingular Stage about 150 yards away. "I just love this part of the country this time of year," the singer joked, in reference to heat that was quickly becoming stifling. But more than the high temps, and even more than the Killers, Kurtz was done in by the wide open spaces. Apparently conceived in "St. James Infirmary," Kurtz traffics in smoky explorations of classic American songs. Think of Leonard Cohen in a slit skirt. Now think of how ill-fitting that would be in a big field with thousands of people walking around and wondering, "Is that for real or is that the sound check?"

— Michael Corcoran

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