2004 Austin City Limits Music Festival
Day 2 Reviews — Saturday, Sept. 18
Marcia Ball
(Saturday, 6:30 p.m., Austin Ventures Stage)
Despite recent emphasis on cutting-edge and youth-market bands on the "Austin City Limits" television show, someone had to wave the flag for Austin's old guard — the musicians who built the show's — and the city's — reputation. And Marcia Ball was the perfect emissary.
Not only did she have a larger than usual band at the festival Saturday, rounded out with Austinite friends including Mark "Kaz" Kazenoff on sax and Red Young on keyboard, she also gave a shout-out to a late, great Austin hero.
"This goes out to Doug Sahm," she said, "because Doug would be the king of this festival. I wish Doug were here."
The song was "Honey Pie (I Miss Your Love)."
She sent another one out to her Louisiana brethren playing the festival (including the Neville Brothers and the Dirty Dozen and Rebirth brass bands). That song, "Sing It," was, she said, "About sharin' and givin' and lovin' and takin' troubles off your brother's back." By the time Ball played her 6:30 p.m. set on Saturday, there were so many people in Zilker Park that it was nearly impossible to tell where one performer's audience ended and another one's started, but she definitely had a big one — and brought a refreshing, high-energy dose of Big Easy breeze to the affair. It even seemed as if there was a little extra bounce in her stride piano-playing. Maybe it was the presence of so many friends in the appreciative crowd; maybe it was the laid-back environment. Whatever it was, it seemed as if no one would have minded getting a full hour's worth — the average festival set length — instead of the 45 minutes they got.
The reason for her shortened time slot wasn't clear. What is clear is that Ball's Louisiana-seasoned blend of R&B, soul and blues isn't driven by trends, and therefore, will never go out of style. She and her contemporaries shouldn't be edged out of consideration for future "Austin City Limits" episodes; there's a lot to be said for longevity and experience, as the twentysomethings who can't stop talking about Solomon Burke's ACL Fest performance now know.
They don't call it roots music for nuthin' — and some of those cutting-edge and youth-market bands would be horrified to know they're now pre-empting their idols, the ones they grew up watching on "Austin City Limits." So here's a plea to the show's producers: Don't forget to give respect to those who still deserve it.
— Lynne Margolis
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
Dashboard Confessional
(Saturday, 7 p.m., Cingular Stage)
Dashboard Confessional frontman Chris Carrabba — he of the soulful eyes, sleeve tattoos, frozen, low-cut pompadour and thousands of screaming, devoted fans — knows from large gestures. His music, the ne plus ultra of emo punk, is all about the moments that the sensitive adolescent soul renders big. The former hard-core kid is part folkie (dig his acoustic guitar) and part punk rocker (dig the band behind him). Carrabba was one of the festival's biggest draws. Or were most of the people watching him just there to stake out a good spot for the Pixies, who closed the Cingular stage on Saturday?
The latter question is an important one. Carrabba's music thrives on his relationship with and the fans. They take his songs very personally, discussing them on message boards and singing along with every note. It's not uncommon to see an entire crowd sing along with every song, which happened the last time he played Stubb's.
Seeing him where only a certain percentage of the fans were even paying attention was very strange and robbed his anthemic music of much of its power. The hard-core fans were a sea of bodies up front, and there were certainly kids singing along here and there in the crowd. But most of the folks in attendance were just average ACL-goers, there for a good time rather than to worship at the altar.
Tunes such as "Saints and Sailors," "Vindicated" (from the "Spider-Man 2" soundtrack and a brilliant match-up of artist and character as both are super-sensitive heroes) and the powerful "Hands Down" were well executed. But without the entire venue singing along, they were just anthems like any other, and had trouble resonating outside of his devout fan base.
— Joe Gross
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
The Holmes Brothers
(Saturday, 4:30 p.m., Capital Metro Stage)
The Holmes Brothers are old school. The blues/gospel trio — guitarist Wendell Holmes, brother Sherman 1939 on bass, and drummer Popsy Dixon — were performing for decades before labels showed any interest. Now, with all of them older than 60, they are feted as both the last of a style that may soon vanish from the Earth and unique in their recombinations of blues trio action, gospel harmonies and chugging rhythms.
While the Capital Metro blues and gospel tent provided shade from the sun, that didn't stop it from becoming mighty hot by 4:30 p.m. Saturday, when the Holmes Brothers took the stage. Two songs into their intriguing set, bassist Sherman Holmes, a heavyset man about to turn 65, put down his bass and exited the stage. Sherman sat down backstage and was eventually taken to the emergency services tent, overcome by the heat.
But the remaining Holmes Brothers didn't miss a note. Not one. As Wendell said, "the show must go on." After an epic, closely harmonized take on "Amazing Grace," the group, now a spare duo of guitar and drums (and occasionally organ, which Wendell played with as much compelling fluidity as his Stratocaster) simply continued playing the set.
This made for a unique show. There's something beautifully minimalist about a blues duo. It's not primal, as Wendell is a sophisticated and nuanced blues player (and both he and Dixon glorious singers) but spare in a way that's hypnotic. The remarkable detail of Wendell Holmes' guitar playing became clear, as he propelled the songs with a combination of rhythm playing and the occasional biting lead. Spaces between the notes are emphasized, rhythmic gestures more pronounced, voices fill in for the lack of a smooth low end. We wish Sherman Holmes the best, but this was a singular performance from some guys whose career is just getting started.
— Joe Gross
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
The Pixies
(Saturday, 8:45 p.m., Cingular Stage)
"It's the Pixies!" squealed one woman in the middle of "Come On Pilgrim," the band's second song of the night.
Yes, it was the Pixies — or, at least, an acceptable simulation. All four founding members — Black Francis, Kim Deal, Joey Santiago and David Lovering — were there, and so were many of the best Pixies songs. (Though not surprisingly — or is that perversely? — their biggest hit: "Here Comes Your Man.")
What it wasn't was "The Pixies" — that is, the band as an idea, as a ferocious challenge to (and extension) of pop and rock traditions. This was, instead, a band whose once-radical stop/start, loud/soft, fast/slow revision of post-rock has long since been rendered normative by indie-rockers high and low (most famously, Nirvana).
Which means, reunited after 12 years apart, the Pixies are working a very young end of the oldies circuit. Saturday night's 8:45 closing set featured no new material, just 21 songs in 60 minutes, delivered at a brisk pace of just under three minutes apiece. "Bone Machine," "Subbacultcha," "Wave of Mutilation," "Crackity Jones," "This Monkey's Gone to Heaven," "Debaser," "Veloria" and 13 others were performed in brisk succession, with no yapping in between. Black Francis sounded in good voice, and Santiago seemed to be tossing off his junky lead guitar lines with the usual flair. But it wasn't always easy to tell; the sound was atrocious, marred one moment by nasty feedback and the next by an odd muffling that made a hash of the band's extreme dynamics. (Apparently Modest Mouse had even worse problems on the same stage earlier in the day.)
The funny thing is, the Pixies' songs are so sturdily and simply built that it would take a lot more than all this to undo them. Likewise the band's fan base. The huge — and I mean huge — audience gathered in front of the Cingular Stage came to hear some familiar songs, see some familiar (if older) faces and yell, "It's the Pixies!" one more time. Saturday night, they got to do all three.
— Jeff Salamon
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
Los Amigos Invisibles
(Saturday 6 p.m. Heineken Stage)
This ACL Fest's big south-of-the-border import, Los Amigos Invisibles, didn't elicit quite the frenzied response of last year's Café Tacuba, but their crowd was large nonetheless. The Venezuelan band set a groove going immediately that hardly let up throughout the set. It was a more disco-riffic beat than is found on the group's first records; at times it sounded as if the band were playing its own 12-inch club remix.
Frontman Julio Briceño worked a lounge lizard vibe, wearing an open-fronted salmon shirt, tight striped pants, and cocaine-dealer sunglasses, he beat a cowbell and occasionally shared the spotlight with his percussionist, who rapped in time with his own playing. In case anyone doubted Briceño's libertine leanings, he introduced one song about "a superhero that any of us could be" — but both the promiscuous hero and his anthem bore a name family newspapers wouldn't dare print.
Listeners above the age of 30 must've noted a keyboard effect midway through the set that wouldn't have sounded out of place on Herbie Hancock's "Rockit," and may have been alarmed when a later song quoted the melody of the "Dirty Dancing" gag-inducer "(I've Had) The Time of My Life." But the '80s theme served Los Amigos well toward the set's end, as a minute or two of "Axel F" brought the band full circle — from disco, to more traditional Latin beats, right back to the synthetic world. Surprisingly few people were dancing, but almost everyone seemed to have a good time.
— John DeFore
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
Trey Anastasio
(Saturday 7, 8:45 p.m. SBC Stage)
So, one might ask, just how does Trey Anastasio's new band differ from his now-defunct Phish buddies?
Well, let's see. Anastasio's new band is bigger — by six people (that makes it 10 total). It has a horn section (There's five of 'em; that's, like, half the band right there). They're probably not a democracy… they don't even have a band name yet. And there's more of a funk, Steely-Dan/New York Rock 'n' Soul Revue vibe to their sound.
But don't think for a minute Anastasio's lost his jam — or his Grateful Dead-indebted origins. He and his many friends can extend a tune with the best of 'em. And they had plenty of time to do so Saturday night, possessing the only double-set slot of this year's festival.
It seemed as if the majority of his fans gathered for his early set so they could traverse the park for the reunited Pixies — who played directly against his second, the 8:45 to 10 p.m. slot.
By then, however, thousands of festival-goers couldn't rightly lay claim to seeing or hearing either band. The fact is, 75,000 bodies are too many for Zilker Park, especially with lawn chairs, baby strollers, extended legs of passed-out people and plenty of other easily tripped-over obstacles. At night, the situation only got worse. (Pathway lighting is something festival planners need to address.) There wasn't even room for the jam band/stoner noodle dancers to flail, though we could call that a blessing.
Aside from his cover of the Five Stairsteps' 1970 hit, "Ooh Child" — flutes and all — "Alive Again" was a definite high spot of Anastasio's first set. That tune has a mysterious allure, one that's hard to nail down. It could come from his alternately smooth and stuttering guitar, or maybe it's the super-taut percussion or a melody that grips like talons. He's got a self-titled solo album full of songs of equal quality. As for how many people who wanted to could actually hear them, well, that's a question for the marketing researchers. Or the festival gods. If they exist.
— Lynne Margolis
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
The Neville Brothers
(Saturday, 8 p.m., Bank of America Stage)
After all the emo-angst from the nearby Dashboard Confessional stage, show-goers got a much needed dose of down-home, bayou-bred soul from one of the festival's veteran acts, the Neville Brothers.
The Nevilles wasted no time engaging the crowd with three bass-thumping grooves that incorporated multiple layers of keys and drums and constant saxophone solos. The significantly older crowd in attendance shook their collective things and seemed in awe of the well-traveled brothers.
Through the first few songs, singer Aaron Neville seemed tucked in the background as brothers Art (keys), Charles (sax) and Cyril (drums) did their part creating a soulful introduction.
Aaron didn't wait in the shadows long as the group took on a cover of Sam Cooke's 1964 heart-wrencher, "A Change is Gonna Come," recorded on the Nevilles' hit album "Yellow Moon."
Aaron's vocals shined as the band minimized the previously busy rhythms and showcased their brother's amazing pipes, which soared seemingly higher than the numerous advertising planes circling the event during the day.
The group went on to pick up the pace with a long instrumental jam, spearheaded by Charles' solid sax notes. And as frantic fans shoved their way into position to see the Pixies perform just up the hill, the Nevilles cranked out their trustworthy Big Easy sound just loud enough to make the waiting experience a bit more enjoyable.
— Adam Longley
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
My Morning Jacket
(Saturday, 6 p.m., Bank of America Stage)
An indie band from a low-profile city like Louisville gets a major-label contract and puts out a career-making record. Pretty clear what it does at a big-time rockfest, right? Start off with a barn-burning anthem, work the major-label record, throw in a few old faves to reward the hardcore fans and close down with another barn-burning anthem.
Well, two out of four ain't bad. My Morning Jacket opened its afternoon set with the epic "One Big Holiday" and closed with the Quicksilver Messenger Service-worthy guitar freakout "Run Thru." But unless my ears deceived me — and this band's murky catalogue often does deceive me — it only played one other song off the latest record: "Mahgeetah," which came right before the set-ender. The rest of the time, the band played less familiar and less over-the-top material, squandering the not inconsiderable momentum it built right away with "Holiday."
The band certainly looked rocking enough. Leader Jim James came dressed in a brown blazer, white T-shirt and hair — lots of hair. At times, with his scruffy mane blowing across his face, he looked like Venus on the Half Shell on a bad hair day. And Patrick Hallahan has down the "stupid drummer" look that Aerosmith's Joey Kramer perfected so many years ago.
But the set featured a lot of slow, dirge-y numbers, some acoustic stuff and one genuinely odd song that featured no guitars (surely an MMJ first) and spotlighted synthetic drums (some of them programmed?) that suggested James has been listening to Trio's "Da Da Da" lately.
It was, in truth, a gutsy set to play for an outdoor festival crowd that came to rock out. Even so, the fans showed their love for MMJ, even if that love was tested pretty hard. Wonder if the execs at RCA are quite so indulgent.
— Jeff Salamon
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
Modest Mouse
(Saturday, 5 p.m., Cingular Stage)
Tensions were running high around the stage. As fans maneuvered their way into position to check out this year's musical Cinderella story, Modest Mouse, some bickered and shoved their way to the front, while others were escorted the other direction, apparently suffering from heat exposure.
Introduced as "most wonderful band ever," Modest Mouse began their set with oldie-but-goodie "3rd Planet." The spacey, playful intro guitar notes seemed to magically invoke cloud cover, which immediately soothed the uneasy feelings of those around the stage.
Significantly larger than advertised (a couple of trumpet players short of Broken Social Scene's sardine stage act), the group followed up with a handful of songs off their recent release "Good News for People who Love Bad News."
During their indie days, Modest Mouse rarely delved into instrumentation beyond the traditional guitar, bass and drums, save an occasional inorganic backbeat here and there. The revamped group, featuring new members at both guitar and drums, called in a heavy arsenal of unexpected instrumentation including accordion, electric banjo, maracas, bongos, cowbells and a variety of other unclassifiable objects.
Around the mid-set mark, the band played feel-good hit "Float On," and despite Isaac Brock's somewhat sloppy vocal efforts, the slinky-sounding guitar riff and engaging drum beat more than satisfied the sweltering crowd. Brock's vocals were consistently inconsistent and varied from effortless croons to bitter, sharp-edged screeches.
The band traded in most of the heavy artillery for a new acoustic tune, "The Good Times are Killing Me," and then, abruptly killed everybody's good time by meekly concluding the song and wandering off stage. And to make matters worse, the sun reappeared from behind the clouds.
— Adam Longley
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
Ray Lamontagne
(Saturday 2 p.m., Heineken Stage)
Ray LaMontagne looks and acts like a guy who might never say three words in a conversation. But his voice is just amazing, soulful, gritty and folkie in equal measure. The Maine native brought a quiet presence and remarkable pipes to the Heineken stage at 2 p.m., captivating the assembled crowd with a bone dry wit and an almost painfully shy stage presence.
Armed only with an acoustic guitar, which he pounded like Richie Havens and strummed like Neil Young, LaMontagne drew mostly on his new album, "Trouble," occasionally breaking into the sort of guy howls that seemed impossible coming from such a shy guy.
Or maybe the heat was just getting to him. He mentioned he was from Maine early in the set, to which one fan replied, "SKOWHEGAN ROCKS!" (Skowhegan being a county seat in Maine.)
"Uh, no, it really doesn't," LaMontagne replied, the most spare of smiles cracking through his full beard.
"This time of year in my home, it's in the 60s during the day and the 40s at night," he said, as the crowd oohed and ahhhed. "I got off the plane last night at 10:30; it was 85 degrees. I almost passed out."
But his energy never flagged during his heartfelt, often riveting set. "How come I can't tell the free world from a living hell / how come I see the child of God in misery" went "How Come." For a festival that been so apolitical that you wouldn't think we were in an election year, it felt like a bold statement.
But most of LaMontagne's songs were about more personal miseries. The title track, which has been heard on KGSR of late, is both a lament for troubles past and an ode to the woman who delivered the singer from his pain. Of course, somebody seems to be dead in "Jolene," so maybe that relationship didn't work out so hot after all. Either way, it was a mesmerizing performance from a late-in-life songwriter whose star is just now rising. LaMontagne, who worked in a shoe factory before the muse came to him, comes by his trouble honestly. He was able to deliver on that trouble on stage, even with the heat bearing down. Guess that's just one more trouble to get by.
— Joe Gross
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
The Soundtrack of Our Lives
(Saturday, 1 p.m., SBC Stage)
After hearing all morning about how incredible Franz Ferdinand was Friday night ("they were like the Clash in their prime" said one musician), I was ready to have my own face blown apart. Enter The Soundtrack Of Our Lives. The Swedish garage rockers opened their 1 p.m. set with a thudding twirl of a Spinal Tappian ballad named "Broken Imaginary Time." Huh? This is the Scandinavian Oasis? But it was all a set-up, a way to let the crowd far away know that a band was playing on the SBC stage, without having to burn a good tune.
Then the band launched into "Infra Riot" and it was all over. Bearded, pot-bellied singer Ebbot Lundberg may have seemed out of place at first, but he whipped up the swelling audience from a catwalk in front of the stage to let everyone know that even a grizzly Muppet in a tunic can rock with the best of them.
"Big Time," from an upcoming album, brought big keyboard pounding to the air-shredding guitars, but it was the old songs, especially "Sister Surround" and "Still Aging," that got the fists in the air. Who says the ACL Fest doesn't rock?
— Michael Corcoran
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
Cat Power
(Saturday 1 p.m. Cingular Stage)
Saturday, all the odds were against Chan Marshall, the one-woman act known as Cat Power. There was the killing heat, which caused at least one fainting spell and prompted front-row fans to beg Marshall to toss beer out on the crowd (she did). And there was the rumbling bleed-over from one of the loud bands on the other side of the park; Marshall never mentioned it, but in between two of her own songs she took a moment to dance along with theirs.
Going back and forth between piano and electric guitar, Cat Power overcame the hurdles without seeming to try. Her self-accompaniment was generally minimalist, but her solid, breathy voice captivated a mostly respectful crowd. (Two or three tentative whoops were heard, but they fell on unresponsive ears.) She sang about sinners and people with nowhere to go, then broke out her genuinely forlorn cover of the Rolling Stones' "Satisfaction."
"You fallin' asleep yet?" she asked midway through the set, and started to vary things a bit. Her phrasing grew more abstract while remaining introspective, and her piano playing was busier. At one point, moving from guitar to keys for "I Don't Blame You," she claimed, "this is the same song, just different." Marshall ignored a dozen calls for "Good Woman" when she asked for requests, and instead covered a White Stripes tune. She teased the crowd with a few bars of Johnny Cash, too, singing the words "Hey, Porter" before leaving the stage with blown kisses and modest apologies for a set that was far better than she claimed.
— John DeFore
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
The Greencards
(Saturday 11:30 a.m. BMI Stage)
With a welcome breeze at the end of the Greencards set Saturday came the refreshing scent of arrival. The Austin-based bluegrass band killed, whether they did "Man From Gallilee," a gospel-inflected original, or "Marty's Kitchen," a lightning-quick reel about mandolinist Kym Warner's mother's cooking.
When bassist Carol Young sang lead on Bill Monroe's "Walls Of Time," the audience provided percussion with their handclaps and swayed like goofy lovebirds. This is a band that continues to add fans with each show because they mix splendid musicianship with self-effacing patter that puts the crowd at ease. A throwaway at previous ACL Fests, the BMI Stage hosted some of the best music and many wise souls were lucky to catch this charming set.
— Michael Corcoran
Top of Page | ACL Fest 2004 Main
