One more thing… I know a few of the bands that MAHA is after in addition to Spoon. If they get them, there will be no question that this festival has, indeed, turned the corner…

Column 264: MAHA Presents: Spoon
How it happened…

The news is right up there in the headline. Spoon. Great band.

Now how did it happen, and why didn’t it happen last year?

I’ll recap without dwelling too much on the past. Last year’s inaugural MAHA Music Festival featured has-been emo act Dashboard Confessional as its headliner with casino act Big Head Todd on the undercard. The festival, which was billed as an indie/alternative event, did have its share of indie/alternative bands, not the least of which was Appleseed Cast and Army Navy — but they played in the early afternoon to (literally) a handful of patrons, which included me. Later in the evening, the crowd ballooned to maybe 500 (we’ll never know the real number) for Big Head Todd, and then the tide receded once again for the earnest, self-important Dashboard Confessional, and that was the end of the inaugural MAHA Festival.

And lo, the people scoffed.

Well, not all of them, but a lot of them. Certainly those who follow indie music just kind of wrote off the MAHA Festival as another vanity project by a group of upwardly mobile young professionals who didn’t know what they were doing but had the money to do it. On the surface, they seemed to have the best intentions, but in the end, they lost sight of the goal somewhere between here and there, substituting quality for hopes of a larger “draw.”

Many thought MAHA was a one-and-done boondoggle. They were wrong.

The conventional wisdom why MAHA appeared to fail in year one was that the organization, whose primary circle consists of local businessmen Tyler Owen, Mike App and Tre Brashear, simply started booking the acts too late. They also worked with an out-of-state agent whose expertise lies in casino acts, not indie music.

The focus on the 2010 MAHA Festival began almost immediately after the stage was struck for the 2009 event. Their first job was to acquire the help of One Percent Production’s Marc Leibowitz, the guy who books indie (and other genres) at The Waiting Room (which he co-owns with Jim Johnson), Slowdown and a few other venues around town.

Next, the group began to talk to folks in the community to get their ideas and suggestions. That included Omaha World-Herald music critic Kevin Coffey, Omaha City Weekly music critic (and man about town) Marq Manner, and little ol’ me.

I met with Mike App in February over coffee at Blue Line in Dundee, where he asked a series of questions including: What kind of music should MAHA have? What bands? What else should they do besides music? and, finally, What does MAHA look like a decade from now?

We talked, for a couple hours. App asked the same questions to Marq and Kevin and to others, including non-profit agencies and city and government officials. In the end, I have no idea if any of what was gleaned from these interviews helped them decide on Spoon or any of the other acts, though App said one thing came through loud and clear: People want MAHA to survive; they want it to work.

Last weekend, via the organization’s Facebook and Twitter pages, MAHA announced that Spoon is this year’s headliner. Why Spoon? “It’s a great band with a 10-plus year record of indie credibility that is well-liked by our target audience,” App said, adding that Spoon also should sell the kind of seats they need from a headliner. This year’s event, scheduled for July 24, is once again being held at the concrete slab down by the river called The Lewis & Clark Landing. App said their attendance goal is between 5,000 and 6,000.

As good as Spoon is, there is no way the band could sell 5,000 tickets. App and Co. know this, and know that the event’s undercard is just as important as the main event. “(Spoon is) a great headlining band that other good bands will want to be on the same bill with,” App said. We’ll see if that’s true in the coming weeks as the rest of the event’s line-up is announced.

Like last year, MAHA will again have both a Main Stage and a Local Stage. The organization will work with the Omaha Entertainment and Arts Awards (OEAA) to identify one of the four local bands who will play, while two others will be chosen based on local showcase events. The MAHA board will pick the final slot, App said.

To my surprise, App said MAHA broke even last year, thanks to holding down costs and donors committed to making it an annual event. “In the future we expect to transition to a sponsor- and event-revenue funded event (vs. donor funded),” he said.

But what if it flounders this year? That’s something App wouldn’t even consider. “I can’t see how this community would not be receptive to a music festival,” he said. “I think they want it. I really want to keep it going. It’s one of the reasons why we changed how we did it from last year, and why we reached out for input.

“We want it to be an indie and alternative music festival,” App said. “That limits us to a few hundred bands. I was being honest when I said it was a collaborative process, but Marc Leibowitz is who will make the choice in the end. He helps us make sure we’re staying true to the vibe and, at the same time, attempt to not fail commercially. Only time and ticket sales will tell if we succeed.”

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This just in: Both The Mynabirds and Paria have been added to the Omaha Invasion Festival that I wrote about yesterday. Who’s next?

* * *

Tonight at PS Collective, Danish singer/songwriter/musician Gunnar Cleemann is performing along with Thunder Power (just back from SXSW). Cleemann plays a subtle, wispy, layered pop that’s pretty and introspective. Backing him on bass is local legend Dereck Higgins, who has been touring with Cleemann. Check out Cleemann’s Myspace page. $5, 9 p.m. Also tonight, California band Americas plays at O’Leaver’s with Rooftops and Gordan Shumway. $5, 9:30 p.m.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Jeremy Buckley, the guy behind the Lincoln Calling and Lincoln Invasion festivals, has announced the Omaha Invasion Festival, slated for April 22 and 23 at Lincoln clubs Duffy’s Tavern, 12th St. Pub, Bricktop and the Bourbon Theatre Rye Room (front room). The line-up so far:

The Answer Team
Brad Hoshaw and the Seven Deadlies
Brent Crampton
Capgun Coup
Conchance
Dim Light
Flight Metaphor
Honeybee
It’s True
Jes Winter Band
Kethro
DJ Kobrakyle
Little Brazil
Lonely Estates
Matt Cox Band
Matt Whipkey (solo)
Mello Mic
Mitch Gettman
Noah’s Ark Was a Spaceship
Rock Paper Dynamite
Stryke
Talking Mountain
Thunder Power
Ultimate Downhill Machines
Vago

Impressive. And Buckley is still waiting to hear from two or three more bands. He said the idea behind the mini-fest branched out from the Lincoln Invasion weekend he and Dub Wardlaw from Duffy’s put together last June in Benson. Each Lincoln venue will host three to four bands or DJs (at the Bricktop) per night. A $6 cover will get you into all three venues for the evening, or you can pay $3 just to get into one venue if you don’t expect to mosey around. The Bricktop won’t have a cover. The Zoo Bar isn’t involved because it already had shows booked for the weekend.

By the way, all bands involved will get paid for performing. Buckley said he will divide 80 percent of the proceeds from ticket sales among the bands, keeping 20 percent to cover expenses. It’s his willingness to pay bands that is one of the main reasons why his events have been successful in attracting the area’s best acts. “We figure we are helping and whatnot, but it’s the bands the people are coming to see, they should get paid as much as possible,” Buckley said. “For Lincoln Exposed this year and last, the bands averaged about $150 a piece, and while I don’t expect (the amount) to be as high with out-of-town bands (playing in Lincoln), I think they’ll all walk away with respectable paydays.”

Speaking of festivals, tomorrow’s column will focus on the MAHA Festival with data from the organizers. Stay tuned.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

The word went out at midnight Saturday that the Maha Festival’s mainstage headliner this year will be Spoon — quite an improvement over Dashboard Confessional. Spoon seems to prove the organizers’ intent to not only make this festival a big crowd draw, but to do it using relevant touring bands rather than the usual County Fair Circuit nostalgia acts. There’s a whole process that went behind the selection, which I’ll get into later. Needless to say, they’re not stopping at Spoon, nor could they if they hope to fill Lewis & Clark Landing.

* * *

Director David Miller tapped Tim Kasher to write the score for his new film, My Suicide, which is described as “a ‘self-inflicted comedy’ about the oft-twisted relationship between modern youth and digital media,” whatever that means. In this interview in Pedestrian, Miller calls the score “just really haunting and beautiful, and the music is really key.” Miller goes on to say that he’s “making a movie called Help Wanted Nights that (Tim Kasher) is going to direct based on a script he wrote while he produced and recorded the album. And the plan is to do a tour, possibly with Saddle Creek, where we don’t mix the music to the movie and The Good Life plays live to the movie as we’re touring.” Sounds pretty cool…

* * *

I received more than a few comments about my SXSW coverage that was published in this week’s issue of The Reader. I had one guy ask me if I had a good time in Austin, he couldn’t tell by reading the story. I liked everything about SXSW this year except for the accompanying illness that I suffered all last week and into this past weekend, an illness that I’m just beginning to recover from. Anyway, for posterity’s sake, here’s what was published in The Reader — a condensed version of the blog entries from those three days. If you read the blog daily, then you’ve already seen this in another form. I’ll be compiling those entries into one story with photos sometime in the near future…

From Bear Hands to Big Star
SXSW: 33 Bands in 2 1/2 Days

South by Southwest is an endurance test; a sick “music challenge” drenched in alcohol and hot-link sausages and ear-splitting noise. It is pavement and dirt. It is the constant stank of bad ditch weed and cigarette smoke, stale beer and urinal cakes, and plenty of hippy-style BO. It is 10,000 people walking in the wrong direction, looking for something that they just can’t seem to find. I make it sound like agony, not a vacation (which, for me, it sort of was). But for indie music fans it is the ultimate kid-in-a-candy-store daydream, a chance to stand in the glass-box money machine, grabbing at dollar bills, but dropping more than you can hold. SXSW is all around you; SXSW is everywhere. And if you don’t pay attention, you will miss it before it’s over.

The festival invites a sort of ADD behavior, because all the bars on 6th St. are nearby (for the most part). That close proximity encourages impatience. SXSW allows you to easily cast aside a band’s live performance after only three songs (or fewer) rather than stick it out for the whole set because, in the back of your mind, there’s always something better going on somewhere.

I was only there two and a half days, but saw 32 bands, which was more than enough. Here’s the scorecard, at two sentences (or fewer) per band.

Fucked Up — Gritty punk provided by a fat, bearded screamer who spent the set balanced on a railing that divided the Beerland “patio” from the mob, his pants falling down his ass. So overdriven, you could only hear the roar of guitar and fat-guy’s distorted rants.

Tobacco — The frontman for Black Moth Super Rainbow created fuzz-kill thick-beat synth noise with blown-out, distorted vocals and electric guitar. Unbelievably funky and fun, with deep psychedelic overtones, this is drug music for the millennial nation.

The Blind Shake — The Minneapolis punk trio played loud and tight in a room half the size of O’Leaver’s, but their music didn’t grab me.

The Silos — A break from chaos, their flavor of alt-country/folk has influenced a lot of bands in the ’80s, ’90s and today. and though they’ve all gone gray, they haven’t lost a thing.

Besnard Lakes — Loud, theatrical, boring.

Pomegranates — Cute Cincinnati band played modern indie power pop in a style that you’ll recognize from the usual suspects (Tokyo Police Club, Vampire Weekend) — big back-beat, jump-dance stuff.

The Mynabirds — The Saddle Creek Records showcase only drew around 75 people, which was something of a surprise. No matter — Laura Burhenn and company played their shimmery style of indie folk with arena panache.

Saint Motel — An LA band that sounded like they came from El Lay — flat, one-dimensional pop rock with zero depth, as vacuous as its blond headed frontman.

She Wants Revenge — Dancey, darkwave post-punk with a great throbbing beat, nice chopping rhythm guitar, but thin vocals. Frontman Justin Warfield sounds better on record, as does this band, which was trying to get the crowd into it, and failing.

Camper Van Beethoven — Classic ’80s band hasn’t lost its touch, though its brand of world ska hasn’t aged well.

We Were Promised Jetpacks — This Scottish band takes the indie youth-dance vibe and jumpstarts it with the necessary Cure guitar drone and an extra helping of Cursive howling. Derivative.

Nicole Atkins –She’s been compared to Jenny Lewis; instead, she’s a run-of-the-mill “adult alternative” blues singer trying to channel Janis Joplin and/or Chrissie Hynde, but sounding more like a wounded Sheryl Crow.

Sondre Lerche — The super-skinny, witty blond Viking played a gorgeous guitar with a showtune lilt, like an indie version of Michael Bublé.

Holly Miranda — Lush music played with an air of ennui. Translated: She mailed it in.

The Living Sisters — Gorgeous layered harmonies drove old-fashioned, sometimes cheesy ballads. Still, better than…

The Watson Twins — Last seen with Jenny Lewis, now taking a stab at indie rock and failing. I liked them better when their clothes matched.

It’s True — Frontman Adam Hawkins, wearing a blue-cloud bandana, let it all go, flipping off his nerd glasses sometime during the second or third song, while the rest of the band also rose to the occasion. Just ask the crowd inside — and outside — the club.

Twin Tigers — The Athens four-piece specialized in soaring indie rock, with an undercurrent of shoegaze and an extra helping of Jesus and Mary Chain.

Cocoon — The singer/songwriter played sweet solo acoustic ballads under the stars up on the deck, while down below, his quiet set was about to be blown to bits by…

Little Brazil — In front of around 50, their set was as good as any I’ve seen, even though guitarist Greg Edds looked like a ski bum with his foot in a giant black boot/cast. I left before the mayhem began.

Quasi — The trio, featuring Sam Coomes, ex-wife Sleater-Kinney’s Janet Weiss on drums and Malkmus/Jick Joanna Bolme on bass, kicked out a set of rough-hewn indie rock songs that was decadently loud.

Bear Hands — Yet another one of those Cure-inspired acts with a frontman whose voice mimics Robert Smith. Still, their music is a big step above the usual cadre of indie dance bands, with a thicker, heavier, and slightly darker sound that I found entrancing.

Crystal Antlers — The Long Beach five-piece that has received dollops of love from Pitchfork over the years unveiled a set of all-new material that lacked anything resembling a solid melody.

Les Savy Fav — Balding giant Tim Harrington was in rare form, climbing atop amp stacks to mess with the stage lighting rigs, eventually turning off all the floods, leaving the tent in darkness.

Cococoma and Wes Coleman — Two bands who played at Beerland as part of The Goner Records showcase — garage rock at its finest inside in a concrete bunker.

The Boxer Rebellion — Their style was reminiscent of mid-career U2, thanks to a frontman whose voice was a dead ringer for Bono’s. Too bad the band didn’t have U2’s melodies, or charm.

Frightened Rabbit — Winner of the Most Loved Band of SXSW, they’re on the verge of something — with music that blends indie, adult alternative and Van Morrison in a way that will please any crowd. Now watch them explode

UUVVWWZ — Frontwoman Teal Gardner looked like she was having a good time despite playing to a crowd of around 30 outside in frigid cold, fighting a north wind that blew directly in her face.

Finally, the highlight of the trip: The Alex Chilton memorial concert with Big Star held on the last evening of SXSW. I felt lucky to even get into it. The crowd was mostly grizzled veterans and old-school journalists who still took notes with pencil on notepad. Lots of gray hair, and lots of somber faces in a crowd still mourning Chilton’s death on March 17.

Before Jon Auer, Jody Stephens and Ken Stringfellow — the surviving members of Big Star — hit the stage, a friend of The Chiltons read a letter by Alex’s wife, Laura, where she talked about her husband and how he lived his life, his favorite music (highlighting how much he loved working with The Cramps and The Gories), and his “direct” way of communicating. It was a sweet remembrance.

Then came the music — a greatest hits package that included “September Gurls,” “The Ballad of el Goodo,” “Don’t Lie to Me” and “Thirteen” from #1 Record / Radio City, and “Thank You Friends,” “Big Black Car” “Jesus Christ” and “For You” from Sister Lovers/Third (but no “Holocaust,” which I guess was appropriate). The all-star cast of special guests who performed with Big Star included Curt Kirkwood, Chris Stamey, M Ward, Chuck Prophet, John Doe, Mike Mills, Sondre Lerche, Evan Dando, Susan Cowsill, The Watson Twin and fellow original Big Star member Andy Hummel.

Big Star by themselves sounded amazing. Auer handled most of the vocals (when a guest wasn’t on stage) with Stringfellow chiming in here and there. There’s nothing more to say, other than it was a special night that went on past 2 a.m. It’s the kind of moment that you hope to experience at SXSW — but not under these circumstances. Chilton really was a genius. He wrote and performed some of the most influential pop music of the last half of the last century. The concert was a fitting tribute to his musical legacy. And I can’t think of a better way to cap off my time in Austin.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Based on the comments on their Twitter feed, it looks like Maha Festival organizers have booked their headliner for the July 24 bash, and are on the verge of announcing it. They’re even giving clues. Stay tuned.

* * *

Another quiet week show-wise this weekend, which is good seeing as I’m on the mend from Austin and a head cold. The only shows that draw my attention are tomorrow night (Saturday).

Fortnight is playing at The 49’r with Shipbuilding Co. (members of Plastic Trumpet, Head of Femur). $5, 9:30 p.m.

Little Black Stereo is headlining a show at O’Leaver’s with Matt Cox Band and Son of 76 and The Watchmen. $5, 9:30 p.m.

Finally, there’s the Found in Benson fundraiser at The Foundry, 6051 Maple St. The fun starts at noon with a flea market, followed by a potluck from 5 to 7 and then live music from 7 to 10 with Wisconsin band The Hollands, James Hobbs (Ames, IA) and Jimmy Hobbs. $5 for the performance. Money raised goes to produce the Found in Benson ‘zine.

And if you’re in Lincoln Sunday night, head over to Duffy’s for the Pharmacy Spirits CD release show with Mercy Rule, Shipbuilding Co. (again, members of Plastic Trumpet, Head of Femur) and The Green Trees. 9 p.m. not sure of the cover price. Pharmacy Spirits will have its Omaha version of their CD release show April 3 at O’Leaver’s with Talking Mountain and The Yuppies.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

by Tim McMahan, Lazy-i.com

I’ve talked to three people who went to SXSW last week. All three — like me — are now suffering from a head/chest cold. What are the odds of that? Is it because we all foolishly sloughed around Austin last Saturday under-dressed for the unseasonably cold weather? I blame that, along with a weakened immune system from multiple 3 a.m. nights. I also blame air travel, which I consider to be one of the most dangerous endeavors from a disease/illness standpoint. I always get sick after I fly.

Anyway, I’m sick. But I think (I hope) I’m getting better. I was too sick for last night’s show at O’Leaver’s, and I’m still too sick for tonight’s gig at The Waiting Room. I’ll be missing Ezra Feinberg and his San Francisco band Citay. This funky act plays a groovy sunshine-filled, multi-harmony pop rock that you’d expect from someone living on the Left Coast. Their new album, Dream Get Together (just released on Dead Oceans), is a throwback psychedelic gem that isn’t afraid of the occasional guitar solo. This is the kind of band you’d have heard at The Fillmore circa 1967 (if you around). I’m buzzing right now just listening to the album (it’s either that or all the cold medication). Opening is Leslie Wells and Anniversaire. $8, 9 p.m.

* * *

An addendum on that Bright Eyes/Neva Dinova item from yesterday: The Pitchfork review hit last night. Rating: 5.8 — which translates to “please ignore me.” Says reviewer Ian Cohen (who incidentally reviewed and hated the last Neva album): “As songwriters, Oberst and Bellows sound more comfortable than challenged here. As a tribute to once prolific and unique songwriting community, One Jug is better served as a reminder of how much outstanding and original music Saddle Creek produced from 2000-2003 rather than a document of it.” Cohen also says that the Neva songs are better than the Bright Eyes songs, but with this caveat: “Bright Eyes were never convincing as a rock band, and the transparency in which Desaparecidos tried to be a rock band always made it feel hollow.” Okay. So take the review for what it’s worth… Hey, it’s Pitchfork, right? Read the whole thing here.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Read Tim McMahan’s blog daily at Lazy-i.com — an online music magazine that includes feature interviews, reviews and news. The focus is on the national indie music scene with a special emphasis on the best original bands in the Omaha area.

by Tim McMahan, lazy-i.com

Yesterday Saddle Creek Records released a new version of the Bright Eyes / Neva Dinova split One Jug of Wine, Two Vessels. Originally released in 2004 as a 6-song EP by Crank! Records, the new release adds four new tracks — two Bright Eyes and two Neva songs — recorded last fall at ARC Studios. The first thing that went through my mind when I heard about the project: Will there be a joint Bright Eyes / Neva tour in support of the LP? The answer, it seems, is no. At least that’s the word from Oberst’s publicist at Press Here Publicity. Seeing as Neva Dinova hasn’t performed publicly in long time, the idea of a tour was a long shot (though I’m told that there were discussions of a joint tour prior to release). The closest thing you’re going to get to hearing these new Neva songs live maybe happening tonight, when Jake Bellows opens a show for The Mynabirds at O’Leaver’s. The Mynabirds are coming off a number of shows last week in Austin at SXSW, so expect a tight performance, and maybe a few surprises. $5, 9:30 p.m.

Regardless, will this release ignite interest in Neva Dinova and Jake Bellows? You never know, especially judging by the early reviews, where Jake is getting a pretty good shake. Check out this review at Drowned in Sound (read it here), where the reviewer says, “But if Bright Eyes are largely responsible for …Vessels’ shimmering highs, it arguably falls to Neva Dinova to gift it a sense of cohesion. Much of this is due to Jake Bellows’ sleepy, almost narcotic delivery. Songs like ‘Poison’, ‘Get Back’ and new opener ‘Rollerskating’ are so sedate they might come off listless in lesser hands, but Bellows’ velvet croon carries them gracefully, with real warmth (his cracked lead vocal on the Oberst-penned final track ‘Spring Cleaning’ is a winner too). ‘Someone’s Love’ is the strongest of the band’s new offerings, finding Bellows ponder overheard conversations and inappropriately lewd thoughts over dense instrumentation in a manner both wry and compassionate.“

Then there’s this from Consequences of Sound (read it all here): “In essence, there are two things to take from this re-release. First, is that Neva Dinova is actively taking a deserved large step forward to becoming a household name and should not be ignored. Their sound is one that is original and impressive and deserves delving into. The second thing is that Bright Eyes are back!”

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Read Tim McMahan’s blog daily at Lazy-i.com — an online music magazine that includes feature interviews, reviews and news. The focus is on the national indie music scene with a special emphasis on the best original bands in the Omaha area

By Tim McMahan, Lazy-i.com

So who is Steel Train? They’re a New Jersey five-piece that plays rock anthems with keyboards and guitars and (something tells me) a few fist-pumps. Their style is all over the board. A song like “Turnpike Ghost” is obviously influenced by Modest Mouse, while “I Feel Weird” sounds like something Springsteen would put together if he were 18 and starting from scratch after what we’ve all been through over the past decade. Their last album, Trampoline, came out on Drive Thru Records and was produced by Mark Trombino.

Opening is Holly Miranda, who you read about here, and SXSW conquering heroes It’s True. $10, 9 p.m.

–Got comments? Post ’em here.—

Read Tim McMahan’s blog daily at Lazy-i.com — an online music magazine that includes feature interviews, reviews and news. The focus is on the national indie music scene with a special emphasis on the best original bands in the Omaha area.

by Tim McMahan, Lazy-i.com

I type this in Earl Campbell’s Tyler Rose Lounge at DFW waiting for my flight back to Omaha early the next morning after a 3 a.m. night to close out SXSW. And what a night it was.

I won’t bore you with details about how cold and windy and awful the weather was in Austin yesterday, except to say it was cold and windy and awful, especially after a couple days of tanning in the 70s. Instead, let me tell you about the Alex Chilton memorial concert with Big Star and special guests, a show that I felt lucky to get into. It was a badge-only gig — no wristbands, no cash tickets. You also needed some luck. The person in front of me was the cut-off guy in line, which meant that I spent about a half-hour standing next to the door, waiting for someone to leave to get in. And while there, I heard every con and bullshit line by every swinging dick wanting through those doors — all to no avail. The concert started at 12:30 a.m. I finally got inside Antone’s (capacity guestimate, about 600) at 11:30 p.m. to hear a young, indie power-pop band called The Postelles play a set in front of was was likely the most powerful industry audience in Austin that week. Too bad no one was there to see them. The crowd was mostly grizzled veterans and old-school journalists who still took notes with pencil on notepad. Lots of gray hair, and lots of somber faces in a crowd that became rousing once the music began.

Jon Auer, Jody Stephens and Ken Stringfellow — the surviving members of Big Star — hit the stage right on time. But before they began, a friend of The Chiltons read a letter by Alex’s wife, Laura, where she talked about her husband and how he lived his life, his favorite music (highlighting how much he loved working with The Cramps and The Gories), and his “direct” way of communicating. It was a sweet remembrance that ended with a story about how her husband didn’t have time to think about death. In fact, he didn’t like to sleep, and wished he could stay awake 24/7, unlike his wife who preferred to take naps, “which is what I’m going to go do right now,” the message read in closing. “And if Alex were here, I know what he’d would say. He’d say, ‘G’nite, Shoog.'” That’s short of Sugar.

Then came the music. I can’t list all the songs because I don’t know all their names. It was a greatest-hits performance and included a lot of my favorites, like “September Gurls,” “The Ballad of el Goodo,” “Don’t Lie to Me” and “Thirteen” off #1 Record Radio City, and “Thank You Friends,” “Big Black Car” “Jesus Christ” and “For You” off Third/Sister Lover (but no “Holocaust,” which I guess is appropriate). It really was an all-star cast who performed with Big Star, including Curt Kirkwood, Chris Stamey, M Ward, Chuck Prophet, John Doe, Mike Mills, Sondre Lerche, Evan Dando, Susan Cowsill, The Watson Twin and fellow original Big Star member Andy Hummel.

Big Star by themselves sounded amazing. Auer handled most of the vocals (when a guest wasn’t on stage) with Stringfellow chiming in here and there. There’s nothing more to say, other than it was a special night that went on past 2 a.m. It’s the kind of moment that you hope to experience at SXSW — but not under these circumstances. Chilton really was a genius. He wrote and performed some of the most influential pop music of the last half of the last century. Last night’s concert was a fitting way to pay tribute to him. And I can’t think of a better way to cap off my time in Austin (See photo).

I should stop right there, but I’d be remiss not mentioning the rest of yesterday. It was something of a bust, made agonizing by the weather. I didn’t get rolling until around 3 p.m. after a sit-down Mexican meal (the first real food I had on this trip). First stop was the obligatory journey to Beerland, the infamous SXSW-hating punk-rock venue (hide your badge before you get there). The bar is a concrete-block bunker, probably a converted machine shop or garage, with walls covered in photos, neon, showbills and booze signs. In the back was the iconic Beerland stage, where The Goner Records showcase was in high gear. For the next hour I listened to Cococoma (see photo) and Wes Coleman (see photo) while the NCAA tourney glowed from an old-fashioned TV set overhead. It was like being at O’Leaver’s — same crowd, same smell.

The best part about Beerland was that it was warm. Teresa and I next headed to Cedar St. Courtyard, an outdoor venue sandwiched between two buildings that acted as a wind tunnel. Brisk, bracing, uncomfortable. London band The Boxer Rebellion (see photo) played a set reminiscent of mid-career U2, thanks to a frontman whose voice was a dead ringer for Bono’s. Too bad the band didn’t have U2’s melodies or charm.

Next was Frightened Rabbit — a bunch of Scottish guys last seen at The Waiting Room back in June 2008. They took home the award for The Act With the Most Buzz, coming into — and out of — SXSW. More than one person (including a famous local record label executive) told me that Frightened Rabbit was the best thing they’d seen all week. I wouldn’t go that far, but I will say they’re on the verge of something — their music blends indie, adult alternative and Van Morrison in a way that will please any crowd. Now watch them explode (see photo).

It took two hours to thaw at the hotel before I headed back into the icebox to catch Matt Pond PA at The Galaxy Room (see photo). Pond and his band cranked out a fantastic set of folk rock to a packed, appreciative crowd of around 250 that included a front row that sang along with every word. Seems like Pond’s been around forever waiting for people to figure out how good he is. Maybe it’s finally starting to happen.

Afterward I marched up Red River to see The Oh Sees at Mohawk Patio, but got stuck in a hold line that didn’t move. So I hightailed it east under the freeway to “The Music Gym,” one of the many temporary venues that were “created” for SXSW, and which are very likely gone this morning. The temporary nature of the place was fine with UUVVWWZ frontwoman Teal Gardner, who looked like she was having a good time playing to a crowd of around 30 outside in cold, despite having to fight a north wind blowing directly in her face (see photo).

After that, it was off to Antone’s for the Big Star show.

And so ends another year at South by Southwest. It was a fun endurance test, where I saw more bands than last year. The best of the bunch: Tobacco, The Silos, Pomegranates, The Mynabirds, Sondre Lerche, It’s True, Quasi, Bear Hands, Matt Pond PA, Frightened Rabbits and, of course, Big Star. Look for the condensed summary of SXSW in this week’s issue of The Reader.

And now Chris Aponik’s final dispatch from the trenches:

Part of the appeal of SXSW is that it’s supposed to be warm by mid-March in Texas. Saturday was a cruel, cold slap in the face as temperatures dipped well below 50 degrees. Anybody hoping to sit outside at one of the many outdoor venues or those even planning to go between venues were greeted by high winds and a bone-chilling blast of cold air. I quickly scrapped plans to check out a few bands out at Auditorium Shores in favor of warmth indoors.

My day started with the Goner showcase, which featured a nice sampling of the Memphis label’s roster. The showcase peaked with a packed house during a set by the Magic Kids, who play saccharine sweet sock-hop rock that has been transplanted from the 1950s malt shoppe with little modern revision. Unless you have a serious taste for this melodic candyfloss, these Kids can cause quick overload. Beforehand, Ty Segall built interest in a forthcoming Goner full-length by playing rough garage pop with a tight power trio that indicates they are ready for bigger stages and a bigger sound.

The evening all pointed to one thing, a one-off semi-reunion of Destruction Unit. The band was the brainchild of Arizona native Ryan Wong of Tokyo Electron. He quickly recruited Memphis rockers Alicja Trout and Jay Reatard to form a solid line-up. Reatard passed away earlier this year. As a tribute, Wong and Trout joined together with Digital Leather’s Shawn Foree to play a Destruction Unit show during SXSW week. With three other additional DL members in tow, Destruction Unit ripped through jagged trashy garage rock combining Wong’s southwestern venom with the two synths played by Foree and Trout. It was a quick set that ended just before chaos totally overtook it.

Thee Oh Sees ended the night on the club floor in the middle of Beerland playing another well-honed set of psych-oozing ’60s throwback garage rock of which John Dwyer is undoubtedly the master.

Great: Destruction Unit
Very Good: Wes Coleman, CoCoComa, Ty Segall
Good: Magic Kids, Flesh Lights, Harlan T Bobo, Thomas Function
Okay: Sunny & the Sunsets
No: American Cheeseburger

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Read Tim McMahan’s blog daily at Lazy-i.com — an online music magazine that includes feature interviews, reviews and news. The focus is on the national indie music scene with a special emphasis on the best original bands in the Omaha area.

They say one of the best parts of South by Southwest is the “day parties.” These are showcases held at the same venues that host the evening shows, but they’re sponsored by industry shlubs — usually websites or publications, just about any communications entity that’s after a young, hip demographic that I guess they feel is just out of their reach. Day parties always promise free beer and free food. But for the two years I’ve been going to SXSW, I’ve never seen any substantial free food. Oh sure, there’s usually beer — but who wants to drink at 11 a.m. while nursing a hangover? Apparently a lot of people.

Anyway, Friday afternoon was spent at a series of day parties — showcases held in the daytime free of charge (no badges/admission needed to enter). It was another chance to catch bands missed the night before, as most acts play five or six times over the course of the weekend. I do not envy them.

The first band of the day was Scottish act We Were Promised Jetpacks (see photo), yet another combo that falls into the same category of back-beat jump-dance indie rock that includes Tokyo Police Club, Vampire Weekend, Phoenix, so on and so forth. WWJP’s takes the youth-dance vibe and jumpstarts it with the necessary Cure guitar drone and an extra helping of Cursive howling. Bands like WWPJs (and those mentioned above) are The New Emo, a product of growing up listening to their hipster parents’ post-punk record collections, a sound best heard decked out in white sunglasses, skinny jeans and thin-striped hoodies. But unlike the originals, there are no discernible lyrics to this new music, certainly none you’ll remember. Instead, it’s all about the slap-beat, the staccato rhythm guitar and the whiney frontman with the winning hair. This is what passes for rock music these days.

Now who’s whining? I’ll be honest, I don’t hate this stuff. It’s fun to listen to, even if it’s as light and fluffy as a marshmellow pie. But I’m getting tired of hearing it again and again and again. If last year’s SXSW was dominated by garage bands, this year’s is dominated by New Emo guitar-driven pseudo “dance bands.” I’m not sure which is worse.

WWPJs played in a cool outdoor venue called Mohawk Patio, a tiered concrete facility with plenty of railing space and broad main floor down below. Right next door is Club deVille, where I spent most of the afternoon. CdV is a parking lot cut into a limestone hill covered by a large tent. Today was the Brooklyn Vegan day party, and by god there was even free food! Too bad it was vegan. On stage: Nicole Atkins and her band. She’s been compared to Jenny Lewis — an extreme stretch. Instead, she’s a run-of-the-mill “adult alternative” blues singer trying to channel Janis Joplin and/or Chrissie Hynde but sounding like a wounded Sheryl Crow. Signed to Columbia, we’ll be hearing more from her whether we want to or not.

Atkins was followed by Norwegian singer/songwriter Sondre Lerche, a super-skinny, witty blond Viking (quick, someone cast him as Elric of Melniboné), who plays a gorgeous guitar but with a showtune panache like an indie version of Michael Bublé (see bad photo). During his set, Lerche told a story about jogging around one of the local lakes and subconsciously singing a Big Star song, a song that he then started to play but immediately stopped, saying it was “too soon.” The crowd didn’t think so.

He was followed by Holly Miranda, who’s playing at The Waiting Room Tuesday night (and who I sort of interviewed here). I don’t know if it was the stage or the set up or if Miranda was tired, but her set was uneven and uneventful — mailed in — not nearly as good as what you’ll hear on her new album. But hey, don’t let that dissuade you from buying tickets to TWR show.

That was it for the pasty, emaciated Brooklyn Vegan showcase. After slamming down a hot-sausage link smothered in grilled onions and ketchup, I hiked it about a half-mile west on 6th St. to yet another in a series of spectacular outdoor venues — The Belmont — to catch The Watson Twins. If my life depended on it, I couldn’t have told you what the Watson Twins looked like — the only time I’ve seen them in person was from the balcony of the The Scottish Rite Hall back when they were performing with Jenny Lewis, years and years ago. So naturally I figured that the trio on stage performing when I arrived — two of whom were wearing identical dresses and looked sort of alike — were the Watson Twins. I quickly snapped a photo with my trusty iPhone and forwarded onto Twitter, still not sure it was them (see mislabled photo).

Of course it wasn’t the Watson Twins at all, but another combo called The Living Sisters who are on the same label and that play music like the Watson Twins used to sing. Not anymore. The real Watson Twins are trying to take the piss out of indie rock, and are failing. They also look like they’re a decade younger than the Living Sisters, dressed in American Apparel indie attire (see photo). As old-fashioned and sometimes cheesy as they were, I preferred The Living Sisters over the Twins.

I told myself last year and again this year that I wasn’t going to waste a lot of time seeing Omaha bands play in Austin, but I couldn’t help myself, which is why I ended up at B.D. Riley’s to see our fair city’s favorite unsigned ban (not counting Brad Hoshaw’s ensemble) It’s True play in front of about 50 people inside the old-fashioned oak-adorned club while another 30 or stood outside listening through the open windows right behind them (see photo, complete with a bearded Kyle Harvey looking like an Islamic terrorist). Jamming the front of the stage was half of Omaha, like a room full of proud parents watching their children’s first recital. Hawkins, wearing a blue-cloud bandana, let it all go, flipping off his glasses sometime during the second or third song, while the rest of the band also rose to the occasion, generating that crowd outside the club (see photo). I was excited for them, though afterward the whole thing seemed like a dream, and I wondered if anything was going to come of their performance at SXSW. Does anything really happen for bands in Austin?

The plan was to see Thurston Moore at a tiny club called Red 7, but I knew it wasn’t going to work as I turned the corner and saw a line 500 people deep running down 7th St. I kept walking, back to Mohawk Patio to see Digital Leather, passing a long line to get in — the magic badge lets you bypass such inconveniences (and is the only reason to get one). I figured it was going to be packed inside. Instead, that big open floor in front of the stage was empty except for DMax and Landon of Little Brazil. I still don’t know what was going on, why they weren’t letting people into the club. As a result, Digital Leather played to an audience of about 15 or 20 people, while 150 waited outside. It was the strangest moment of SXSW. I think the flaccid audience also killed the band’s performance, and they sounded like they were going through the motions, just trying to get their “official” showcase in and get off stage (see photo). I’m told DL’s best shows were held at Beerland — a venue that has nothing to do with SXSW — which I guess makes it cooler than the rest of the festival.

After that, it was a series of gaffs. I headed to Cabana Halle 6 to see Cast Spells, but when I got there, The Ugly Beats were on stage playing their brand of wind-up clock keyboard rock that was too tame to call punk. I don’t know how the screw-up happened, but Cast Spells wasn’t even scheduled for the venue.

Three songs in and it was off to find a place to relieve myself of Lone Star, and Emo’s Annex — a tent located across the street from Emo’s — seemed as good a place as any. Inside was Michael Stipe-connected Athens band Twin Tigers. The four-piece band has a male lead and a female second vocalist — all wearing white T shirts — whose expertise is soaring indie rock. It was sort of a shoegaze thing by a band that’s listened to its share of Jesus and Mary Chain. Not bad.

I told the Landon and the rest of Little Brazil that I would catch their showcase at 10 at Wave — a 6th St. bar with a surfer theme complete with stuffed shark and surfboard tables. Upstairs on the deck a singer/songwriter named Cocoon played a set under the stars. His quiet music was about to get blown to bits. I’ve seen Little Brazil somewhere around 1,000 times (but whose counting?). Played to a crowd of around 50, their set was as good as any, even though guitarist Greg Edds looked like a ski bum with his foot in a giant black boot/cast. I didn’t stick around to the end. (see photo).

Instead, I headed a half mile back west on 6th St. to a huge venue called Antone’s to see Portland band Quasi, whose new album American Gong, has been on rotation on the iPhone lately. I’ve been a Quasi fan since Featuring “Birds” came out in ’98. The trio, which featured Sam Coomes on guitar and vocals, Sleater-Kinney’s Janet Weiss on drums and Malkmus/Jick Joanna Bolme on bass, opened with a F”B” song before kicking into a set of rough-hewn Gong songs. It was loud — uncomfortably loud. Still, a great set (see photo).

It was back to the heart of the 6th St. beehive for Brooklyn band Bear Hands at Maggie Mae’s. They were yet another one of those college back-slap Cure-inspired bands with a lead singer whose voice sounded strangely familiar… Oh I know who he sounds exactly like: Robert Smith. That said, their music is a big step above the usual cadre of New Emo bands, with a thicker, heavier, and slightly darker sound that I found entrancing. According to their Myspace page they’re unsigned, which can’t be right, can it?

After that, it was back to Emo’s Annex for Crystal Antler,s a Long Beach five-piece band that has received dollops of love from Pitchfork over the years. This night they were unveiling a set of all-new material, and as much as I tried to like it, the blaring keyboard and overall lack of anything resembling a solid melody did little more than grate on me. Pounding. But boring.

Finally, it was off to the back-alley entrance to The Galaxy Patio, an improvised venue created just for SXSW — which means it’s another tent in a parking lot. The featured band at 1 a.m. — post-hardcore geniuses Les Savy Fav. Balding giant frontman Tim Harrington was in rare form, climbing atop amp stacks to mess with the stage lighting, eventually turning all the flood lights off, leaving the stage in darkness, until he decided to turn one flood back on, to the annoyance of the SXSW folks, who kept turning the lighting rigs on, only to have Harrington walk and shut them off again. Fun, but not their best set, as an impromptu crowd dive screwed up Harrington’s microphone for the rest of the night.

That was it for Day 2. Fifteen band in 12 hours. It’s noon on Day 3 as I write this and I can’t get motivated to get the ball rolling. The temperature has dropped to 41, with a cold, wet 30 mph wind blowing against dark gray skies. It’s not going to be fun walking around 6th St. in a heavy rain coat with gale force winds blowing garbage into the sky, but it has to be done on this, the last day of SXSW.

And now, here’s the Chris Aponik report:

After an exhausting Thursday, I decided to stay on Red River St. for the duration of Friday. Right off the bat, Louie Bankston’s new band King Louie & the Missing Monuments made a good impression with simple, hook-laden power pop. I expected as much from the man who co-wrote many of the gems on the Exploding Hearts’ only album about seven years.

I really didn’t leave Beerland after a mid-afternoon break at Mohawk, where I tried to catch Zeus but instead watched an alright Frightened Rabbit set. Mohawk seemed to be off schedule, so I situated myself for a night at Beerland, where In the Red Records hosted a showcase of their bands. Despite having bands like the Vivian Girls and former Yo La Tengo tourmates Cheap Time on the roster, the label refuses to do SXSW, instead hosting a night at Beerland — a venue that often hosts In the Red bands during the rest of the year. It was also a rare night when Beerland charged admission — for $8, it’s quite a deal.

The In the Red show opened with momentary Pitchfork darlings Vivian Girls. The Girls are starting to redefine their hazy shoegaze indie-pop with sharper playing. The rest of the night followed with bands I had seen earlier in the week turning in stronger sets than they had when I saw them before. White Mystery, TV Ghost, Cheap Time and especially Fresh & Onlys provided deepened impressions. Fresh & Onlys proved that their update on San Francisco Summer of Love psychedelica is powered by strong songs and novel impulses. They drench ’60s rock in a post-punk echo chamber, adding new dimensions that greatly distinguish their artful sound. Meanwhile, TV Ghost played a forceful set that gave hints of a madcap, destructive streak. Youth, brilliance and depth are quickly combining in a post-millenial American recreation of the Birthday Party.

The In the Red party ended with another Spits party and a set from Puerto Rico’s Davila 666, a six-piece band that sings gang vocals over messy Black Lips-style garage rock that’s wholly endearing and a lot of fun. It’s basically a gang of street punk kids putting on a party, and it was a great way to end the night.

Here’s my breakdown from the past two days:
Great: Harlem, King Louie & Missing Monuments, Thee Oh Sees
Very Good: Home Blitz, Earthmen & Strangers, Bad Sports, Vivian Girls, Wizzard Sleeve, Tokyo Electron, Davila 666
Good: Hex Dispensers, Daily Void, Gun Outfit, Frightened Rabbit, Mickey
Okay: Lullaby Arkestra, Charlie & the Moon Hearts, Audacity, Shannon & the Clams, Kid Congo
No: Wounded Lion

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As I type this at 1:30 a.m., the lid continues to boil off the stewpot called 6th St. And I would still be there, too, except my feet and my back just can’t take anymore. And I only started at 6 p.m. SXSW is an endurance test; a sick, unhealthy “music challenge” drenched in beer and hot-link sausages and ear-splitting noise. It is pavement and dirt. It is the constant stank of bad ditchweed and cigarette smoke, stale beer and urinal cakes, and plenty of hippy-style BO. It is 10,000 people walking in the wrong direction, looking for something that they just can’t seem to find. I make it sound like agony, not a vacation (which, for me, is what it really is). In fact, for indie music fans it is the ultimate kid-in-a-candy-store daydream, a chance to stand in the glass-box money machine, grabbing at air to catch dollar bills, but dropping more than you can snatch. SXSW is all around you; SXSW is everywhere. And if you don’t know what’s going on, you will miss something that you shouldn’t have – that you couldn’t have found anyway.

Within moments after stepping foot once again on 6th St., the whole thing came rushing back as if I was there yesterday instead of a year ago. Nothing has changed except for the names of the bars and the name of the bands (though they’re all beginning to sound the same).

Brief housekeeping note for those who have been here before: Badge/check-in was quick and easy. The shuttle service to and from my hotel also was efficient. The machine continues to evolve. SXSW has an army of volunteers, maybe thousands of people in matching staff T-shirts and laminate chains.

OK, so what about the music? Band number one was Matador Records act Fucked Up, which played to around 50 people on the Beerland “Patio” — most of those people, however, were standing in the street (see photo).The band’s frontman is a fat, bearded screamer who spent the set balanced on a railing that divided the “patio” from the mob, his pants falling halfway down his ass. Not sexy. Soundwise, the whole thing was overdriven, and you really couldn’t hear anything except the roar of guitar noise and fat-guy’s distorted rants. But I guess that was the point. People kept walking up and asking “Who are these guys?” Why, it’s Fucked Up. “Awesome!” I lasted about three songs. Not that I don’t like the band. I listen to their new CD, Couple Tracks, all the time. But the fact is, live, it’s a mess, and their point comes across without extended suffering.

I pushed through the crowd and headed south to a venue listed on my iPhone as “Big Parking Lot” to see a couple former Lincolnites in These Are Powers. After stumbling around the glass-walled lower bowels of Austin there it was — a big parking lot sandwiched between buildings with hand-written signs that said “Escapes” — only a slightly better name than Big Parking Lot. Imagine Dario’s Days next to the Blue Line in Benson but four times the size and you’re getting close. Hidden in the crowd performing was Tobacco — the frontman of Black Moth Super Rainbow — with a chick on synth and a guy on PowerBook wearing a mask. It was fuzz-kill thick-beat synths with blown-out, distorted vocals and an electric guitar. Unbelievably funky and fun, with deep psychedelic overtones. This is drug music for a millennial hippie nation — in fact, a guy stood right next to me and smoked a spliff, right there in broad daylight! Gag. A lot of people also were smoking tobacco watching Tobacco, and in retrospect, they were the best discovery of day one (see photo). But that’s not saying much because most of the rest of the day’s bands were familiar faces. Most of them.

Brief housekeeping note No. 2: Unlike last year, where the schedules ran like a precision Swiss timepiece, every band was running late at least a half-hour. Because of this, I never saw These Are Powers. Instead, I walked up to a venue called “Jaime’s” in hopes of catching Wizard Sleeve…. instead I caught 15 minutes of Minneapolis band The Blind Shake (see photo). The punk trio played loud and tight in a room that was half the size of O’Leaver’s, but their music didn’t grab me. Again, with things running late, I’d have to catch Wizard Sleeve later.

So I trekked east under the freeway to see The Silos at the Uncorked Tasting Room and Wine shop — a gorgeous outdoor venue up on the hill that overlooked downtown Austin, and at 7 p.m., was the perfect place to see a golden setting sun. Watching The Silos was like taking a break — their flavor of alt-country/folk influenced a lot of bands in the ’80s and ’90s, and though they’ve gone gray, the band hasn’t lost a thing since their heyday. Good stuff (See photo). If you like Uncle Tupelo or any of its derivatives, check out The Silos.

That Silos’ set was probably the longest that I sat in front of one band yesterday. It takes some work to get to Uncorked, which, along with its vistas, encouraged me to hang out longer than usual. SXSW invites a sort of ADD behavior because all the bars on 6th St. are so close together (for the most part). Their close proximity encourages impatience. Like sitting in your office with a stack of demo CDs, plucking through the tracks and discarding them one at a time in less than a minute, SXSW allows you to easily cast aside a band’s live performance after only three songs rather than to stick it out for the whole set. Especially if there’s nothing to hold your attention.

Thus was the case with Canadian band Besnard Lakes, who were playing at Stubbs at the same time that I was dying to get something to eat (This turned out to be a monumental mistake, as Stubbs’ “pork sandwich” was premade mush in a bun, for $5). Stubbs is one of SXSW prime showcase venues and is always packed — at least it was last year when PJ Harvey played there. Last night there was only a few hundred people inside — but still, that’s a lot for a band like Besnard Lakes. When did they get so big? I found out later that the crowd was merely early arrivers for Band of Horses and Broken Social Scene. Besnard was loud, boring, plodding rock that left nothing to the imagination. After knocking down a Shiner, it was off to Maggie Mae’s for Pomegranates.

Brief housekeeping note No. 3: This plays into what Chris Aponik is writing — I think I used my all-access $750 SXSW Music badge three times yesterday. Almost all the shows are free anymore, with the exception of Stubbs and Emo’s. Sometimes you can get in without a badge, but you can’t get into the main stage area — badges and wristbands only! Regardless, it’s safe to say you don’t need to spend cash on a badge to have a good time at SXSW. Not anymore.

Pomegranates are a cute band from the Midwest that plays that style of modern power pop that you’ll recognize from bands like Tokyo Police Club, Vampire Weekend, etc. You know — big back beat, jump-dance stuff. I spent most of the set trying to figure out if the bass player, who had a terrific voice, was a girl or not — certainly sounded like a girl. Wasn’t. Their new music, much of which they unveiled last night, is very promising. I like this band (see photo).

Maggie Mae’s was the home of this year’s Saddle Creek Records showcase with UUVVWWZ and The Mynabirds, among others. Laura Burhenn and her band (see photo), which includes Dan McCarthy, played a swinging set in front of around 75 people — not crowded at all, which was something of a surprise — it’s Saddle Creek, after all. But what did I expect? This year’s acts are part of Creek’s “third wave” of bands since the label started, and most of them remain unknown compared to the originals (Oberst/Kasher/Baechle), etc. Time will tell if they’ll ever reach that level of popularity, or if any Creek band ever will again.

By around 10, my cell phone gave up the ghost — the battery died completely, which meant the end of photos. I was dying quickly, too. I walked over to Emo’s and got in, but couldn’t get inside their big-stage area where Rogue Wave was going to play. I didn’t want to see them, anyway. Instead, I wandered up the street to The Rusty Spur for She Wants Revenge, a dance-flavored, rather dramatic band that was hot a few years ago and that I thought might be interesting live. I was wrong.

But before they came on stage, I was forced to watch the last half of a set by Saint Motel — an LA band that sounded like they came from LA, or the stereotype of El Lay. Flat, one-dimensional pop rock with zero depth and a blond headed frontman. Next.

It took too long for She Wants Revenge to get set up, and people around me were whining — “Goddamn it, let’s go” someone yelled. The guy next to me said, “If they don’t get their shit together, I’m leaving.” After 10 minutes, frontman Justin Warfield finally got the ball rolling, and the band kicked into its set of dancy, darkwave post-punk. Great throbbing beat, nice chopping rhythm guitar, but rather thin vocals. Justin sounds better on record, as does this band, which was trying to get the crowd into it, and failing.

Finally, it was over to the Encore Patio for Camper Van Beethoven. Why not? Look, I was never a fan, but I figured I’d never get a chance to see these guys again, and it was right down the street. The place was a crush mob. Again, the set up was horrifically long, and in the end, Camper didn’t keep me “camping,” at least not there. I was dying for a hot-link with onions and a warm bed, and knew I wasn’t going to stick around for “Take the Skinheads Bowling.”

So, my night ended at 1 a.m. Not bad for night one. But as I said at the beginning, the party was still going strong while I was munching that hot dog headed for the van to take me back to my hotel. By 1 a.m., the noise on 6th St. was like a post-apocalyptic rumble, a constant dissonance with an undercurrent of dreadful throbbing and the chaos of the crowd, who look like the rabble of Babel, drunk with joy/anger, their eyes focused on this one moment in their lives, and nothing else.

If felt like someone stuck a knife in my eye socket when I work up this morning. Nothing a handful of over-the-counter pain medication could dampen. Or maybe some late-morning Shiners. Today — day parties. Sounds like this will be the last nice weather we’re going to see in Austin on this trip, as tomorrow a cold front moves in…

Now, here’s Aponik’s report. I point to Chris’ youth and that he doesn’t drink (I’ve never seen him drink) for his ability to stay out until 3 a.m. It won’t last forever, Chris…

* * *

Day Two of my Badgeless at SXSW Odyssey saw my first trip to an actual showcase, many of which are open to the general public if they pay the cover. Thankfully the $10 cover I paid to see a few bands at Red 7 yielded sweet rewards. Bad Sports won me over with its power pop/garage rock sound, as they blazed a fun path through the Ramones’ discography.

The main event ended up being recent Matador signees Harlem, a band that has a blinding bright future. What they do is fairly simple but I’m still not sure how to classify their loose but fun indie rock. One friend dismissed them as similar to the Black Lips, but I saw glimpses of Guided By Voices and early Sloan in Harlem’s supercharged sound.

Before heading to Red 7, I spent another afternoon at Beerland, where Digital Leather played. That showcase culminated with Alicia Trout’s Memphis rock band River City Tanlines. The Tanlines channeled Sleater-Kinney through a Mid-South rock vibe that leavened punk moves with no-frills rock. Cheap Time kept the Memphis train rolling with a white-knuckle garage power-pop that cribs from early New York punk.

The night ended late over the Colorado River, as Thee Oh Sees and Home Blitz played on a pedestrian bridge adjacent to Lamar St. The gas-generator-powered wildcat show kicked off after 2 a.m. These bridge shows can help cement punk rock status, which happened for Fucked Up two years ago when thousands surrounded them for a performance with Circle Jerks’ Keith Morris. This bridge show was a humbler affair with a few hundred arriving – just enough bodies to deter any police hasty dispersion. — Chris Aponik

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