elvis is everywhere: sxsw wrap-up
The full list of bands I wanted to see but missed would make a killer festival all on its own - so let’s not spend too much time in that half-empty world. Friday afternoon I headed to the east side with the intention of catching the unfortunately named Deer Tick at Ms. Bea’s; instead I got one of the best surprises of my SXSW: Rafter, so amped up that his stage patter bordered on incoherence, but his act, absolutely lights-out fantastic.
Deer Tick, it was announced, was a “hungover, flaky motherfucker” and they bumped him from his slot. I found the people of Alarm over at the Scoot Inn, where Zoroaster easily destroyed what was left of my eardrums. Then we all either suffered from a collective fever dream about Japanese game shows, or else Peelander-Z took the stage. All I know is people were jumping off of the rooftops, dressed up as bowling pins, and shouting “Medium Rare” in thick Japanese accents. You know: another one of those bands.
There is plenty of goofy acreage in my heart, and I always reserve part of it for Denver’s Dressy Bessy. They were at the Jackalope, one of the few bars on Sixth that can claim something resembling atmosphere. Dressy Bessy are campy without being wimpy. Imagine a Phil Spector-era Rocket to Russia Ramones on ecstasy. Or imagine all the people, living life in peace, but Dressy Bessy is here now, and on tour. (As a wise man once said, I’d rather have a beer with Tammy Ealom than Thom Yorke any day - but maybe this is faint praise.)
This is when I hit the wall, or, said HST’s way, this is when I got The Fear, and scrapped most of the rest of my night. Across the river for Alejandro Escovedo at SXSanJose (that hotel probably wins the Best Free Showcase award; they also had Billy Joe Shaver on Thursday). My feeling is, when you’re watching Alejandro Escovedo and able to appreciate him only dimly, it’s bedtime.
Final day: another attempt at Deer Tick, another failure. This time he was slated for Homeslice Pizza, and he finally cancelled about a half hour after his start time (”ill”). The romantically self-destructive thing ends up Chuck E. Weiss much, much more often than it does Tom Waits. I’m just saying.
White trash punkabilly hero Mojo Nixon (pictured up top) was once surprised onstage at Austin’s Hole in the Wall by Don Henley, who joined him for an impromptu duet on “Don Henley Must Die”. Where else could that kind of thing happen? Mojo Nixon, who has the best name in the business*, played the Continental on Saturday, and it was the best show I’ve ever almost seen. I was on the sidewalk watching through the open door - it was packed. No sign of Don.
A series of mostly unremarkable punk/metal shows followed, up and down Red River. SXSW went out, for me, not exactly with a whimper - the final act I caught was Ty Segall at, I don’t know, Red 7 maybe, one of the endless blur of Sixth Street spaces, and he/they impressed - but not with the over-the-top glory of Phosphorescent, the Gourds, or T-Bird and the Breaks, or what I’m sure would have been an excellent closeout show, The Mother Truckers at the Continental. There is no deeper meaning here. Maybe just that I had about eighty hours of stamina for a ninety-six hour event.
Ty Segall, Rafter, and Efterklang: sounds like an intergalactic law firm, but they’re the bright spots out of those bands I saw with zero expectations. There were no real disappointments; Gurf Morlix and the Delta Spirit maybe didn’t quite do what I thought they might. The ones I missed that hurt the most? Okkervil River, who I seem destined to never see, and T-Bird and the Breaks, who I’ll see in April, so how can I complain? All said and done, I do feel a little like a kid on December 26th; on the other hand, South Congress is almost peaceful now, and we can start bracing for next year. I’ll be honest, I’ve got nothing for you in terms of conclusions. SXSW wore me out. Please insert some central Texas pithiness of your own devising.
*apologies to Sleepy LaBeef.