other ephemera

A SXSW Round Up, Only One Month Late - Part One
In which the Other Ephemera staff finally gets around to filing its SXSW round-up, as we’re all about the timeliness. Deadlines, people, deadlines.

Wednesday, March 14
We have a request. A small one, really. It’s basic economics, so it’s not too difficult to grasp. If you’re in an indie band, one that plays mildly interesting, decent tunes fit for college campuses, iPod commercials and Urban Outfitters soundtracks, is it really necessary for you to bring all your friends every time you play? Sure, having your girlfriend’s best friend’s friend add a little French horn to your record can be nice, but dragging a full six piece horn section plus a second drummer and a violinist to Austin to play two 30-minute sets at two day shows plus a 45-minute set one night . . . let’s just say it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

OK, maybe it dresses up your tunes enough to cover the fact that your songs just aren’t all that good, but still, a little math is in order, which we’ll borrow from Todd Barry. $1,500 / [ (8 Band Members + 1 Roadie)*(3 Meals Each Day + Beer) + Gas + Van Rental] = You will still be sleeping in your parents’ basement when you’re 45. And if you happen to be in the Small Sins and bring along a guy whose sole purpose is to play tambourine and bounce up and down, well, don’t come looking to us for sympathy two decades down the line. Sure, it worked for Pavement, but, well, you’re not Pavement.

This year, SXSW offered up plenty of examples of the above, plus lots of beards, some great BBQ, more beards, beautiful weather, celebrity sightings, ridiculously long wristband lines, beards, shameless marketing attempts, rude hotel desk clerks, the worst venue ever, some more BBQ, lots of Shiner, some more beards and, most important, some good old proper rock n roll. Not that most in attendance were listening. They were too busy trying to get in to see The Pipettes or checking out the bands covering up for their lack of songwriting skill by stuffing all their friends in the van. We’re not trying to congratulate ourselves or anything. We just think Bob Mould, You Am I and The Figgs kick ass, and we find it a little odd that not enough other people agree.

One of the joys of SXSW is seeing old legends reborn, elder statesman trying to connect with the “kids,” so it was with a great deal of optimism that we went to the Parish the first night to see Charlie Louvin, who just a few weeks earlier had released a stellar record, produced by Mark Nevers of Lambchop fame, and featuring George Jones, Will Oldham, Jeff Tweedy, Eef Barzilay, Elvis Costello and Mac McCaughan, among many others. Maybe, we reasoned, some would show up to play with him. If not, at least he’d pull out some old country chestnuts—Atomic Power, This Little Light, The Christian Life. While the first did not come to pass—Charlie was joined by his competent, if dull backing band—the latter did. Still, one problem with elder statesman is the “elder” part, and Charlie, sad to report, can simply no longer sing. On the record, his fragile voice adds character; live, it just distracts, with him turning the mic over to his female guitar player on too many songs.

Next up was the lovely Emma Pollock over at Emo’s. We were of course devastated by the break-up last year of The Delgados, perhaps the least appreciated Glagsow band of the past decade, so the news that Emma would strike out on her own was at least some solace. Her set featured a full band and the familiar sweeping music that made The Delgados so massive. The tunes were as fractured as always, and as such it was a little difficult to judge, and afterward we ran out to catch Austin’s own Grand Champeen.

Grand Champeen play rock music. You know, four guys, two guitars, bass, drums, catchy as hell tunes, ringing chords, memorable choruses, smart lyrics, Replacements influence worn proudly on their sleeves, a little alt-country thrown in for good measure. They seem to enjoy playing it, too, which, we sadly realized as the set and the week wore on, means they don’t have a chance in hell. They deserve one, of course, more than all the bearded, French-horned legions combined, so here’s hoping we’re wrong.

Over at Antone’s for the Merge showcase, we discover that The Rosebuds have apparently decided to become a dance band, and while we later learn that this works wonderfully on their new record, live it’s a little scary, especially when lead singer Ivan Howard decides to push for a little forced spontaneity by coming into the crowd on multiple occasions then pulling the old Smiths / Stooges trick of inviting the crowd on stage to dance for the last song. The ridiculousness of this is nicely captured when we spy two Miller Lite promo girls, no doubt with a future in Girls Gone Wild videos, writhing on each other next to Kelly Krisp while they throw Miller Lite pins out to the crowd.

The Broken West hit all of our soft spots: Power pop hooks, SoCal attitude, real chops, great songwriting, Zombies and Byrds influences pouring out all over the place, fabulous sideburns, Rickenbackers and ba ba bah’s. They’re brilliant, reminding us of Velvet Crush, The Tyde and The Hang-Ups. As such, they don’t have a chance in hell.

Spoon is up next, but we’ll be seeing them in a few weeks anyway, we woke up at 5am on the West Coast, it’s now 1am, and we’re tired, people. There’s BBQ to eat tomorrow, beer to drink and about 20 more bands to see, so it’s off to the hotel for our first encounter with the world’s friendliest hotel desk clerk.

In tonight’s episode, we will discover that the hotel’s vending machines sell only soda, then ask him if there is anywhere in the hotel we could buy a bottled water. He will reply, Sorry, the restuarant just closed a few minutes ago, there’s a 7-11 about a mile away. Could he perhaps check if they have a bottle in the area where they serve the Continental breakfast, perhaps in that fridge we see over there? No, he will say, no he could not. He’d be happy to give us directions to the 7-11, though. This will be only the beginning.