AUSTIN--I saw fifteen bands play Saturday night, and the only one that really
impressed me was one that didn't play, that wasn't going to play, one that
didn't even have a name that I heard.
After spending the day at Pok-E-Joe's BBQ for the Hideout party (another
Chicago music venue, possibly the next Lounge Ax-like club), watching band
after band of country music, I actually felt like I was doing myself good.
Several of the bands are from Chicago, though for some reason I'd never been
at the right place at the right time to see them.
Cowlily, a Natalie Merchant-like band with stronger country music overtones,
was very impressive. Same goes for Nora O'Conner; a former guitarist for the
Blacks, I hadn't seen Nora's present solo project, and I was blown away.
Between herself, Andrew Bird (sans Bowl of Fire) and Pinetop Seven's bass
player Ryan Hembrey, the collaboration—though perhaps in its infancy
musically—was as fresh a country sound as Chicago has produced since the
Blacks.
As usual, Split Lip Rayfield set the stage on fire, the tank fiddle, guitar,
mandolin and banjo all shooting sparks from the speedmetal bluegrass. The
party, packed with blissfully unpretentious music folks, was a sort of coming
of age for the Hideout, and owners Tim and Katie solidified not only the
club's presence in Chicago, but the Austin-Chicago connection as well.
Several other bands, however, were unimpressive. The Austin Music Hall's
"special guest" was Bevis Frond, and the band's faux-psychedelic banter left
the crowd empty. Philadelphia's funk punk band The Delta 72 smoked the stage,
but that gave way to Modest Mouse, a kiddie favorite (and Janeane Garafalo's
as well, who was present), but I walked out without an impression one way or
the other.
Off to Antone's for Calexico, which was against my better judgment, since the
band usually only is composed of Joey Burns and John Convertino, and the two
can't reproduce its records with only drums and guitar. But although the band
played as a two-piece for a while, eventually the stage was full of horn
players and more backing musicians, making for a quality performance. After
Calexico came the Mekons, who pretty much put on the same show they've been
putting on for the past 25 years: not great, not horrible, just milquetoast.
But the score was from--of all places--my cab ride home. The driver was a
very friendly Ethiopian man who had a tape of his reggae band playing in the
car. I never got his name, but under his medium-length dreads was a big smile
and a very soothing voice. And God bless it, after a day of country, rock,
rock and more country, reggae was like a cool glass of water in the desert.
We talked about bands he and I have seen, (Sizzla, Capleton, Buju Banton),
and we talked about his own reggae band. (He even brought up the Wild Hare,
justifying the Chicago club's claim to be the most famous reggae bar in
America.)
And therein lies my problem. Why are all the bands down here so damn 1985? We
are in the year 2000, and the Internet has shrunk the world to fit in the
palm of a hand, and still SXSW clings to rock and country (to be fair,
there's a good amount of hip-hop, but it's all white-friendly). Small bands
are buried by proven crowd pleasers, any genre of music not universally liked
by critics and rock people does not even get a token appearance.
So many bands, so many musicians, so much talent, and the only thing I really
wanted to hear was my Ethiopian cab driver's reggae. I don't know what his
band is called, but the ten minutes of it I heard had more heart and soul
than any band I've seen in Austin.
ROADSHOW