Cotton Mather
    Interviews

But not for us hard-working LAUNCH folks, no siree. Though I managed to squeeze in about 20--count 'em, 20--live shows and a handful of parties during my Austin stay last week, I was definitely a working girl most of the time. You see, LAUNCH rented out a hotel suite, set up a blue screen and a few cameras, and for a marathon three days straight filmed interviews and performances (both acoustic and electric) with 19 different artists. We had more bands going in and out of our hotel room than Pamela Des Barres. (Just kidding, Pamela--she actually was seated at my table at a SXSW press dinner, and she seemed very nice.)

So here's the rundown of the days and nights of my South By Southwest. Check out myLAUNCH in the next few weeks, as well as future issues of the LAUNCH CD-ROM, to see the footage for yourself.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 18TH
Our trip got off to quite a shaky start with a series of hellish airport mishaps, which I hoped and prayed weren't omens hinting at what would be an altogether miserable SXSW experience. First, the 9am flight on which myself and my two co-workers were booked was delayed, so in order to make our connection in Phoenix we were switched to an 8:30am flight. So far, no big deal. But then, when we got stuck in a holding pattern just 10 miles outside the Phoenix airport, the pilot ever-so-nonchalantly came on the intercom and announced that we were low on gas so were going to make an unscheduled quickie stop at Luke Air Force Base to refuel. Basically, we had to make an emergency landing because we were out of gas! The pilot made this announcement as if it was as ordinary and uneventful as a car pulling into the local 76 station. But it seemed pretty odd to me--I mean, when I go on a long road trip, I fill my gas tank, and I'd expect the same common sense from an airline. This was all too weird. However, it wasn't as scary as it probably sounds to you, the concerned myLAUNCH reader--it was just plain annoying. We landed at Luke Air Force Base and remained there for two grueling hours while various military men came out to laugh and point at us. Several news reporters with camera crews also gathered at the scene, which made me think it was either a real slow news day in Phoenix, or there was more to this situation than the frazzled captain--who kept getting on the intercom to defensively apologize over and over--was letting us in on.

When we finally got back in the air and made it to the Phoenix airport, we'd missed our connecting flight, so we were re-routed to Houston, where we caught yet another flight to Austin--which, to add to the hilarity and hi-jinks of our little junket, was delayed for over an hour. Once in Austin, after being on airplanes for so long we felt like we should've been in Europe by now, we still had to solve the Mystery Of The Missing Luggage. But eventually, we arrived at our hotel at 8:30pm--a mere four hours later than planned, and just in time to completely miss our own LAUNCH party. C'est la vie.

Desperate to unwind with some good ol' R&R (rock 'n' roll) and a few cool, tension-relieving alcoholic beverages, by 9pm I was out the door and off to my first SXSW show: Atlanta's Cotton Mather and Austin's own Spoon at Liberty Lunch. Cotton Mather's effervescent pop incorporated the best of Squeeze, Shoes and Badfinger, with just a touch of Southern twang, and it was just what I needed. Spoon, despite the herky-jerky, off-kilter rhythms of their art-damaged noise-pop, furthered soothed the savage beast I'd become after my eight-hour travel ordeal. Plus, the Liberty Lunch bar served my favorite and increasingly hard-to-find beverage: the refreshing, crystal-clear elixir known as Zima. Things were looking up.

Next, at the Atomic Cafe, was Joy Electric, a synth duo as sticky-sweet and fluffy as pink cotton candy. With their faux English accents, incessant programmed drum loops and an arsenal of delightfully cheap 'n' cheesy Casio-esque sound effects, their music sounded like an arcade-game soundtrack composed by Giorgio Moroder and Marc Almond. And that's a good thing, by the way.

A quick jaunt down the street and I was at Emo's to show my support for my close friend's band, the Streetwalkin' Cheetahs; it was here that my second SXSW misadventure occurred (another omen, perhaps?). You see, the Cheetahs are a manic, old-school punk band who go complete nutso onstage: they jump into the audience, randomly hand over their guitars to total strangers in the crowd, smash beer bottles and cut themselves--sometimes intentionally--with the shards, roll around in puddles of spilled beer, etc. It's all good punk-rock fun. But right at the end of their set, the group's six-foot-tall bass player, his bass still swinging around his neck, leaped off the amp he was standing on and into the crowd--and right on top of little ol' me! I didn't even see him coming, and I landed smack dab in a pile of shattered beer-bottle glass. I was so stunned--and, to be honest, the Zimas were acting as an anesthetic--that I didn't even feel the pain right away. When asked if I was okay, I answered, "Oh yeah, I just fell in a puddle of beer and got all wet." That's when my friend pointed out that that wasn't beer on my arm...it was BLOOD! My entire right arm (luckily, I'm left-handed) was covered with my own freshly-spilled hemoglobin. I raced to the bathroom to rinse my crimson arm in the sink, pick glass debris from my wounds and admire the loose chunk of flesh dangling from my elbow. But like I said, at the time it didn't hurt all that much, so I made a makeshift tourniquet out of some paper towels and went back outside to show off my punk-rock battlescars to the Cheetahs--who were profoundly apologetic--and to the Euro Boys--the Norwegian band that played the L.A. myLAUNCH party late last year--who were sympathetic as well.

I spent the rest of the night clutching a blood-soaked rag to my wounded arm--which may explain why everyone hurriedly moved aside to let me pass wherever I went. This was convenient, as it allowed me to easily make it to the front row for the next band, Royal Trux. Royal Trux--whose trashy, whiskey-drenched, nicotine-addled music sounds like Pussy Galore doing Lynyrd Skynyrd covers--put on a great ballsy, sleazy show, which culminated in a surprising and barely recognizable cover of Dire Straits' "Money For Nothing." When they sang about getting their money for nothing and their kicks for free, it sounded downright depraved. What kind of kicks were they talking about, anyway? Keep tuning in to myLAUNCH for a complete live review of this show and perhaps learn the answer to that question.

THURSDAY, MARCH 19TH
The first full day of SXSW began bright 'n' early (early by SXSW standards, anyway--11am), with LAUNCH's first blue screen interview. The subject was the positively wonderful Robyn Hitchcock, who blessed us with a lovely acoustic performance and talked about his new movie, directed by Jonathan Demme. Jonathan Demme himself was then interviewed, while his incredibly hip young sons casually played with LAUNCH discs as if they'd come out of the womb with Powerbooks on their laps. Then, while LAUNCH executive editor Dave Di Martino endured a marathon filming session featuring back-to-back interviews with such disparate artists as Buddy Guy, Matthew Ryan, Libido, Stereophonics and the Frank & Walters, I attended a press/ publicist schmooze reception at the Austin Convention Center and got to meet all those people I'd been talking to on the phone for ages but had never met face-to-face, which was pretty cool.

Immediately after the press reception, I headed for the SXSW party to end all SXSW parties, the CD Now gala featuring live performances by cartoonish space-cadet rockers Supernova and the one-and-only Sonic Youth. I'm still stunned I even made it in, as the line for this see-and-be-seen event snaked all the way down the street, pretty much bringing Austin traffic to a screeching halt. Look for a live review of this packed show on myLAUNCH very soon, too.

That evening, I got a crash course in video camera technique, when I was informed about 10 minutes before Stereophonics' set at Maggie Mae's that I would be filming their gig from the front row. After learning the hard way that the camera works a lot better when the lens cap is off, I muscled my way to the front of the stage--and made the thrilling discovery that people will immediately get out of your way, no questions asked, if you have a digital camera in your hand and act really frantic and busy. (I think I'm going to start carrying a video camera to all shows I attend from now on.) It turns out I didn't need to be so frantic at all, because Maggie's refused to let the show even start until 100 people left the club. Seems the Fire Marshall was fixin' to shut the show down due to the sardine-packed crowd. The emcee begged people to leave--a first for any club I've ever been in--so that this band, which had journeyed to SXSW all the way from across the Atlantic Ocean, could play. A few bullheaded bouncers even decided to thin out the crowd by any means necessary, yanking people from the front row (which was totally unfair, since that's where the real Stereophonics fans were standing) and forcing them out the door. Again, my camera prop served me well, as it made me look real important, thus gaining me permission to stay. Finally the British trio went on, expertly playing their earnest Oasis-ish Britpop to an eager, still shoulder-to-shoulder audience.

We then packed up our equipment and raced across town to the Electric Lounge, to film the gleeful set by the psychedelic pop-art collective the Olivia Tremor Control, who employed a wide smorgasbord of instruments--everything from trombones and tubas to all sorts of objects that were beaten with wooden sticks. The Apples In Stereo, who are partners with the Olivias in the Elephant Six recording company and, as the Olivias proudly announced this evening, are the Olivias' "best friends in the world," even joined the band, increasing the onstage body count to about 15 or so. You'll be seeing a live review of this show on myLAUNCH soon, as well. After OTC came a pleasing, classy set by Richard Davies, during which I found myself engaged in a highly enjoyable conversation with Kurt, the Olivia Tremor Control's trombone player and one of the nicest guys I've met in a long time...certainly one of the nicest and most genuine folks I've met at any SXSW.

FRIDAY, MARCH 21ST
Friday was the day I began my first round of on-camera interviews. First up were Cindy and Jenny from Pee Shy, a couple of total wisecrackers who could answer the simplest of questions with a long and rambling anecdote. Those are the kind of interviews I like to do! They then did two pretty acoustic numbers, with Jenny playing clarinet on one and Peanuts-style keyboards on the other. Next came pop maestro Tommy Keene, who unfortunately had not been informed that he was going to be filmed and got pretty jittery when he saw all the cameras and lights and equipment scattered about the suite. But he rose to the occasion with an affable interview and a charming, gentle acoustic performance of "Never Really Been Gone." Finally, Drill Team were in the hot seat. They played acoustic for the first time ever, before the LAUNCH cameras--they hadn't even ever rehearsed. (I guess their LAUNCH performance was their rehearsal.) But they pulled it off surprisingly well, and if they ever become big and famous, we can make a killing selling Drill Team Unplugged bootlegs (just kidding, of course).

Later that evening came the insanely overcrowded Threadgills press dinner, hosted by a bevy of generous publicists. Pretty much every writer, editor and otherwise connected press person showed up at 6pm on the dot to gorge on Threadgills' legendary, indescribably yummy butter-and-grease-sodden Southern food vittles; the ratio of human bodies to actual available chairs seemed to be 5-to-1. But eventually I found a seat and feasted on a fantastic, waistline-stretching supper of black-eyed peas, baked cheese grits, mashed potatoes and fried okra with 200 or so of my closest peers. Yum!

Next I was off to La Zona Rosa, where I caught the latter half of Jonathan Fire*Eater's glammy, glittery set. The extremely wasted singer was a capable frontman when actually singing, but his between-song banter indicated he'd indulged in way too many free drinks--like when he slurringly praised the band's Austin hotel, the Clarion, because it had "phones and beds." (Wow! Such luxury accommodations!) The fab-u-lous and underrated Self--who I'd like to state for the record should be the Next Big Thing if there's any justice in this world--were up next, but I had to literally tear myself away after just one song because it was time to film the balls-to-the-wall show by the infamous Nashville Pussy. Harnessing all the ferocious, Jim-Beam-swilling power of AC/DC, Motorhead and, of course, their hero Ted Nugent, and featuring the dynamic daredevil duo of female axe-master Ryter and six-foot-three Amazonian bassist Corey (who breathes fire and displays a lovely "Eat Me" tattoo on her exposed abdomen), this show was a rock 'n' roll circus the likes of which even Mick Jagger has never seen. I valiantly struggled to keep my camera steady as I was pushed to and fro in the front row, with the crowd slamming against the stage and Ryter slamming her boot into the faces of any jerks in the audience who gave her grief. I also had a helluva time keeping the camera lens spit-, whiskey- and sweat-free, as all of these fluids and then some were splashing across the stage. Too bad I had a camera in my hand, or I would've saluted the band with the universally-recognized index-and-pinky heavy metal hand-sign.

SATURDAY, MARCH 21ST

			Bran Van 3000 - "Drinking In L.A."
			Fastball - "Fire Escape"
			The High Llamas - "HiBall Nova Scotia"

The last full day of the conference was my craziest, the day I actually never stepped into the Texas sunlight once, because I was too busy in our hotel suite/ film studio. At 11am my first interview was with Sixteen Deluxe, an Austin band comprised of some of the coolest, most down-to-earth folks you'd ever care to meet. Since Sixteen Deluxe are best-known for their effects-pedal antics and knack for whipping up pure white noise, I was skeptical as to how they could pull off an acoustic performance--even after I learned that they initially write their ditties on acoustic guitar before they muck them up with trippy effects. But the band proved me wrong--very, very wrong. True, guitarist Chris brought in his massive effects-pedal kit, which looked like something out of a mad scientist's laboratory, but he turned the volume down while his bandmates gently strummed acoustic guitars alongside him. Chris, quite the rocker, looked like he was fighting to keep himself seated in his chair as he worked the pedals with such finesse and speed it was a wonder he didn't sprain an ankle, but he managed just fine. While their interview was still going on, in walked country-pop balladeer Duane Jarvis, a longtime sideman (he's played with Rosie Flores, Dwight Yoakam, John Prine and even the Divinyls, among many others) and a great singer-songwriter in his own right. As soon as the Sixteeners were out the door Duane was before the camera lens, delivering dead-on renditions of his clever country tunes "Drive Back To You" and "A Girl That's Hip" on his nifty, shiny black gee-tar. His interview was a painless, pleasant delight.

After Britt Daniels of Spoon dropped by for a quickie interview (he declined to do the acoustic thang, and considering the angular, jarring guitar rhythms of Spoon's very electric music, I can understand why), things started to get crazy. Nashville Pussy arrived late (trust me, if they'd walked in any earlier, there's no way we coulda missed them) due to their all-night partying the night before, and when they finally strutted in Fastball were about to perform a bongo-embellished version of their chart-climbing radio hit, "The Way." Then another interview subject, the charming New Zealand pop quartet Garageland, came in and announced that they had to be at a soundcheck in 45 minutes. So Fastball scurried off the set and Garageland took their place. All the while, all these bands, their publicists, their friends, their girlfriends and boyfriends, and various other hangers-on were milling about the suite, scarfing pizza, guzzling coffee and chattering up a storm between takes while I tried to hold down the fort. The suite resembled a rock 'n' roll doctor's waiting room, with everyone waiting for their turn in front of the blue screen.

Garageland performed "Beelines To Heaven," did a rushed, five-minute soundbite interview and were on their way, leaving me with just one more interview to do, with the notorious Nashville Pussy (who, by the way, did NOT perform acoustic!). That had to be the funniest, most kick-back interview I did all week long--the motormouths in the band went off at the mere mention of Ted Nugent's name, and had plenty of four-letter things to say about "Women In Rock," crazy fans in their audiences, the sorry state of music today, etc. And they mentioned several times, without being prompted, that they ROCK. (As if we didn't already know that.)

The final night of SXSW was jammed with big-deal shows--like Sean Lennon at Liberty Lunch, the High Llamas and Vic Chesnutt at the Electric Lounge, and Fastball, Bran Van 3000, A3 and Spacehog at La Zona Rosa--all of which had lines going 'round the block. I missed Fastball due to the insanely long line but managed to squeeze into La Zona Rosa for Bran Van 3000, and thank God I did, as it was definitely the most enjoyable show I saw all week long. The 10-piece band threw a real party onstage, boogie-ing up a storm and even turning old chestnuts like "Cum On Feel The Noize" and "Sunday Bloody Sunday" into Dance Party USA anthems that had the crowd going crazy--a couple people in the audience even joined in with their own tambourines and maracas they'd brought from home. There'll be a review of this concert on myLAUNCH soon, as well. I also made it into the too-close-for-comfort High Llamas show, which started a half-hour late and was plagued from the get-go with numerous technical difficulties. But still, it was a great set of endearingly quirky Brian Wilsonesque pop. My only real complaint about the show wasn't the technical problems or the suffocating crowd, but the tone-deaf Llamas fanatic next to me who kept trying to harmonize with the band--every time a delightful three-part harmony would begin, I'd hear this dreadfully off-key, sick-cow moan ("Aaaahhh!!") instead of the actual band.

So there you go. It's now the Monday after, and I'm back in the office staring bleary-eyed at my computer screen and trying to find the will to answer my 43 backlogged emails and turn all these interviews we did into cool stuff for all you myLAUNCH-ers to read and watch. I'm drop-dead exhausted, but it was all worth it. And I'm already looking forward to SXSW next year.