When not interviewing bands in the hotel suite that LAUNCH had transformed into a makeshift studio (complete with a bluescreen, lots of fancy hi-tech equipment and even a couple of guitars in case any visiting artists had the urge to perform a song or two for the LAUNCH cameras), I of course tried to take in as many gigs and open-bar parties as possible, which meant I was forced to go without sleep for nearly the entire conference. Oh, the sacrifices I must make for LAUNCH. Sigh. (Cue the violins, please...) If you missed out on all the SXSW festivities, here's my personal day-by-day diary of this year's bands, BBQ blowouts and beer bashes, or at least as much as I can remember. Hopefully, by the time you get through reading this (not to mention checking out all the upcoming footage LAUNCH filmed while in Austin) it'll almost seem like you were there--only without the subsequent hangover!
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 17
After LAUNCH executive editor Dave DiMartino, news editor Craig Rosen and myself made it into the Austin airport with far fewer difficulties than last year's trip (see my 1998 SXSW report for details on the emergency plane landing and subsequent last-minute re-routing through Houston that caused us to miss out on our own LAUNCH party), it was off to the convention center to pick up my SXSW badge and bag o' swag. I then met up with my East Coast counterpart, LAUNCH's New York-based editor Mac Randall, for the publicist/ journalist pow-wow at the legendary local eatery Threadgills. And what a Southern hospitality-style welcome that was! It was at this Southern food emporium that I put aside my oh-so-L.A. concerns about calories, fat grams, heart disease, etc., eliminated the terms "fat-free" and "lite" from my vocabulary, and chowed down on a hearty, waistline-stretching, Texas-size meal so butter- and grease-sodden, my cholesterol reading probably doubled before I even helped myself to seconds. We're talkin' chunks of oven-hot cornbread as thick and heavy as bricks, giant mountains of red beans 'n' rice, mashed potatoes that seemed to be two parts butter for every one part actual taters, creamy spinach casserole laden with oily cheese, and, if there was any room left for desert--and you can bet I made room--buttermilk custard pie and apple cobbler, both baked with plenty o' love and Crisco. When not stuffing my mouth with generous forkfuls of starch and grease, I managed to get in a few words of conversation with some of my esteemed colleagues, but by the time I finished my third slice of pie, I was so groggy and carbo-loaded, I wasn't feeling very social. All I really wanted to do was go back to my hotel, unzip my pants, and lie on the bed in beached-whale agony until my stomach shrank back to its pre-Threadgills size.
But since one of my favorite bands, the Hang Ups, was playing the BMG party at the University of Texas (on the same soundstage where the prestigious local music show Austin City Limits is filmed), I had no choice but to suck in my gut and head on over to the show. Now, regular LAUNCH readers have probably already had it up to here with my constant unabashed babbling about this lovable Minneapolis combo, but I'm warning y'all: with the new 'Ups album (the Don Dixon/ Mitch Easter-produced Second Story) only three months away, I ain't shutting up anytime soon. As usual, the Hang Ups didn't disappoint this evening. Well, I take that back; I was disappointed that the set was only five songs long. But the group's full hour-long performance at LAUNCH's SXSW party two days later (keep on reading for more on that) more than made up for the Wednesday gig's premature conclusion.
After hangin' with the Hang Ups while downing a couple complimentary margaritas (NOT a good idea; trust me, tequila and red beans 'n' rice really don't mix), I was off to the Steamboat club for the midnight set by Deathray. You may not have heard of Deathray yet, but you soon will if they follow in the footsteps of bassist Victor Damiani and guitarist Greg Brown's previous band. Victor and Greg used to do time in Cake--in fact, Greg penned Cake's first mega-hit, "The Distance"--but they've since left for, um, sweeter rewards; despite their Gothic-sounding moniker, Deathray's music is pure peculiar pop, an icily Anglophilic sound that borrows heavily from the Cars, OMD, Split Enz, and those keyboard-krazy bands that are always playing in the high school prom scenes of '80s teen-sex movies. It doesn't hurt that their lead singer is a stone fox with an impeccable Velvet Goldmine shag haircut, cheekbones so high they practically meet on the top of his head, a suitably cocky attitude, some great rock 'n' roll stage moves, and a penchant for nattily knotted ascots. Though a few of the 'Ray's midtempo songs were a bit draggy and interchangeable, many of the more high-octane powerpop numbers were catchy enough to remain lodged in my brain until the final day of SXSW (even after all that fog-inducing drinking!). So if they keep growing and coming up with more three-minute, instant-gratification, would-be hit singles, Deathray will surely "go the distance."
THURSDAY, MARCH 18
The first full day of SXSW was also LAUNCH's first day of nonstop interviews. Our first guinea pigs were--you guessed it--the Hang Ups, all four of whom are so cute and affable that they were naturals in front of the camera, if a bit shy at first. After I conducted the Hang Ups interview, Dave DiMartino took over to interview the Mercury Rev--who gave fascinating, thought-out, seemingly 20-minute answers to each and every question--and then I was back in the interviewer's seat, grilling those too-cool-for-school rock chicks the Donnas. But I have to say my most enjoyable interview of the day--and possibly the whole SXSW conference--was with the Flaming Lips, whose upcoming new disc, The Soft Bulletin, is absolutely positively friggin' brilliant. Lips Wayne Coyne and Stephen Drodz were an extremely challenging interview--in the sense that I had to be totally quiet when they were speaking so that I wouldn't screw up the audio, but they were so funny and charming it was a real challenge not to bust up laughing at most everything they said. I'm not going to spoil the fun by offering direct quotes, since you will get the chance to see the Lips' interview on LAUNCH very soon, but as a teaser let's just say that such lurid subjects as the inexplicable popularity of genital piercings were discussed in great detail. When watching this interview, feel free to laugh out loud as much as you want.
After the Lips left the building, Mac stayed on to interview Chuck E. Weiss and the Lo-Fidelity All-Stars, while I took off to catch a bit of the industry panel "Writing For Online Vs. Writing For Print" down at the convention center. The panel discussion didn't exactly have me on the edge of my folding chair--I'm sure the "Rise And Fall Of The MC5" panel was more scintillating--but some interesting points were made, most notably that the Net might allow for a return to the more from-the-gut, no-holds-barred, Lester Bangs-ish music journalism of the past, and that online media is more permanent than print because it's archived indefinitely, not tossed out with the recyclables as are magazines and newspapers. Yes, I know, it all sounds so fascinating, but believe it or not I bolted mid-panel for the Doolittle Records party at Club Deville, where the twangy/ rootsy band Slobberbone put on a rollicking good-time show. Of course, much as I dig Slobberbone, I was just biding time before an even twangier and rootsier act, Mr. Willie Nelson, played across the street at Stubb's BBQ. But alas, 'twas not to be: it started pouring cats and dogs and various other sorts of animals, and since Stubb's is basically just a weedy dirt field with a stage on one end of it, within minutes the entirely concert area had become a vast muddy swamp. Draping a plastic tarp across the field only made things worse, as rain-slicked plastic is even more slippery and dangerous than is wet grass. Needless to say, the show was rained out, and little Willie went home.
I, however, went down the street to the punk rock hangout Emo's, where Lookout Records was hosting its own showcase, headlined by one of my interview subjects from earlier in the day, the Donnas. Emo's was hardly any more comfortable than Stubb's, since its roof is only semi-enclosed, thus allowing plenty of rain to leak in and flood the club more quickly than the Emo's bouncers could frantically bail it out. (I believe this is the only time I have actually needed an umbrella in order to stay dry inside a building.) But the enthusiastic music fans in attendance, myself included, seemed willing to put up with the soggy inconvenience. Before the Donnas came sharp-suited powerpopsters the Smugglers, whose upbeat music conjured imagery of '60s dance shows like Shindig and Ready Steady Go--especially when they hosted a dance contest judged by Chris Freeman of fellow Lookout artists Pansy Division (a trio bursting with so much gay pride, they make Erasure seem like Grand Funk Railroad). When the contest wound up in a tie due to Chris's inability to decide between a midriff-baring, shimmy-shaking chick and a gangly dude who kept saluting the audience with the index-and-pinky heavy metal hand gesture, the two finalists were pulled up onstage for an impromptu dance-off (the girl won, despite the metal dude's pretty funky moves). The Donnas finally hopped onstage at the midnight hour, revving things up with teensploitation tunes like "You Make Me Hot," "Party Action" and "Skin Tight" and putting Lilith Fair folkies and other so-called "Women In Rock" to shame. The set was a little lacking at points, however. First, the mock-spoken lead vocals fell a little flat--the Donnas really need a Pat Benatar she-devil type to complement their brash, defiantly rockin' sound--plus the show stalled for quite a few minutes when a drunken fan jumped onstage and grabbed the microphone, thus thoroughly freaking out the Donnas and causing them to stop mid-song. (Such a spooked reaction seemed rather extreme, since the same fan was allowed to remain onstage for an entire song when he bumrushed the Smugglers' set earlier in the night.) After this delay, the show never quite regained its momentum, but all was not totally lost--the audience was still sufficiently pumped up from the club-wide broadcasting of Cinderella's first LP right before the Donnas started playing. After all, there's nothing like a little "Nobody's Fool" to get a crowd in a rockin' mood!
On my way back to my hotel I stopped by the dance-a-teria Bob Popular to check out a double-bill of Emperor Norton Records import acts, Arling & Cameron (whose gleeful philosophy can be summed up by the title of their nonsensical singalong "We Love Dancing") and Fantastic Plastic Machine (who's famed for his far-out cover of the Joe Jackson gem "Steppin' Out"). I half-expected these whimsical dance music fops to transform the club into a cross between a Tokyo video arcade, Disneyland's "It's A Small World" ride and the set of the Teletubbies. But much to my chagrin, both acts just offered tired DJ sets--fine for dancing, but not for just standing there and staring at the stage, which is pretty much all the club patrons were doing. Sorry, I like dance music as much as anyone else, but watching guys kneel on the floor riffling through their vinyl collections just isn't my idea of a rilly big show.
And so I took off early for the Elektra Records/ Old 97's party at the local International House Of Pancakes, where SXSW night-owls were bingeing on syrup-soaked stacks of doughy hotcakes and jumbo servings of bacon, sausage and eggs while the rootsy sounds of the Old 97's played in the background. On the way to the breakfast bash the prospect of all-you-can-eat IHOP fare had sounded pretty tempting, but once I entered the dining room and got a whiff of all that whipped butter and sticky strawberry syrup, I had a Threadgills flashback and realized that scarfing down a 4,000-calorie meal at 4 a.m. probably wasn't the greatest idea.
FRIDAY, MARCH 19
This is the day that SXSW really started to kick in to high gear. After I conducted a very charming interview with the Cibo Matto gals--and even getting them to say "Welcome to LAUNCH" in Japanese for our cameras--it was time for LAUNCH's big SXSW soiree over at La Zona Rosa. Our party had everything needed for a good time: an open bar, a killer buffet (love that seven-layer guacamole dip!), and--yes, you guessed again--a totally wonderful live performance by the Hang Ups.
By the time the bash was over, I figured I might as well stick around at La Zona Rosa and catch the Mercury Rev/ Sparklehorse/ Flaming Lips triple-bill taking place at the club just a couple hours later. Mercury Rev were intoxicatingly slow and beautiful and majestic, and Sparklehorse had some great, wholly unique songs (though their live performance could use a little work), but it was the Flaming Lips' set that was truly magical, practically a religious experience. The Lips may now be just a trio (augmented by myriad pre-recorded sound effects and samples), yet they're somehow more powerful and riveting than ever. When lead Lip Wayne Coyne came out brandishing a mallet with which he continually banged a giant gong placed in the middle of the stage, and when he tossed a fistful of sparkling silver pixie dust into the crowd to punctuate a song's soaring high note, I knew this was going to be something special. There I stood in the front, letting the silver glitter rain down on me and basking in the glory of the Lips' total sensory overload, which included a massive video screen (broadcasting snippets of everything from graphic surgery footage to nuclear explosions to slow-motion Jazzercizers to David Letterman announcing the Flaming Lips' performance of "She Don't Use Jelly" on his TV show), the aforementioned Chinese gong, and, most impressively, hand puppets. Few bands could pull this off with such grace (at least without veering precariously close to Spinal Tap territory), but then again, few could radiate such pure joy as did the Lips this enchanted evening. Wayne wore his hand puppets as casually and stylishly as if they were velvet gloves, all the while beaming benevolently, completely caught up in the moment, and the audience seemed equally enraptured. It was one of those rare, wondrous shows that was more than just another rock gig; this was an honest-to-God, awe-inspiring event. I returned to my hotel in a daze, feeling like I'd just visited another planet...and wanting to return there very soon.
SATURDAY, MARCH 20
After a night of weird and wacked-out dreams no doubt induced by the Flaming Lips' spectacle, I woke up nice 'n' late on Saturday morning/ afternoon, just in time to take in another industry panel, "How Has The Internet Changed The World Of Publicity?" I figured since I have to interact with publicists on a daily basis, it'd be a good idea to find out how important online media is to them. I'm happy to report that they were for the most part were pretty enthusiastic about the opportunities for exposure and direct marketing via the Internet, but when one of them (who shall remain nameless) expressed doubts about the relevance of music websites, our own champion Craig Rosen could stay silent no longer. He marched right up to the microphone set up for those who had questions, took the hand mic off the mic stand, and let loose a tirade on the benefits of music websites, most notably the fact that they're directed at diehard music fans who can actually hear the music via sound clips, not just read about it. I was so proud of Craig I could barely keep from jumping out of my seat and giving him a big ol' high-five or doing one of those football-style victory dances. He made quite an impression. You go, Craig!
After that it was back to LAUNCH headquarters at the Radisson hotel to interview the one and only Mr. Duff McKagan, formerly of Guns N' Roses fame. You wouldn't recognize him now--gone was the smudgy raccoon eyeliner, over-peroxided mane of straw-like hair, and, most important, the junkie habit--but that rawk 'n' roll attitude of his was still 100% Duff. He was accompanied by the guys in his new all-star rock band Loaded: onetime Black Flag frontman Dez Cadena, Plexi guitarist Michael Barragan, and former Reverend Horton Heat/ Tenderloin powerhouse drummer Taz. They played four acoustic songs for LAUNCH--three from Duff's yet-to-be-released album, Beautiful Disease, and one that hasn't even been recorded yet--and they sounded great, like a real cohesive band unit, despite the fact that they've only been playing together for a short time. Duff was surprisingly candid in his interview, discussing his departure from GNR, his former substance abuse habit and the near-death experience that set him straight, his opinion on Axl Rose's dubious new GNR lineup, his desire to create good music without any concern for record sales, and much more. Dez Cadena threw in a few insightful comments about the current state of the music biz, and Taz was just total comic relief, crackin' wise every two seconds.
The final bluescreen performance of the SXSW shebang was quite possibly the coolest thing LAUNCH filmed all week long. It was by a band from Murfreesboro, Tennessee called Self, whose last two albums, Subliminal Plastic Motives and The Half-Baked Serenade, were two of most criminally overlooked modern rock masterpieces of the last few years. Self have a new album, Breakfast With Girls, due out in a few months on DreamWorks, but they'll be simultaneously releasing another album recorded entirely with toy instruments. Self treated LAUNCH to an exclusive all-toy-instrument performance of two pop tunes so well-written they would've sounded good played entirely on kazoos, though they were in reality played on a tiny little kiddie piano, electric omnichord, Animal-from-the-Muppets drumkit, and dazzling array of "the cow goes moo"-style electronic sound effects gizmos. And Self actually managed to make all these toys sound really ROCKIN'! I'm surprised these instruments, some of which looked like they should've been labeled "ages six and under," didn't splinter to smithereens under the pressure of Self's pummeling pop-rock attack.
Immediately after the Self shoot wrapped up, I hoofed it over to the Waterloo Park outdoor stage for the first show of what turned out to be the best live music night of SXSW: Guided By Voices disseminating their unique hybrid of indie/ arena rock to over 10,000 giddy fans. Rock-god frontman Robert Pollard was in fine shape, somehow able to execute Roger Daltrey-style high-kicks while smoking and drinking beer at the same time, while guitarist Nate Farley and bassist Greg Demos almost did the impossible and upstaged ol' Bob. Nate taunted the cluster of rabid rednecks at the front of the stage, doused himself with Jack Daniels, rolled around on his back like a curled-up pill bug, and inspired all 10,000 concertgoers to raise their fists and shriek the words to every song; Greg pranced around like a proud pony despite the fact that his pants were split up the middle and all that was shielding his private parts from public view was a long white shirt and strategically placed towel. The crowd really went nuts for the last song, "I Am A Tree" (penned by GBV sideman Doug Gillard), resulting in mass chants of "G-B-V! G-B-V!" once the band left the stage. Bob & Co. heeded the cries for more and triumphantly returned with the cult hit "I Am A Scientist" before splitting for good, as the "G-B-V!" mantra continued to echo into the night.
The next destination was, once again, La Zona Rosa, where Cibo Matto put on an astounding show. Now a five-piece that includes a turban-headed percussionist as well as extremely gifted bass player Sean Lennon (yes, that Sean Lennon, son of you-know-who), Cibo crushed any cutesy Japanese-band stereotypes as they totally rocked the house. The set was so rousing and high-energy, with the sardine-packed audience swaying back and forth en masse and the stage floorboards quaking from all of Cibo's maniacal jumping around, that it flew by in an instant; I had to double-check my watch to verify that they'd played for almost an hour, as it felt more like 15 minutes.
After Cibo Matto, it was time for the are-we-not-Devo? schtick of Southern-bred cosmonauts Man...Or Astro-Man?, but I cut out early to make it to the night's hottest and most coveted ticket (or second-hottest, after the extremely limited-access Tom Waits show across town), the Spin magazine soiree, where Built To Spill and the Flaming Lips were playing. The bouncers at the front door were so strict you'd a-thunk they were guarding Fort Knox, but eventually I squeezed my way in and caught some of Built To Spill's quirky, skewed pop before getting ready for the main event, the Flaming Lips. I just had to see them one more time, and this show was extra-special, as it was being billed as one of "The World's First Headphones Concerts." Before the performance, spectators were given tiny Walkman headsets to wear to during the show; the Lips then played through a specific radio frequency, so concertgoers could hear the music deep up in their inner-ear canals, thus rendering the sensory overload that much more, well, overloaded. Much to my dismay, I couldn't get my Walkman to work--either I was too inebriated, too technically inept, or maybe the batteries were just dead--but several of my fellow Lips fans reported fantastic, mind-expanding results. Turned out the gimmick was pretty convenient, too: when one friend of mine went to the restroom during the set, she continued to wear the headphones, and was able to listen to the concert even when she was doing her private business in a bathroom stall. How's that for surroundsound?
And so, as the sun began to rise Sunday morning, SXSW 1999 drew to a close. 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 94 backlogged emails and turn all these interviews we did into cool stuff for all you LAUNCHers to read and watch. I'm drop-dead exhausted, but really, it was all worth it. See ya at SXSW 2000...
